Page 80 of Sure Shot
“When you’re holding a baby it won’t seem weird, and it won’t be lonely,” Georgia points out.
She’s totally right. “When I think of myself rocking a baby, it all seems worth it.” We’ll be a small team of two players. “I really want a baby.”
“Does Dave know you’re doing this?” Georgia asks.
“Not yet. Zara does, though. And the second I decide to go through with it, he’ll be my first call.” I can’t predict how he’ll react, either. He loves his child, and he’d want me to have one, too. But he’ll probably worry about me.
“We’ll be your second call,” Becca says, draining her Prosecco. “And then we can start looking for a bigger apartment for you. I can’t work my magic in that rental you’ve got now.”
“Okay. It’s a deal.”
The nail technician begins stroking Bruisers purple onto my big toenail, and—for a moment—all is right with the world.
Twenty-Six
Woo Woo Shit
Tank
“Nice goal last night.”
“Thanks. Every goal counts.” Grudgingly, I take my seat in front of Doc Mulvey. These sessions continue to be a waste of time, but the shrink is paid to talk to me, so here I am.
“So—did you visualize that goal ahead of time?”
I snort. “You know I didn’t. What is your point?”
The goal in question was the result of a messy rebound. The puck shook loose in front of the net after getting momentarily stuck in the goalie’s shin pad. Then the goalie’s own teammate overskated the puck while trying to clear it.
I pounced on it like a cat on a stunned mouse, poking it toward the net. And it only worked because my opponent blocked his goalie’s view of me. It’s what we call an ugly goal, and Doc Mulvey knows this.
“My point is—how are those visualization exercises going?”
After a moment’s indecision, I decide to level with him. “I gave up on that pretty fast. It just wasn’t working for me. After a few minutes sitting there with my eyes closed, I get sleepy. Or my mind wanders. I find myself visualizing my sushi order instead of the rink.”
“Uh-huh. So you don’t believe that visualization can help you?”
“No, sir. I guess I don’t.”
“Hmm. When we’re young, we do tend to believe visualization works. So if you feel this way now, then you probably feel that visualization has failed you. Humor me, okay? Tell me about a time when you were visualizing hard, and nothing turned out like you planned.”
“Uh, okay. How about my marriage?” Jordanna and I visualized our future together with so much gusto that we bought a five-bedroom house, intending to fill it with little Tankiewiczs.
Spoiler alert: there aren’t any little Tanks in the world.
“That’s a good answer. Your wife said ‘until death do us part,’ but then asked you to move out.”
“Exactly,” I agree, because it’s easier than going into detail. “The way you look at it, every failed marriage is a failure of visualization. Do I sound like a shrink now?”
He ignores the jab. “Failed visualization and failed teamwork. Last night your ugly goal put a score on the board. But it wasn’t the kind of teamwork a player dreams about, right?”
“Although it still counts,” I point out.
“Go Brooklyn,” he agrees. “But I’m still a believer it’s all connected, Mark. If you can’t visualize the kind of teamwork that gets your production up, then you’re closed off from that success. And the reason you can’t visualize it is because other people on your team have let you down so badly. Including your wife.”
“Whatever. Fine. I’m willing to accept some of the blame. But only up to a point.” My teammates have been particularly cool to me lately. Because I let Bess down. I don’t know what they’ve heard, exactly. But the chill factor is real. “It’s pretty hard to picture a day when I’m on the same wavelength as this team.”
“Mmm,” he says, maddeningly. “But when you’re open to the universe, you’re open to the puck finding your stick.”
