“Brett is my ex for a reason.”
“Well, Stevie,” my mother not-so-innocently says. “You’re not getting any younger, darling.”
Yeah, I’m not getting any younger, but I’m also the exact same age as her son, who she just said has plenty of time.
“I saw Hannah and Jackie last night,” I avert the conversation.
“Oh, did you? How beautiful is Hannah now? I saw her mom last week at church, and did you know her little sister qualified for Miss Teen Tennessee this year? I was thinking about seeing if she wanted any of the old pageant dresses I bought for you. You know, since they’ve never been worn, and they wouldn’t fit you now anyway.”
And there it is. I was waiting for her to mention my weight or size. I’m surprised she lasted a whole twenty minutes.
“That’s a great idea,” is all I can manage to say. I’m too tired of it all at this point to play into my mother’s game. “This tea is really good, Dad.”
Looking over to him, his brown skin pinches between his brows as he shoots me an apologetic smile.
“Glad you came to see us, Vee,” he says. “You probably have to get going, though. You have work soon, right? Headed to Philly tonight, yeah?”
My dad is the best, trying to give me an out from this visit. My showtime for work is still hours away, but I need to get out of this house.
“Yeah, I should get going.” I stand from my seat as my parents do the same.
“Stevie, darling. Brush your hair before work, please.” My mother quickly and awkwardly hugs me goodbye.
You don’t brush curly hair, is what I want to say. Because how dare my hair be big and bold instead of smooth and styled like hers.
“Will do,” is my answer instead. It’s just not worth it.
“You look beautiful, Vee,” my dad reassures, holding on extra tight. “And I’m so proud of you and everything you’re doing with work and volunteering. I’m so happy you found something you love so much.”
“Thank you, Dad.”
He eyes my mother before looking back at me. “Let me walk you out.” He swings his arm over my shoulder as I order a ride back to my hotel from my phone. As soon as we’re outside and the door is closed, he turns towards me. “Don’t listen to her, honey.”
“How can I not? It’s constant. She doesn’t let up.”
“I’ll talk to her.”
“What good is that going to do? You’ve talked to her for years, and she’s still like this. There is nothing I can do to make her happy!”
“You know how she is, Vee.”
“Yeah, Dad, I do. But that’s not a good enough excuse anymore.” My car pulls up just in time, so I give him another quick hug goodbye. “Love you,” I toss over my shoulder as I walk down the walkway to my car in frustration.
“I love you, my beautiful daughter,” he adds just as I get inside.
I offer him a small wave as my car drives away from the house I never want to visit again.
14
ZANDERS
I like playing against Nashville. Their crowd is rowdy as fuck, and I live off that shit. Most athletes enjoy the buzz at their home games, earning cheers from the stadium full of loyal fans wearing their team colors. I, on the other hand, thoroughly enjoy the hate of being on the visiting team.
I call it road-ice advantage.
You want to “boo” when I step onto the ice? No problem, I’ll throw your star forward into the boards for that.
You want to call my teammates names or make up stupid fucking chants that make no goddamn sense just to taunt us? Please do. It’ll fuel me to skate even faster and hit a little harder.
You want to scream at me and hit the glass while I enjoy my well-earned penalty box minutes? Music to my ears, baby.
Just another reason I love life on the road.
“Turn that up!” I shout to Rio from across the visiting team’s locker room. “That’s my song!”
Rio does as I ask, adjusting the volume on his old-school boom box that he carries everywhere with him and filling the locker room with one of my favorite hype songs.
I stay seated in my locker stall, fully suited up for our game as the music focuses me, getting me ready for the next sixty minutes of hockey.
Pulling out my phone, I find a text waiting from my sister, Lindsey. Her schedule is almost as insane as mine. She’s the youngest lawyer to make partner at her firm in Atlanta. She’s thirty years old and a fucking badass. So, I appreciate any time she takes out of her busy schedule to reach out. And I’m thankful it’s not about my mom the way her last text was.