Page 127 of Practice Makes Perfect
“Whatshewants,” I correct, bitterness coating my tongue. “NHL contract. Stanley Cup. Little Lincoln Garcia bobbleheads she can gift at Christmas.”
Dad’s mouth quirks slightly. “The bobbleheads would be something.”
Despite everything, I let out a short, surprised laugh. “Not helping.”
“Sorry.” His smile fades, and he looks down at his hands.
“Why didn’t you stop her?” The question comes out harsher than I intended.
“I can’t stop your mother from being who she is.” He says it simply, without resentment. “I can only talk to her afterward, which I will. But that’s not really what this is about, is it? Because, although I know you love your mother, this isn’t the first time you’ve been angry at her, and you’ve never donethis, right?”
I rub my palms against my sweaty thighs, frustrated that he can still read me so easily despite how distant we’ve been lately. “What do you mean?”
“You wouldn’t have walked out on a game just because your mother sent an email.” He turns slightly to face me more directly. “There’s more.”
The urge to deflect is strong, but what’s the point? I’m already in the shit creek without a paddle. My mom manipulated my hockey career. I abandoned my team in the middle of a crucial game. I broke up with the most amazing girl I’ve ever known in the most cowardly way possible.
So I tell him everything.
About how Coach’s revelation made me question every accomplishment I’ve ever had. About how I started wondering if I really deserved the scholarship, the captaincy, the attention. About how it feels I’ve been living my life on a track my mother laid out for me…
And then I tell him about Em.
“I met this girl,” I say, my voice dropping. “She’s… different. Smart. Funny. Calls me on my bullshit. Makes me feel like—” I struggle to find the words. “Like I’m more than just a hockey player with a reputation on campus.”
Dad listens without interrupting, his eyes steady on mine.
“We were just hooking up at first,” I continue, “but then it turned into something real. At least, I thought it was real. She asked me to meet her family, and I panicked.”
“How?”
“Right after Coach told me about Mom’s email, it was like everything crashed down at once. I felt like a fraud, and I wassomad at Mom—” My voice cracks. “And then I ran into Em.”
He nods. He knows there’s more.
“I couldn’t handle the pressure of another person’s expectations right at that moment, and she kept goingonaboutit. But I know that’s just her. She’s got ADHD, so her brain—and her mouth—just race sometimes, you know?”
Another nod. More silence.
I stare down at my hands, ashamed. “So I told her I couldn’t do it. Couldn’t do us. I just dropped the bomb, devastated her, walked away and left her standing there.”
I risk a glance at Dad’s face, expecting disappointment, but all I see is thoughtful concern.
“I keep wondering if any of it was real,” I admit. “Does Mom only love me because I’m her hockey star? Does Em only like me because I’m good in bed and she thinks I’m going pro?” The questions that have been churning in my mind finally spill out. “What happens if I’m not what they want me to be?”
Dad exhales slowly. “That’s a lot of weight to carry around, son, but it’s also a question a lot of people ask themselves every day.”
“Yeah, well.” I shrug, attempting nonchalance and failing spectacularly. “I’m used to heavy lifting.”
“Hmm.” He considers me for a moment. “Let me ask you something. Have you ever seen your mother’s classroom?”
The question catches me off-guard. “What? I mean, yeah, a few times. When I was younger.”
“Those motivation posters she has all over the walls. The Spanish phrases of encouragement. The way she keeps track of every student’s progress.” He pauses. “That’s who your mother is, Lincoln. She doesn’t know how to love halfway or cheer from the sidelines. She gets in the game with you.”
“But—”
“Is it too much sometimes? Yes,” he acknowledges. “Does she cross boundaries? Absolutely. Will I be having a very serious conversation with her about that email? You bet.” His voice hardens on that last part, and I remember that while Dad may be quiet, he’s not a pushover.
