Page 42 of Offside and Off-Limits
“Here’s to Chronic Warriors,” I say.
“To the Chronic Warriors,” she echoes, and we clink cans before we both take a sip. Placing her can on the counter, she says, “Tell me about your mom. You said she has lupus. That must be tough.”
I get to work on making the pasta sauce, chopping up some pancetta. “It's not easy for her. It took seven years before she was diagnosed and her symptoms kept getting dismissed by multiple doctors, telling her she just needed to reduce stress, whatever that means. That was going on when I was a senior in high school and right through college. She finally got diagnosed after she had a severe flare up that even the stupid doctors couldn't ignore.”
“Bernice talks about how long it can take to get a diagnosis for a bunch of autoimmune disorders. It can be years and years.”
“Yup, that's what happened with my mom. She was diagnosed just before I got signed with the Blades. I chose them because it was close to her in New Jersey. It meant I could check in with her or get to her fast if she needed me.”
The guilt in leaving her on the other side of the country to join the Ice Breakers twists in my belly. I've never lived this far away from my mom. Although she's doing better now and she has my sister nearby, there’s a part of me that still thinks I should never have left, even though she’s excited at the chance to move here if things pan out.
She’s the reason I didn’t sign for more than one season. If Tori is finding it too much, if my mom has a serious setback, I can get back there.
“You're a long way from her here in Washington state,” Clara says, as though reading my mind.
“She insisted I go. She's so concerned with not being a burden, sometimes it drives me crazy, you know? I try to get her the best doctors, the best care, but sometimes it's hard to get her to take it. She is one stubborn woman.”
Her eyes flash to mine. “A little like her son?”
“What makes you say that?”
“I’ve seen you at practice. You really push yourself in those drills. You refuse to give up.”
“Had to. Coach’s instructions.”
She smiles. “For what it’s worth, Cade, it sounds to me as though you’re a great son. You wouldn’t have come to the support group tonight if you weren’t.”
“I don't know,” I say, that guilt still heavy in my stomach. “If Tori wasn’t around, I wouldn't be here.”
“You’ve got to live your life, too.”
“I guess.”
Her phone rings in her purse, and she climbs down from the stool and walks into the living room to answer it as I busy myself making a carbonara sauce out of the pancetta, eggs, thickened cream, and parmesan, the ingredients lined up on the counter in a way even Asher would approve of.
I'm about to place the fresh fettuccini pasta into a pot of boiling water when she returns, still holding the phone to her ear. “Everything okay?”
She holds her hand over the phone’s mouthpiece. “I’m sorry, Cade, but I need to go.”
Disappointment slams into me. “What? Why?”
“My sister’s husband is out, and she has the kids, but she's been called into work. She runs the town’s farmers’ market and apparently there was some problem.”
“Have her drop them off here.”
Her eyes widen. “Here?”
“Why not? I can show Benny my comic collection, and I can easily make more pasta sauce if they haven’t eaten.”
“You want my kids here in this fancy house? Are you serious?”
“One hundred percent. Do they like fettuccini carbonara?”
She appears to think about it for a moment before she thanks me and lifts the phone to her ear once more. “Cade says the kids can come here for some pasta, so can you drop them off on the way? It's the O'Connor's house.” Her sister must remark on thehouse because Clara replies, “You know these hockey players. They love their fancy houses.”
I shrug because she's right. “We’re big guys. We need big places.”
“Okay. See you in ten.” She hangs up and puts her phone on the counter. “What can I do to help?”
