Page 101 of Can't Kiss the Chef

“My dad moved into the house next to my mom’s to live with his grandparents’ when he was six. His parents were drug addicts who couldn’t get clean. He started doing drugs recreationally in high school and it spiraled as he got older. Somewhere in all that my parents had me as my mom was finishing nursing school. He always loved my mom. I guess the times he came in and out of my life he was trying to get clean, but kept relapsing. Then six years ago he finally got clean for good but was too embarrassed to try and repair our relationship. He thought that his actions were unforgivable.”

It kills me that he wasted those years.

“I still can’t believe he ran into my mom. It feels like a gift from God. I just hope he’s around for a long time,” I voice my deepest secret.

The reality that my dad might be gone before we can form a real relationship is a thought that has caused my stomach to be in constant knots.

When I finally gather the courage to look at Oliver, there is no pity written on his face. I feared it would be.

“Thanks for sharing that with me.” He pauses for a second.

“And if things with you and Lola don’t work out, I’m taking your side in the divorce.”

The joke cuts the tension and the more I get to know this kid the more I love him.

“Your sister might kill you, but I appreciate it.”

At some point our teammates started to trickle into the arena and neither of us noticed.

“Start your warm-ups. We have some big games coming up in the next two weeks and you’re not getting any better while sitting your ass on the bench.”

I nod my head toward the ice and Oliver follows. Coach isn’t wrong, we have a few big weeks coming up. I’m not worried about those, I know I’m prepared to play a hockey game at the drop of a hat. It’s the things that I can’t prepare for that run through my mind on a constant loop.

38

Byron

I don’t know why anyone would choose to work in a hospital. I’m beyond thankful for the doctors and nurses that do, but I can see how this place could suck the soul out of you.

The longer I sit here watching emergency patients get rushed by or the sick kid taking a lap around the floor with their parents the more convinced I am that Lola made the right decision to change career paths.

I sat down with Coach last week and explained the situation with my dad. How I was grateful that Oliver’s dad was able to get him this appointment so quickly. I didn’t even ask if it was okay that I skipped practice to go, he told me I had to be here.

Coach Stevens has always preached that family comes first and I’ve never been more thankful that he is a man of his word than I am right now.

During the last week Lola has been my rock. Dinner’s been ready for me every night after practice. She listened to my anxious ramblings that I’m not even sure made any sense, without batting an eyelash.

Before this week there was the lingering sense of doubt I had about our relationship, that maybe this was just rebound for Lola. It was pretty convenient that we had to drive down separately from the rest of the group. All of that doubt has evaporated with how she’s simply just been there for me this last week.

“Do you want a coffee or anything? My dad has an espresso machine in his office so we can skip that weird vending machine coffee they always have in hospitals.”

Reaching over the armrest that separates our chairs in the bleak waiting room, I wrap Lola’s hand in mine. When she realizes what I’m doing she pulls her hand away but I latch on anyway.

“I don’t care that your hands are clammy,” my voice is shaky. “I’m just happy you’re here.”

I told Lola that she didn’t have to come. I didn’t want her to miss a day of classes this close to finals, but she insisted that she was going to come. I’m thankful that she did otherwise I would be sitting in this depressing white waiting room by myself.

There’s an analog clock above the nurses station that tells me my dad’s appointment started only twenty minutes ago. The second hand just ticks and ticks and ticks.

“Want to go for a walk?” I ask her.

“Dad said they have to do a bunch of scans and it’s going to take a couple hours.”

I lean in and whisper so the other family members in the waiting room can’t hear me, “I can’t just sit here and wait, it’s kind of depressing.”

Without saying a word Lola get’s up with her hand still in mine. She navigates the hospital like someone who’s been here a thousand times before.

For the first time since we got into the city I feel like I can breathe. The cool autumn air is a reprieve from the stale hospital we’ve been sitting in.

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