Mother Knows Best

 

We win the last game before the holidays, and then we go on what amounts to a mini-break. There’s not another game till two days after Christmas.

It doesn’t always work out this way, but I’m glad it has this year. I was supposed to spend this time with Aubrey, but since I haven’t heard from her I can only assume she doesn’t want me in her life anymore. She was serious about us being over.

With no hockey to immerse myself in to distract me, I feel like crap. I decide to go home to Minneapolis to spend the holiday with my parents. My dad still isn’t feeling well, so maybe a visit from me will be good for him. That stubborn bastard refuses to see a doctor, according to my mom. I’m hoping maybe I can talk some sense into him if I’m up there.

Unfortunately, I never get the chance.

When the plane lands in Minneapolis, I discover I have twenty-eight messages waiting for me—an assortment of texts and voice mails—all from my mom.

I check the texts first, and they’re enough to start my heart racing.

Call home immediately, Brent.

It’s an emergency.

Son, please, get back to me as soon as you can.

And then I reach the one that throat punches me: This is regarding Dad. Something terrible has happened.

I grab a cab, and on the way to my parents’ house, which isn’t far from my lake house, I call my mom.

“Oh, Brent,” she cries into the phone. “Thank God you’re finally getting back to me.”

“Mom, Mom.” I’m frantic. “I was on a plane and had no idea you were messaging me. But I’m here in Minneapolis now, heading to the house. What’s going on with Dad?”

I hear her sniffle and then, “He had chest pain early this morning, but he blew it off as heartburn. We started putting up the Christmas tree, at his insistence, and he suddenly keeled over. Oh, Brent…” My mom chokes out a sob, and I suck in a stunned breath.

“Mom, where’s Dad now?”

I’m scared to hear her answer. What if he’s gone? God, I’d never forgive myself for not being there.

Thankfully, though still disturbing, my mom says, “He’s at the hospital, Brent. Your father had a heart attack.”

“Jesus, Mom.”

“I know, honey, I know. But the good news is he’s stabilized. I’m with him right now.”

“Where are you? Lakeside General?”

It’s the closest hospital to my parents’ house, so that would make sense.

“Yes,” she confirms.

I lean forward and redirect the cabbie to that location instead of their house.

“I’ll be there soon, okay?” I say.

“Hurry, Brent. He’s been asking for you.”

I promise the cabbie an extra twenty if he gets me there fast.

Eight minutes later I’m at the hospital. My dad looks terrible. He’s only in his fifties, but today he looks seventy. I can’t believe how gaunt and pale he is. Where’s the strong man I remember from my youth? Even a few months ago he didn’t look like this.

“What’s wrong with him?” I ask the cardiac surgeon when he comes by to check in on my father.

He hustles me outside the room, and Mom follows. Leading us to a private lounge where we can talk, he tells us some decisions have to be made.

Fuck. This can’t be good.

The surgeon takes a seat across the table from me and my mom. Clearing his throat, he says, “As you know, Mr. Oliver suffered a very serious heart attack today.”

Mom, though this is not news, gasps. I grab her hand, and she smiles over at me.

“Mr. Oliver is stabilized now,” the doctor is quick to add. “But imaging shows us he has multiple blockages.”

Now it’s my turn to suck in some air. Mom squeezes my hand.

“Those blockages are what’s causing the chest pain and contributing to his general feeling of malaise,” the surgeon goes on. “That’s why Mr. Oliver hasn’t been feeling well for a while now. But we can remedy that. He needs to have this condition treated, and soon. Unfortunately, I’m ruling out angioplasty—”

“What’s that?” my mom interjects.

“It’s a less-invasive procedure that essentially involves threading a balloon up to the blocked artery and inflating it to allow for more normal blood flow.”

“And that not an option, why?” I ask.

“There are too many blockages, and some are quite severe.”

“What can be done, then?” my mom inquires, her tone shaky.

The surgeon smiles empathetically. “Your husband needs coronary artery bypass surgery. What that means is we’ll create a new pathway away from the blocked artery to improve blood flow to his heart.”

“That sounds very serious,” my poor mom whispers. Looking down, her dark hair falls in such a way to frame her face.

“It is very serious,” the doctor confirms. “But the long-term outcomes are very positive. If all goes well, your husband can still expect to live a long and happy life.”

“When can my father have this surgery?” I ask.

“Day after tomorrow,” the surgeon replies.

“That’s Christmas Eve.”

“Yes, it is. We’ll schedule Mr. Oliver for the first surgery that morning.”

Mom sighs, relieved I’m sure that help is on the way. I, however, remain unsettled.

When Mom returns to Dad’s room, I wait out in the hall. I don’t want my father seeing me messed up like I am right now.

“Fuck,” I hiss under my breath.

I feel so damn alone. I need someone to talk to. If I could just share all the fear I’m feeling I might be okay. But I can’t put this on my mother; she has enough to bear. If Aubrey were still my girlfriend I’d lean on her.

Shit, I wish she were here. I could use her style of comforting. She’d tell me everything is going to be okay, and she’d make it feel like it really would be. That’s how she made me believe in myself. Well that and the occasional kick in the ass.

Mom comes back out of Dad’s room and informs me he’s sleeping and that she’s going to grab a coffee since it promises to be a long night.

Eyeing me intently, her eyes the same color as mine, she says softly, “Can I talk to you about something, Brent?”

I nod. “Of course, Mom.”

She gestures to a row of vending machines down the hall, beckoning for me to follow. “Come. Walk with me.”

As we walk, she asks me about Aubrey. “Why isn’t she here with you, honey?”

I never told my parents that we’re finished. The plan was that after we spent Christmas with the Shelburnes, we were to come up here to Minnesota. I only told my mom that plans had changed. I never specified why.

I have no choice now but to fess up now. “Mom, Aubrey and I are done.”

My wise mother retorts, “From that tone, it doesn’t sound like you’re done.”

We stop, and she levels me with a single look—you know that look, the one only moms can give to make you feel about two inches tall.

“Mom,” I begin, sighing. “Aubrey doesn’t want me, okay? But it’s all my fault. I screwed up big time.”

“So fix it,” she says. “Relationships are messy things, Brent. It’s not all good times and happy days. Look at what’s happening with your father right now.”

“That’s totally different,” I counter. “Dad’s sick. Aubrey left me. Though, like I said, she had a good reason.”

“Brent, whatever happened between you two, it’s just a different kind of adversity. How we handle the bad things in life is what defines us.” She pauses, then asks, “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“Do you love Aubrey?”

“Yes. I do.”

“Then go get her, son. Tell her what’s happening. Let her know that you need her. If she loves you, she’ll forgive whatever happened enough to come back to Minnesota with you. She should be here with you for your father’s surgery. You can figure out everything else later.”

“It’s more complicated than that,” I murmur, thinking of the addendum in that fucking contract.

“It’s as complicated as you make it,” Mom says. “Go get your girl, Brent.”

She’s right.

To hell with the contract. To hell with the team and their ridiculous demands. My dad is sick, and I need Aubrey. Damn it, I love Aubrey. And I don’t want to spend another day without her.

It’s time to do what Mom just suggested. It’s something I should have done from the start.

It’s time to go get my girl.