Page 18 of Pucker Up
“It’s up to management. It’s my job to try to get them to cooperate and put out this dumpster fire while there’s still time to save the season.”
My father was good at his job, but being the best coach in the league doesn’t matter if your team is in last place. “Do you know why they hate each other so much?”
“There are rumors, but I’ve never heard it from the source, so I won’t repeat it. Especially if this is going to be reported to your friend.”
I smiled. “Good call.”
“But, Goldie, tell her to stay away from them. They’re not good enough… I mean, they’re no good.”
“I’ll pass on the warning.” Dad opened the door and was done with the conversation. “Good night, kiddo.”
“Night, Dad.” Before I went inside for the evening, I threw Morton’s frisbee while I shoveled the walkway to the carriage house. My stomach grumbled as I finished. I knocked the snow off my boots, stepped out of them, and padded to the fridge in my sweaty socks. After pushing around condiments past their expiry date and a plastic tub of half-wilted greens, I opened the junk food cupboard.
My options were to melt some cheese on tortilla chips, or finish off the stale dill pickle chip crumbs. The tortilla chips were salty, but edible. I opted to make the fancier dinner and crunched on a chip as I refreshed my email for the millionth time.
Nothing.
I brushed my hands on the thighs of my jeans and poured Morton a bowl of kibble. My cheese had seen better days and I wondered if I’d be able to cut off the thick layer of green fuzz that had wrapped around what was left of the cheddar brick.
Accepting defeat, I dropped the penicillin experiment into the trash can. Work had blown up my life and left my health andwellness in its rubble. I glanced at my watch, confirming that I could make it to the grocery store before it closed, or order some takeout. I didn’t like either of those options. Instead, I called Morton, and the two of us made the long trek to the main house, and to the leftover Thai food.
As Dad heated up the leftovers, I checked my email one more time. My heart stopped as three new messages popped into my inbox. A glance of the first lines visible on the main screen told me everything I needed to know. The answer across the board was no.
“Shit,” I muttered to the marble countertop as Dad slid a plate in front of me.
“Everything okay?”
Tears blurred my eyes and I swiped at them with the sleeve of my sweatshirt. “I’ll be okay. I’ll figure it out.”
Dad poured a glass of water and set it in front of me. “Enough.”
The resignation letters that I was composing in my mind disappeared with the harshness in his voice. I snapped my attention to his blue eyes.
“If you need help with something, Goldie, ask. There are no medals for suffering. I worked hard as hell to give you everything I never had. It kills me that you won’t fucking take it.” His knuckles were turning white, and I wondered if he was going to pound his fist on the table.
“Dad. It’s f—”
“It’s not fine, Goldie. My daughter, who works harder than anyone I know, is sitting here crying in her red curry. Tell me what’s going on. If I can help you, I will offer it; whether you take it or not will be up to you.”
A tear slid down my cheek.
“Jesus, Goldie. I’m sorry. I’m used to talking to meathead hockey players, not my brilliant daughter.” He pulled me to my feet and wrapped me in his arms. “I’m sorry for yelling.”
“That’s not yelling.” I sniffed into his button-down shirt. “I’ve heard you yell.”
He was known for being one of the toughest coaches in the league. Tough love is what he called it, and when the players were winning, they seemed to appreciate it. When they were losing, I wondered if they hated him.
When I pulled out of his hug, he handed me a tissue. “Goldie, I know that we haven’t always been close, but I want to make up for it.”
His eyes shimmered with tears. Why was I so resistant to letting him make up for the past?
I took a deep breath. “I’m doing a study on concussions.”
“I know.” He smiled. “There’s so much to learn. I should know.” He knocked on his temple. “I’m proud of you. You’re going to help a lot of people.”
That was the point. I wanted to help people. Crying into my rice and giving up wasn’t going to help anyone. “I’ve had a hard time securing people to be a part of my study.”
“Really?” Dad took a bite of his noodles. “Why?”
