Page 33 of Slapshot
“Not freaky long. Like a ballerina.”
“No, I was never in dance. I played hockey.”
“Really?”
“Mhmm. Until I was thirteen.”
“Why’d you quit?”
“It stopped being fun.”
“What’s your mom like?”
“My mom?” I ask, thrown by the question. People rarely ask about the non-famous part of my genetic makeup.
“You freeze up any time someone mentions your dad, so I figured your mom was a safer topic choice.”
While it’s true, I’m surprised he’s noticed.
“She’s beautiful and bubbly. My parents split when I was three and she moved to Seattle. The last time I talked to her, she was managing a local band.”
“No shit?”
I nod. I’m pretty sure she’s dating the guitarist, but I leave that part out. I stopped asking about her boyfriends years ago. They’re all some sad, lesser version of my dad.
Don’t get me wrong, the man makes me crazy. But he’s a catch. Smart, successful, famous. And he doesn’t look like my friend’s dads wearing oversize button-down shirts and New Balance sneakers. Every teacher I had growing up hit on him in front of me. My friend’s moms got all giggly and flirty around him. It was so embarrassing.
The guys my mom has moved on to have been upcoming artists or athletes as if she’s hoping the next one will have a big break and she’ll be the woman who was with him before the whole world fell in love with him.
I vowed that I’d never follow in either of their footsteps. I wouldn’t be like my mom, chasing men who’d never love her as much as their careers nor would I be like my dad who gave so much to hockey and then his company that he simply didn’t have enough space left in his heart for anything or anyone else.
“Did you shuttle between them growing up or…” Lex lets the question trail off.
“I’ll give you one question. Just one, anything you want to know—within reason—about my dad, but that’s it.”
“You keep assuming it’s him I want to know more about, but it’s you.”
The song ends and we stop swaying but don’t step apart. I can’t allow myself to believe him. History is the best decider of the future. Which means Lex can’t be trusted—even if his words sound sincere.
“Let’s get out of here,” he says.
And I go because despite it all, I want to believe there’s someone out there that thinks I’m enough all on my own.
12
Lex
We speed walk back to the hockey house, anxious to get out of the cold once again. When the old Victorian home comes into view, I tug her even faster toward the front entrance.
“Wait, wait.” She stops suddenly and her hand pulls free. “I can’t just walk in there. Come to my dorm instead.”
“But we’re already here.”
She takes a step back. “This was a bad idea anyway. I don’t know what I was thinking. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Come on. Don’t go. We don’t have to do anything. I just want to spend some more time with you.”
She glances to the house behind me. “I don’t want the guys on the team to know we’re… hanging out.”
