Page 55 of From Ice to Home
Where am I supposed to fit in? Not just in this room, but in his life?
The thought gnaws at me as I sit up, looking down at the jersey I’m wearing. I don’t know anything about his world. I’ve only met two of his teammates…briefly back in Vegas. I mostly spent time with Lucas and he had all of my attention. Do any of them even have wives or girlfriends? Or am I going to be the only one sticking out like a sore thumb in the sea of professional athletes?
“Ugh,” I groan, dragging my hands over my face. My thoughts are spiraling, dragging me down into an endless loop of questions I can’t answer.
I lower my hands and press them into my lap, closing my eyes.
“Father,” I whisper, my voice trembling slightly, “please help me to quiet my mind. Help me focus on the things that are important. Help me find Your peace and joy in this.”
The bible verses I always keep close to my heart flash in my mind, like little words of comfort that are now a part of me for whenever I need them.
‘For God did not give us a spirit of fear, but of power, of love and of self-control.’
‘You keep him in perfect peace whose mind is stayed on you, because he trusts in You.’
I’m not going to let my own mind get to me. Nothing happens without God knowing about it—He’s in control—now and for every day moving forward.
“I’ll be his wife. I have to trust that it’ll come just like everything else,” I declare out loud.
I’ve seen my mom be a wife and a mother, so perhaps it’s not a bad place to start.
I slide off the bed, leaving my bag still packed and heading to the kitchen instead. The hem of Lucas’s jersey brushes my thighs, my chest filling with warmth having his scent with me. The house is quiet, except for the hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen. It feels strange to be in a house this quiet, especially given the size. My home used to be filled with a family of seven, it was hard to get a moment alone while growing up. Now the quiet feels almost overwhelming.
Taking stock of the kitchen, it’s obvious that Lucas doesn’t use this place very often. The fridge is stocked with a few eggs, some milk and an assortment of protein shakes and pre-cooked meals. The pantry isn’t much better—cereal, protein bars and a few bags of chips.
Just as I’m about to pull out my phone and google the nearest grocery store, it buzzes in my hand.
“Hey honey,” my mom’s voice greets me, soft and warm. It’s like she has the ability to give a giant hug in one simple sentence. “I just wanted to check in and see if you arrived alright?”
“Hi mom. The flight was fine,” I try for a smile in my voice. “We didn’t really have time to properly get settled before Lucas had to leave for practice. But I’m sure he’ll be back soon.”
There’s a brief pause before she says, “That’s good to hear. I’m sure it’ll be an adjustment, getting used to his schedule and where you fit into all of it.”
“Yes,” I admit, sinking into one of the barstools at the kitchen island, staring at the empty pantry. “It’ll take sometime, I know. For now I thought I could at least make dinner, but the kitchen is basically empty,” I say, trying and failing to mask my frustration.
My mom lets out a laugh. “That’s single living for you, Hannah. I remember when your dad was living on his own—his cupboards were stocked with nothing but ramen, peanut butter, and a ridiculous amount of Doritos.”
I can’t help but crack a smile. “How did he survive?”
“I’m sure the Lord Himself kept him alive for us,” she says with laughter in her voice. It pulls me from my frustration, a sense of peace settling over me. Her tone changes when she says, “Listen, honey, the reason I called…is because Essie wants to talk to you.”
I blink, surprised.
“Really?” I ask, the disbelief clear in my voice.
My sister didn’t come out of her room all of last night, or even this morning before we left. I didn’t say goodbye to her, which didn’t sit too well with me, but I can’t force her to talk to me when she’s not ready.
“Well, I’mmakingher talk to you,” my mom says.
Well, obviously mom has a superpower I do not possess.
“You know how I feel about unresolved issues between my kids,” she adds quickly.
“If you’d just leave us alone to sort it out—“ I hear Essie’s voice in the background, muffled but unmistakable.
“Then I’d be waiting until you were all old and gray,” Mom says firmly. “Here, talk to your sister. I’ll talk to you soon, honey.”
There’s muffled sounds of the phone being handed to my sister, before her voice comes through quieter and sharper than usual.
