Page 59 of The Slapshot and the Single Mom
Ohhh, we’re going the disappointed route. That was always his fallback when he didn’t think yelling would work. And I guess he’s yelled at me enough about partying, to little effect, that he thinks it won’t make a difference about me getting a girlfriend either. I think he was always okay with the partying—within certain limits, of course—as long as it meant I wasn’t getting attached to anyone. But a girlfriend? That’s a whole differentgame. And it requires a different approach. Come to think of it, it was disappointment that he always wielded whenever I was interested in a girl as a teenager, too. He’d say things like, “I won’t tell you how to live your life. I’d just hate to see you mess it up and throw away everything you’ve worked so hard for just because you met a nice girl with a pretty face and big boobs.”
He lets out another heavy sigh, and I bite the inside of my cheek, the ridiculousness of the entire situation washing over me, taking all my irritation with it. It’s hard to be mad when I’m trying so hard not to laugh out loud. I’m a thirty-one year old man. Like I need my father’s permission or approval to date a woman. I could kind of understand if she were actually just dating me for my money or if she were jailbait or if I were in some kind of situation that actually put my career or reputation in jeopardy.
But Maggie? She’s no danger to anyone. Honestly, she’d be better off if her ex saw her as more dangerous than he does. Because he’s clearly of the opinion that he can just continue to take advantage of her indefinitely and she’ll just put up with it for the sake of their kid.
Unfortunately it doesn’t take a psychology degree to be able to tell that what he’s doing to them both is just as harmful to their son as it is to Maggie. I’m glad she’s finally taking him back to court. Hopefully she’ll at least get more child support since she has the kid ninety percent of the time instead of just fifty like they originally agreed.
“Look, Dad. I know you think relationships are a waste of time.”
“It’s not that?—”
“Yeah,” I interrupt. “It is. I know you’ve been bitter ever since you and Mom split up. But I really think you need to stop projecting your issues with Mom onto me. I’m not you. Mom was never the problem, except that you resented her for expecting you to help out. Which is pretty dumb, if you ask me, since you had to do all the housework when you moved into your own place. But that’s not the point. You don’t care about my opinion about your and Mom’s relationship, and I don’t blame you.” He tries to interject a few times, but I keep talking, not letting him get a word in. “I also understand why you thought I should avoid relationships when I was younger. I traveled a lot in the Juniors, lived with a host family, spent all my time in school or on the ice. Trying to date wouldn’t have worked out well for anyone. It wouldn’t have been fair to whatever girl I was with, or, like you were always afraid of, I’d take time away from training to spend time with her.”
He grunts, and I pause for a second to see if he has anything to say. “Oh, is it my turn to talk?” he asks.
“No. I’m not finished.” He lets out a humorless chuckle, and I keep going. “I get all that, and I don’t fault your advice at all. Look how far it got me. But I’m thirty-one now, Dad. I have a career. I’ve made it. I don’t need to worry about someone keeping me from achieving my goals. I’ve hit all the big ones. Sure, I want to win a Stanley Cup, but that isn’t entirely within my control. All I can do is play my best every game. And I do that. And having a girlfriend isn’t going to change that.”
When I finish, Dad waits another beat before asking, “Are you done now?”
“Yes. And to be honest, Dad, I don’t really care if you like it or not. If you’re going to lecture me about having a girlfriend, youmight as well save your breath. Be as disappointed in me as you like. It’s not going to change anything.”
He lets out another wry chuckle. “Oh, you’re all grown now and don’t need my input. I see how it is. Your career’s doing amazing, meanwhile you did an interview that made you look like a fool.”
I grind my teeth at the reminder. “That interview was set up by the team’s PR department. The direction it took caught us all off guard. The team knows as well as I do that none of what was said is true.”
“Then why haven’t you sued him for slander? The fact you’re just sitting around—well, no, that’s not accurate is it? The fact that you’re running all over town with some?—”
“Watch what you call her, Dad,” I warn, my voice low and menacing.
—“With somewoman,” he says, spitting outwomanlike it’s a dirty word, letting me know in no uncertain terms that he’d rather say whore or bitch. He was a good dad when I was little—or at least I thought so—and he helped me to become the hockey player I am, and there’s no denying it. But he hates women. Did he always? Is that why he and Mom didn’t work out? He kept it under wraps enough at first, but then couldn’t anymore and she wouldn’t put up with it? I hadn’t ever thought of that, but after hearing Maggie’s story of how her ex treated her, and how much worse it got after they had a kid, it makes me wonder if Dad ever liked Mom at all, or if he just saw her as a conquest, a step in the line of expected milestones—grow up, get a job, get married, buy a house, have kids. She was just something that filled in a blank, and when she didn’t like being relegated only to that, he made her miserable to the point that she divorced him. Honestly, who could blame her? Other than Dad, of course.
“Running around with that woman, whose name is Maggie, by the way, has helped rehab the reputation that you’re so concerned with,” I say quietly. “Being seen as a drunken partier is what gave Brock Savage the ammunition he needed to go after me like that. It doesn’t matter that I wasn’t partying before the playoffs—ever. It only matters that I’ve been seen doing it enough that it seems plausible. And people who don’t know any better believed him. Still believe him, even though the team got the interview taken down. And I haven’t sued him yet because I’m following the advice of the team’s legal department. I’ve been advised to keep my head down and my nose clean, so that’s what I’ve been doing. And even though I’ve been seen out and about with Maggie, not even the team has been upset about that. Our PR told me to keep doing what I’m doing, and to give them a heads up if I’m going to anything high profile again, like another baseball game, so they know to expect it. That’s all.”
“I still don’t like it,” he grumbles. “Women are a distraction. Just you wait. You’ll see. You’ve listened to me so far, and it’s served you well. Why do you think now’s any different?”
“Because I have teammates in happy relationships? Hell, our captain’s been married his whole career and has two little kids. He doesn’t have any scandals attached to his name, either, so I think it’s worked out well for him.”
“What makes you think everything’s as happy as it seems for him? And even if he is, there’s always an exception that proves the rule.”
“What makes you think I can’t be an exception too?” I ask, my voice deadly quiet, daring him to contradict me. “I already am, aren’t I? I’ve already made it to the pros. How many kids who I grew up playing hockey with can say the same? Hell, how many of the guys on my Juniors team made it this farandare stillplaying? I can count us all on one hand and have fingers leftover. You can feel and think whatever you like. But I’m not going to listen to it anymore. I’m hanging up now, Dad.”
“Now just hold on—” he starts, but I don’t let him finish. Instead, I pull the phone away from my face and hit the end button, just like I said I was going to. He calls back immediately—because of course he does. He can’t let me get the last word. But I send him to voicemail. He can rant and rave in there all he wants. I’ll get to it when I get to it. Or not.
The reality is, though, that he doesn’t get to dictate my life anymore. And I’ve never been happier about that fact.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Maggie
August passes fasterthan I want. I waited too long to buy school supplies, and everything’s so picked over that Liam complains about the lack of options, but the summer’s flown by and I barely realized school’s only a couple weeks away until now. How is it almost September already?
With September comes training camp for Jack, too, though that’s later in the month after school starts.
I can’t help wondering—and worrying—about how that’ll change things. Add to that the stress of court filings. We filed the petition last week for the court to change the custody and child support order. Kyle got served right away, and he’s pissed. He’s been texting me nearly every day telling me we need to withdraw it. And he’s been telling me he’s going to start taking his time again.
Of course, the couple times he’s taken his time, he’s only lasted about twenty-four hours. At least he’s taken more of his time I guess. It’s—sort of—better for Liam. Except then he’s moodywhen he comes home again every time, and it’s exhausting for both of us to be on this yo-yo where Kyle pops in and out, making promises we all know he won’t keep, getting Liam’s hopes up and then dashing them again and again.
I want so badly to just tell Kyle no. But my attorney has told me in no uncertain terms that doing that will only bite me in the ass. Our best bet is to have the order changed to specify the exact times that Kyle can have Liam and make it so that if Kyle chooses not to exercise his visitation, that he doesn’t get make up time. We’re pushing for every other weekend, but I’m willing to add a weeknight dinner every week as well. We have mediation scheduled for late October, which is sooner than my attorney expected us to get there, with a court date scheduled for January. Hopefully we can come to an agreement in mediation. I’m not sure why he’d fight me other than spite. He barely sees Liam as it is. Why not just put into words the reality that he’s insisted on?
