Page 23 of The Slapshot and the Single Mom
We’re both silent as he navigates his way out of the parking lot and onto the city streets, taking us to wherever we’re going.
“Oh, I never asked. Which mini golf place are we going to?”
He gives me an amused look. “Northside Putt Putt. You ever been there?”
I shake my head. “No.” God, I’ve barely been anywhere in so long it’s sad. I dumped a lot on him the last time, so I don’t want to do that again. I know some part of him must pity me, at least a little, given that he pitched this whole fake dating idea as a win for me because I’ll get to go places and do things too, but I don’t want to seemthatpathetic.Even if I am.
Seconds tick by, and the silence stretches between us. Jack drums his fingers on the steering wheel while we wait at a stoplight, then says, “Your boss decide to torpedo anyone else’s career lately?”
I groan loudly. “Not that I’m aware of. I’ve asked him a few times when he plans on posting an apology for that, but he’s being stubborn. He doesn’t see that he did anything wrong.”
A muscle in Jack’s jaw bulges, and every line of his body radiates tension at that remark, and I immediately bite my lip, wondering how I can make this better. But what can I say?I know the Emeralds’ PR team has been putting pressure on Brock to apologize, saying that just taking the video down isn’t enough. They’ve already told Brock they won’t agree to any more interviews and have threatened getting lawyers involved.
Brock thinks they’re bluffing, though. “I have free speech!” he yelled the last time I brought it up. “I can say what I want!”
I didn’t bother pointing out that free speech only means he can’t be imprisoned for it. It doesn’t exempt him from defamation lawsuits, especially if he’s going to post outright lies that have career-damaging consequences. It wouldn’t have made any difference, and I didn’t have the energy for another toddler-caliber argument with a grown man. My tolerance for that kind of behavior is painfully thin after years of living with Kyle and now him acting like he’s the father of the year for spending twelve whole hours with his son a couple times a month.
“I’m so busy,” he complained when I called to yell at him after the last fiasco that ultimately is the reason I’m here right now.
“Yeah, Kyle. So am I. But I still manage to make it work.”
“You know, Mags. I envy you. I really do. You somehow manage to effortlessly juggle all your obligations, working full time, raising a kid. I just don’t know how you pull it off. I’m lucky if I remember to eat lunch most days! It must be because you’re such a wizard with organization. I miss that, you know, the way you’d help keep me on schedule. We were a good team, weren’t we?”
I sidestepped the obvious bait. “It’s not magical, Kyle. It’s called showing up and following through on my obligations. I work full time and raise a kid full time becauseno oneelsewill pick up my slack. And I care enough about our kid not to fuck himover.” And then I hung up. He’d called me back immediately, but I ignored him, putting my phone on silent, listening to and saving his subsequent voicemails in my special file for all things Kyle. It was just one excuse after another about why he can’t actually take his parenting time and whining about how I’m not being fair to him and I just don’t understand the pressures of his life. The last one really took the cake, though, when he said something like, “This was always our problem, though. You’re perfect, and you expect everyone else to be, too. And I’ve just never been perfect enough for you. I’ve always tried my best, but it’s never been good enough.”
When I listened to that, I wanted to scream and throw my phone across the room. Instead, I walked away, took many deep breaths in the kitchen while my phone was in my bedroom and was grateful Liam was already in bed.
But I don’t want to overshadow every interaction with Jack with the ghost of my deadbeat ex. And the longer we stew in silence, the more awkward this date is going to be. At least we’re doing an activity. Imagine how much worse it’d be if we were just going to dinner!
Oh, god. Dinner. We’re supposed to get some food after. Hopefully by then we’ll have more to talk about.
I clear my throat. “So, uh, did you do anything fun today?”
“Nope.”
Awesome. He’s obviously pissed, and tonight’s going to suck ass. The last three times we’ve been together, we haven’t had trouble talking. Conversation flowed easily. What’s the problem tonight?
I clear my throat again, frantically trying to find something to talk about. “So, um, how old were you when you started playing hockey?”
He glances my way, then his muscles release at least some of his tension in a rippling wave. Pulling to a stop at another light, he presses his head back into the seat and runs a hand down his face. “I’m sorry, Maggie. I’m being an asshole. I shouldn’t have asked about your boss. Just thinking about him pisses me off, and that’s not your fault.”
When he looks at me again, I offer a tentative smile. “It’s okay. Thinking about my boss pisses me off too. I think that’s a pretty normal reaction, especially considering …” I make a weird flopping movement with my hand, hoping that encompasses the interview and its aftermath without me having to specifically mention it again.
He chuckles, driving again when the light turns green, taking the next right turn, and then we’re pulling into the parking lot of the mini golf place. “To answer your question, my dad had me out on the ice starting when I was four, and I started playing hockey when I was five.”
My eyes widen. “Wow. That seems so young.”
He nods. “I guess, but it’s pretty typical. I don’t know anyone now who didn’t start playing by the time they were six or seven.” He grins. “Little kid hockey is hilarious, though. Of course, the kids don’t think so. They take it all seriously. But if you’ve ever watched a game as a teenager or an adult? It’s adorable, but funny.”
I return his smile. “I can see that. Little kids doing just about anything, especially things that are more associated with adults,are always adorably hilarious. Liam’s starting to grow out of the little kid cuteness, these days. Every once in a while, though, I still see this glimpse of the tiny little guy he used to be.”
“He sounds like a good kid,” Jack says softly. “I can tell how much you care about him.”
Sighing, I shrug. “He’s my world.”
Leaning in, he studies my face. “As admirable as that is, I think it’s good for your world to extend beyond the bounds of being his mom. You’re allowed to have things for you too.”
I look away, unable to hold his gaze, flustered by how closely his words echo what my mom said earlier. “I know. Or at least, you’re not the only one who’s said as much.”
