Chapter 19

To celebrate Jennie’s first three months of pregnancy gone by, I obtained her coveted Aerosmith tickets with backstage passes. Actually we’d be witnessing the concert from in front of the barricade right at the stage. Sometimes it was great being me. I rarely used my hockey player status to get what I wanted, but I saw that changing when it was something my wife desired.

About a week ago, Jennie had stopped being sick. It was a blessing I was more than thankful for. Through my readings of all things related to being pregnant, I discovered some women were sick for the entire nine months! And they called them the weaker sex? I begged to differ. As an added bonus, her mood swings evened out. Now she only got pissed at me when I deserved it. I wouldn’t have changed a minute of the journey, though. She was a rock star.

“Hey, babe, how was practice?” She sat at her newly installed desk in the living room. She’d finally moved into my condo—well, ours—but we hadn’t decided what to do with her house yet.

So far the only thing I’d lost in the transition was the spot for my hockey stick. She’d moved it to put one of the living room chairs in that corner in order to make room for her desk, so that she was facing the ocean while she wrote. She’d asked before she did it, knowing I was particular about my “habits.” It was my thought that whatever Jennie did for me only made me better. Of course, we’d lost our last three games since she’d moved my stick.

“It sucked. Coach made us bag skate for an hour, but that’s over. Now I just need food and the couch.”

It was like she read my mind. “That’s bullshit—and maybe my fault. Let’s try something.”

She disappeared for a minute and came back with my stick. It didn’t leave our living room in her preferred, perfectly spaced positioning of furniture, but she shoved the chair in the corner forward and placed my stick back in its spot. I’m not saying I believe in superstition, but let’s try that. She sat back down at her desk, giving me one last glance. I already had lunch…twice…can you fend for yourself? I want to finish this article, but I’ll be done in time to finish dinner.

Sure thing. Thanks, babe.

Jennie hated cleaning, but she loved cooking. She cooked a lot of different things, looking for meals that were both good and healthy. Some were successes, some were not.

Tonight’s dinner was categorized as a success. “Oh, my God, Jennie. Put this in the save pile.” She’d made some kind of chicken dish in the crockpot that was to die for. It was creamy and had lots of flavor, plus it was served over noodles. Low carb, wheat noodles, but hot damn, it was good. She’d even baked fresh green beans, brussels sprouts, and zucchini in the oven with parmesan cheese. Cheese made everything better.

“Yeah? I like it too. That’s a first.”

She wasn’t wrong. She tended to like the leaner things while I liked the things that I really wasn’t supposed to eat that often, which was why she didn’t cook them.

“Hey, I like some of your chicken dinners.”

“Yeah, but you don’t eat the veggies.”

Not having anything good to say, I kept silent.

Jennie’s birthday was coming up, and I’d asked her to think about what she wanted. “Any ideas come up for your birthday?”

“Yes, actually. I’d like some flowers.”

My lips pressed tight. I was hoping for a little more inspiration than that. “Flowers?”

Her grin made my lips relax. “Yes, flowers. I’d like to see if you can get me flowers that aren’t mangled, missing their petals, or drooping from strangled stems. Think you could do that?”

“I think I could, but what about these instead?” I handed her the VIP passes to the Aerosmith concert.

She bounded up from the table, pure excitement on her face. “Shut up! How did you get these?”

I sat back and crossed my arms over my stomach. “Baby, do you forget who you’re married to?”

“VIP tickets? Are you serious? Do you think we’ll get to meet Steven motherfucking Tyler? Oh, my God!” She jumped up and down, bringing my notice to her still-flat belly. I couldn’t wait for her to start showing.

“Yes, sweetheart. We will.” I liked when she looked at me like I could rope the moon. “I had my people call his people.” That wasn’t quite how it went down, but she didn’t need all the particulars.

She rushed over to me and peppered my face with kisses. It was already worth the small fortune I’d spent to make it happen. “Thank you, Mags! You have no idea how much I love that man!”

Well, shit. I sure didn’t want him to upstage me…

***

Jennie was still asleep when I got home from practice and my team meeting. We both agreed that she’d need a good, long, late-afternoon nap to handle the Aerosmith concert in Philly. I puttered around the house, read the article she was working on—which was a gifted piece of writing—played with Eight Ball, and eventually sat down to read more about what to know when you were expecting. That book was tiring, as it taught me that I knew nothing.

Jennie appeared in front of me with no warning, since my back was to the hallway. I must have snoozed myself, because she was already dressed and ready to go. I could not have been unhappier.

Her attire consisted of form-fitting, black skinny jeans, an Aerosmith tee that was entirely too low cut with sexy fringe for sleeves, and knee-high, black leather boots.

“Go change.”

It just came out. I knew better. Jennie liked me being strong as long as it wasn’t a command against her. I got that, I did, but still. Fuck no was she going to a concert full of horny men—Steven Tyler included—looking like that.

“Good try. Look, Mags, in a couple of weeks, I won’t even fit into this stuff. Give me this night!” Jennie almost always graciously gave in to my caveman side, so I found it hard to deny her—but I did.

“No. Go change.”

She patted my cheek; therefore, I knew I’d already lost. “Nope.” She looked me over. “You going to wear that?”

“Sorry, love. I don’t have any whips and chains.” But I did change. I wore the tightest T-shirt I owned with dark construction boots and my well-worn jeans. It was the best “don’t fuck with my woman” outfit I had.

My jealousy was all for naught. Aside from my wife getting some well-deserved appreciative glances, no trouble arose. Of course I didn’t know if there were any catcalls, and I was pretty sure she wouldn’t tell me about them.

***

We met the band before the concert even started. It turned out that they were big hockey fans, although their team of choice was the Bruins, being that they were from Boston; but Steven in particular loved the sport.

He didn’t care that I played for a rival team. He was a true fan of hockey and thought it incredible that a new team had a better record than his Bruins. Truth be told, so did I.

We spoke for a bit with the help of Jennie. Steven had a tendency to look around as he talked, which didn’t work so well for me.

Right before they were ready to go on, he asked me if I was game for a bit of fun. He explained what he wanted to do, and I said, “What the hell?” Jennie’s face was shocked but approving.

Aerosmith opened with “Walk This Way.” I couldn’t hear it but damn if I didn’t feel the energy. I blasted that song out of the water in my head. Fuckin’ A, it was fun.

Next was a softer song that I wasn’t familiar with. I knew the movie it was from, but I’d never heard it. Oh, I knew it was the first time they’d ever hit number one—which boggled my mind considering how incredible “Dream On” and “Sweet Emotion” were—but I’d never had the privilege of hearing it.

Jennie swayed to the music with her eyes closed. I’d never seen her like that. Her body absorbed every note. She felt the music.

When I was young, I had played the piano. My doctors told me after I lost my hearing that I could still play, but I was such an angry boy, I’d never even tried.

About halfway through the concert, Steven was ready for me. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, man. Let’s do it.”

Jennie gave me a quizzical look.

It’s okay.

Steven took me with him to center stage. I looked at the mass of people wondering at first who the hell I was, and why I got to be on stage. It was enjoyable watching as so many faces light up with recognition.

Steven tugged my sleeve. “I wish you could hear this, man. They’re chanting ‘Let’s Go Breakers!’ I can’t even be upset!”

I looked back at them in my customary silence.

Steven tugged my sleeve again. “Raise your fist, man!”

I did, and even I could tell the crowd went wild.

An interpreter I didn’t know appeared in front of me. Steven, or his people, had obviously planned this out. He tapped me, but then pointed to the interpreter.

I’m sure most of you know this man as the infamous Silent Defender. Well, guess what? He’s also a motherfucking Aerosmith fan! Yeah! Raise it up, Philadelphia!”

The crowd went wilder still. He says he says he’s deaf, but I think the Philly crowd is so FUCKING AMAZING that you can make the deaf hear! I knew this was coming, but damn, Tyler was an entertainer. Let me ask you…who loves the fucking Atlantic City Boardwalk Breakers?

I heard nothing, of course, but the cue cards told me to ask for more. I wiggled my fingers toward me and tilted my head. Following the interpreter’s signals, I waited. Steven asked them for more. I said who loves the motherfucking Breakers? He can’t hear you!

At the cue card’s signal, I placed my hands over my ears as if the support was deafening. The crowd got their entertainment, and I got a great plug for the Breakers and a bit of fun.

When the crowd calmed down, Steven led me to his piano where he sat down to play. He tapped my shoulder so I knew he was talking to me—he also spoke through his mic. “Your lovely wife told me this was your favorite song at the time you lost your hearing. This is for you, Mr. Eriksson. May fire be in your heart and ice flow through your veins.”

I knew those words had come from Jennie. It was all I could do to hold my composure. Right before he started playing, Steven took my hand and placed it directly on top of his piano. My eyes closed on impulse as the notes flowed across the stings of the instrument.

I felt each one. I knew every note and lyric to “Dream On.” Before I’d lost my hearing, that song led me to believe I could do anything. I never had a doubt in the world when I listened to him croon about never giving up until you’d achieved your dreams. Even now, I got lost in it.

At the end of the song—as the very last note sprang from his piano—I knew. I knew with a clarity I’d not yet experienced in any other decision in my life. I wanted my hearing back. Not for me, but for what I could possibly miss with my wife and child. Never give up on your dreams until you’ve achieved them. That was Steven’s message, and I wasn’t doing it.

I wanted to hear my wife’s voice when she called out my name. I wanted to hear her laugh, cry—hell, I wanted to hear her yell at me for some inane wrong I’d done her. And I wanted to hear my baby. Laugh, cry, gurgle, burp—I didn’t care. I just wanted to hear my baby.