Page 4 of The Best Parts of Him
He jogged over to the tree line, probably making his viewers nauseous in the process. “Hey, Dad. Viewers want to know: what do maple syrup farmers do in the off-season?”
“Nap, mostly.”
Ryland couldn’t help a laugh.
Wearing jeans, sturdy work boots, and a T-shirt, Dad smiled and gazed into the forest. There were upwards of 5000 maple trees on their property on the edge of Maplewood, and although Ryland had hated farm work for as long as he could remember, he had to admit that coming home and breathing the fresh Vermont air during the NHL off-season was like taking that first sip of water after a jog in the summer heat.
Plus, where else was he supposed to lick his wounds after his team—the Columbus Pilots—had lost to the Vermont Trailblazers in the second round of the playoffs a couple of months back?
Not even a game seven overtime nailbiter. No, this had been a highly publicized, uber stressful, extra humiliating game four loss—meaning the Pilots hadn’t won a single game in the second round.
Ugh. Ryland hated to think about it.
Of course, the Trailblazers had gone on to win the cup, but the Pilots hadn’t had a playoff run in six years—the Trailblazers couldn’t have given the Pilots one goddamn game?
It was criminal was what it was.
Didn’t help that the Trailblazers was one of those unicorn teams everyone wanted to be on. And it wasn’t because they were three-time Stanley Cup champions—a fucking accomplishment, considering they were a relatively young team at only fifteen years old—or because they were consistently one of the top three teams in the league. It was because they tended to keep their players. Since they were hyperfocused on player development rather than getting rid of troublesome or underperforming players, trades were minimal. Players left because they wanted a trade or because they retired.
Ryland had told his agent a long time ago that if the Trailblazers ever came sniffing after him, he should jump on it. They never had, yet Ryland was holding out hope.
He was twenty-nine years old—if he was lucky, he still had several more years of professional hockey to go before he retired, and if he was even luckier, at least one of those years would be with a championship-winning team.
Not that there was anything wrong with the Columbus Pilots. Ryland loved his team and he loved the city. But the Pilots were a very cliquey team—which was probably why they couldn’t get their shit together during the playoffs.
“Well, there’s tons of forest management, for starters,” Dad said, answering Ryland’s question. “When we’re not napping, obviously.”
“Obviously.”
“We’ve got to thin weeds to promote maple tree growth. Clean and maintain the tapping equipment. Prepare the sugar shack for the next production season. Hose down the lawn games from the maple syrup festival—it’s usually too cold to do that in March. There’s collecting firewood, packaging the maple syrup, attending farmers markets.”
“When do you nap between all that?”
A teasing glint entered Dad’s eyes, the same hazel color as Ryland’s. “Oh, I can nap whenever I want. I give the tough jobs to your brother and spend my days lounging around with a cigar in one hand and a whiskey in the other.”
Ryland laughed at the lie and checked the comments on his screen.
JohnZhang: OMG your dad’s so cute.
LizzyJohnson24: The two of you look so much alike!
Show-me-the-love: [laughing-crying emoji]
PhotosBySam: Got to love a man with a sense of humor.
Ew. That last one was kind of ick. Was PhotosBySam low-key hitting on his happily married dad? Sheila, his stepmom, would laugh about it, but still.
A comment caught his eye, and he asked, “Someone wants to know about the farmers markets. Where do you do them?”
“That’s a question for your brother.” Dad yanked a pair of heavy-duty work gloves from his back pocket and tugged them on. “He and your sister are in charge of identifying and applying for local markets.”
“Cool. Thanks, Dad.”
Dad grunted an acknowledgment and bent to pick up a stack of tree clippings he’d tied together.
kcd.designs: If your dad runs the show and your brother and sister do markets, what do YOU do when you visit home?
“My sister doesn’t do markets,” Ryland clarified as he walked toward the farm shop, which was set several yards away from the farmhouse. Holding the phone aloft, he added, “Jason does. Brie handles the marketing for the farm, so she helps plan which markets Jason will attend. As for me . . . ” He veered right when Jason’s car pulled into the house’s driveway, his steps soundless in the grass. “I help out wherever I’m needed when I’m home in the off-season. Most of the time that means covering for my stepmom at the farm shop. The shop is her domain, but the summer is when she usually meets with local artisans to discuss their products for potentially stocking in our store. Hey, Jase?”
