Page 71 of Snowballed

I keep my head buried in his shoulder. It feels easier to speak without facing him. I take one long racking breath first. “My dad died in January, and the men’s team won the championship that spring. Derek was on that team. All I could think was how happy Dad would have been to see his son and his team win.”

I used to imagine him holding on until April, with me taking him in his wheelchair to the championship game. I could see an ending like a Hollywood movie where my father reacts with joy as Derek lays the trophy in his lap. But the reality is that his mind was gone before his body. Dad was beyond thinking about hockey anymore. The fantasy was more to comfort me because there was so much I wished I could have done for him.

Noah squeezes me tighter. He doesn’t say a word, but I can feel his support radiating into me.

The air is getting colder around us, and I finally push away from Noah. “We better get back.”

He nods. As we’re sitting side by side taking off our skates, Noah turns to me, and I can tell from the expression on his face that he’s going to say something serious.

So I speak first, “I’m sorry. I wanted this to be a nice time for you, and I spoiled it.”

He shakes his head. “That doesn’t matter. It is nice being here with you. I’ve only skated outside one other time.”

“But…” I say.

He looks at me. “But what?”

“You’re going to say something harsh to me. I can tell.”

Noah exhales. “Not harsh. I care about you. Have you ever thought about talking to someone?”

It takes me a beat before I understand what he means. “What? Like a psychiatrist?”

He takes my hands in his. “Don’t get upset. It’s something that a lot of people do. I’ve done it. And you can talk to any kind of professional: a counselor, a therapist, or someone spiritual.”

Like a guru? His California background comes out at the worst times. “There’s nothing wrong with me,” I say.

I try to pull my hands away, but he won’t let go. “I’ve been seeing therapists ever since I was fourteen. Remember I told you about my stress around hockey? Well, my mother finally took me.” He leans towards me, his voice low and cajoling. “Some guys go to sports psychologists. There’s no stigma.”

I’m feeling really uncomfortable right now. I do so many things. I run a farm and go to school and play college hockey. Talk about high functioning, I’m fine. “I don’t think it’s a big deal that I cried. This place reminds me of my father, that’s all. Stop saying that I have a problem.”

“Zoe, it’s not like you’re broken. But you’re a person who’s been through a lot in the past two years. And you get upset easily. I want you to feel at peace with yourself.”

“Stop spouting all this west coast philosophy at me,” I protest. Then I realize that I’m all upset—just as he said. “Let’s go back.”

We get up, pack our stuff and head back to the house. Noah won’t let go of my hand for one moment because he knows I’ll storm off. His sweetness softens my anger.

“Okay, I’ll think about it,” I say. And I will, but I’m 90% sure I won’t do it.

He smiles at me, and we trudge through the snow.

“Are you still seeing someone?” I ask.

He winces because I’ve touched a tender spot. “Not right now. But I’ve been thinking about it.”

“Because of your dad?” I ask.

“Yeah.”

This feels like my chance to solve the mystery I’ve been wondering about since Noah moved here.

“What happened with your dad?”

He sighs. I’m pretty sure he doesn’t want to talk about this, but since I’ve spilled my guts all over the ice, he owes me.

“My dad wasn’t happy with my decision to come here. He had plans for me to make one last audition for the pros and get signed directly by some NHL team. Anyway, he cut me off. I used to get a living allowance while I was at school. My tuition and rent were paid too.”

“So coming here was a big sacrifice for you.” Finally I understand exactly why he’s on our farm. It’s what I suspected, but not the element of personal punishment. I respect Noah even more.

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