The mood at my mother’s house hadn’t changed over the years. The air was tinged with tobacco and vanilla as my mom exhaled an intricate looking gray cloud from her lips, dashing the two-inch ash of her cigarillo into the tray that sat on her lap. I smiled at how long she’d let it go this time. Her hair was fashioned into her signature salt and pepper side braid. She’d worn her hair like that for as long as I could remember, only ever taking it down right before bed. Music played quietly from the radio that sat on the breakfast bar, the same classic rock station she’d always listened to, and as I leaned back into the worn, rose-colored upholstery of the hand-me-down couch we’d had since I was ten, I soaked myself in all of the nostalgia. The wallpaper was still some crazy seventies floral pattern, and the only upgrade she’d done to the place had been to rip out the rugs for tile. Shelves of books, books I’d loved to get lost in when I was a kid, were overflowing now. Pictures of me, a few with Ben, as well, were scattered throughout the small living room. I was in a time capsule. This house held parts of me I didn’t recognize anymore, and the parts I wanted to forget.
“Are you settled?” she asked, bringing the butt of her cigarillo to her lips.
Her mouth crinkled and mine spread into a bright smile. I missed my mom’s easy spirit, missed how easy it was to sink into her soft features and relax. She was a balm to my soul sometimes. Even if she’d made poor life choices, and had carted my childhood around for the ride, she was all the family I’d ever have.
“Almost. I haven’t finished unpacking all the way. I’ve been… busy.” I curled my jean-clad legs under my body and shimmied into my favorite corner of the couch.
“That firm you’re working for, it’s better than the one you worked at in Richmond?” she asked, blowing smoke from her nostrils like a dragon.
“Much better. It feels good to be on my own.”
“I could have told you that.” She winked and I fought the urge to frown.
My mother hadn’t been happy when I ran off and got married at nineteen. She’d told me I was throwing away “valuable life experience” and, at the time, my only thought had been how life with Ben was stable, and how we’d save money living in married student housing on campus. Virginia Commonwealth University hadn’t been cheap, and the old me, Ben’s wife, worried more about pragmatism and less about hearts and romance.
I chose my words carefully as I spoke, “It was important, Mom. For me to find my own way. I’m not like you… or at least that’s what I always told myself. I married Ben because I needed something sure, and he was my sure thing, but…” My eyes collided with hers. The pale brown of her irises sparkled with unshed tears. The cigarette between her fingers almost burnt down to the filter. “I was afraid of the unknown, of getting hurt. I’ve watched you get hurt so many times.”
“That’s the thing, I got hurt, but I got to bounce back. I got to experience love on both sides of the coin, bad and good, and the line between passion and self-preservation, I crossed it and I’ll never regret it.”
“Love and passion were both variables I chose to sacrifice...” My voice was stretched tight. “And I lost myself… I’ve wasted too much time.”
My mom shook her head as she stamped the smoking butt into the tray. “Stevie, time is never wasted. With Ben… you learned something, right?” I nodded as she wiped away a few stray tears from under her eyes and smiled. “You learned what you can’t live without. It takes most people a long time to figure out what they want from life. You’re young, lucky to be getting another chance, so listen to your crazy mom this time when she tells you never settle.”
I laughed as my lips parted into a watery smile. “Mom, there’s never going to be one perfect person. You, of all people, should know that.”
She winced and the guilt churned in my stomach. I hadn’t meant it to be a barb, but it was true. My mother’s list of lovers was a mile, maybe a few miles long, and she hadn’t found her “soul mate” yet.
“I didn’t mean—”
“Don’t worry about it.” She stood, placing the ashtray on the coffee table. “I don’t mind, you know. Being alone, I like my life. I like who I am and where I’ve been, and that’s all I want for you. Be happy with you, Stevie.”
I was happy. And it wasn’t entirely true to say I hadn’t been happy with Ben. We had a decent run at first, but it fizzled and I stayed too long.
“I’m getting there, Mom.” Starting over felt right, and I didn’t want to think about how much of that had to do with Mark. I’d like to think I was making my own way into the next phase of me, and Mark was a side effect of letting myself live a little.
She leaned down and kissed my forehead, her breath a mixture of mint and tobacco. “I’m glad to hear it, baby. You look good,” she said lifting the remote from the coffee table and handing it to me. “Watch whatever you want. I’m going to order a pizza. Ray still coming by?”
“Yeah.” Reagan had texted me about twenty minutes ago, letting me know she was on her way from the salon. “She already ate dinner though.”
“I’ll order enough for her, just in case.” She switched off the radio. “She fooling around with Pete again?”
I huffed out a laugh. My mom’s penchant for details never wavered over the years.
“Who knows anymore, I feel sorry for the guy.”
My mom snorted. “He’s a man, Stevie. If he wanted to be serious with her, he would.”
“I think it’s Ray who can’t commit.”
“Yeah, but he keeps coming back for more.” She nodded like she’d said the most profound thing in the universe.
I hummed in agreement and flipped on the big screen television, a new addition since my last visit, and scrolled through the channels until I found what I was looking for. A familiar whistle blew through the speakers, and my heart expanded inside my chest. The heavy pulse warmed my veins as I listened to the announcers’ low voices. The game was well underway, and I found myself leaning forward, my spine buzzing with anticipation as I watched number nineteen skate toward one of the dots on the rink. He hunched over, his stick resting on his knees as he stared at his opponent. My eyes flicked to the score. Neither team had made a goal yet. I swore under my breath and then giggled at my own anxiety as Mark lowered his stick and the ref dropped the puck.
Mayhem.
It was the only word I could use to describe what happened when the puck hit the ice. He was playing against Vegas, and the swirl of jerseys, the yelling, and sheer aggression flashing on the screen had my feet rooted to the floor, my bottom lip pinned between my teeth, and a litany of curses running through my head every time the other team stole the puck from one of Mark’s teammates. I’d spoken to him earlier today, after his morning skate. He’d told me he felt good about tonight, and that the funk his team had been in the previous practice was no longer a problem.
“We skated like we’d already fucking won,” he’d said, and I remembered the gruff sound of his voice and how, even over two-thousand miles away, I’d felt its heat trickle over my skin.
Mark’s confidence was a huge turn on. Amongst other things. The sound of another whistle blowing pulled me from my mental nose dive into some of our dirtier moments. He was on the ice again. Hovering over the dot left of the opposing team’s goalie. Again the referee dropped the puck and the game continued. Mark and his team struggled to get the puck, letting one of the Vegas guys successfully steal away with it, but Bryson, the guy I’d met at the bar, stole it right back, passing it to Mark. Time stood still as Mark drew back his stick, hitting the puck hard enough I heard the sound of metal ringing as it bounced down and into the net. His team erupted into cheers and the crowd booed as red lights lit up the glass behind the goal. Mark skated behind the net and jumped, chest first into the plexiglass, his fist pounding it in celebration. All at once, his teammates swarmed him with giant bear hugs.
I was on my feet screaming, jumping up and down when my mother shouted, “Since when do you like hockey?”
“Since she started dating one of the players,” Reagan said with a smirk as she shut the front door behind her.
“You’re dating a hockey player?” My mom’s eyebrows disappeared into her hairline.
“Umm…” I stumbled.
“He’s hot, Ms. Baylor.” Reagan dropped her purse on the sofa before walking over to my mom and kissing her on the cheek.
I had to restrain myself from physically silencing Ray’s big mouth. It wasn’t that I didn’t want my mom to know, but I’d wanted to present it to her in a way that didn’t have her looking at me with those “I know what’s better for you” eyes.
My mom stared at me, humor hinting at the corners of her lips. “You haven’t been in town two weeks…”
I exhaled and groaned like a teenager as I sank back into the couch. My eyes flicked to the screen as the clock ran out. The first period was over. I wished I was at home and away from the prying eyes of my mother. I wanted to text him. Congratulate him on his goal. I figured his phone was in the locker room, but I wasn’t sure if he’d even have it on. My mom cleared her throat, obviously waiting for some type of explanation.
“It’s a long story.”
She sat down in her chair, and Reagan made herself comfortable on the other end of the couch. “I’m all ears.”
Lucky for me, Reagan was intrusive and had no boundaries whatsoever. She’d basically given my mother the lowdown on how her daughter had almost become an adulterer, and how Mark had sparked the match I’d needed to finally see what I’d always known, but had been too afraid to face. It was interesting hearing Ray’s interpretation of my misdeeds and choices. My “new” life sounded way more fabulous the way Reagan had painted it, but that was because I knew Mark, and who he was had nothing to do with his status or money.
My mom’s eyes fell to the screen of the television. The second period had started about three minutes ago, and all I wanted was for the pizza to get here and for this conversation to be over.
“He’s the opposite of Ben,” Reagan said as she gave me a smile. “I think you’ll like him.”
Not that she was going to meet him anytime soon.
Mom turned her head slowly as if lost in thought. Her eyes met mine, and she stared at me for what felt like an eternity. “You didn’t give yourself much time, Stevie.”
I couldn’t argue with her on that one.
“I know.” My gaze followed Mark across the screen as he skated toward his team’s bench. “But… I jumped in, Mom. I didn’t calculate every detail like I would’ve done in the past. I said, screw it, and went with what my gut was telling me.” Her smile spread wide and into her eyes. “Isn’t that what you’ve been preaching to me my whole life?” She nodded and I took a deep breath. “I want messy, Mom. Even if it hurts. Mark makes me feel… I don’t know… a little reckless, but he makes me feel safe, too. I don’t have a plan… I just like him.”
The doorbell rang, and Reagan jumped up to answer it, leaving me alone with my mom.
“You like him?”
“I do.”
“Then that’s all that matters. A hockey player…huh,” she mused, and her smile unknotted the ball of tension that had coiled in my belly.
“He’s really good, too,” I said as Reagan set the pizza boxes down onto the coffee table. “Well, I think he is. I’m trying to figure out all the rules.”
“All you have to know is most of them are hot as hell.” Reagan giggled as she plopped down onto the floor and lifted the lid of the pizza box.
The smell of parmesan and oregano filled the air and made my mouth water.
My mom’s laughter made me grin. “That’s all I have to know? Hockey seems brutal to me.”
As if on cue, a fight started to break out in front of Mark’s goalie. A few of the players were pushing each other while two of the referees attempted to pry Mark’s teammate, number ninety, a guy named Rasmussen, apart from a Vegas player he’d pinned to the ice. I cringed as another Vegas player took a swing at one of the refs. Tampa was still up by one, and it appeared Vegas didn’t like being scoreless.
“This is only the third game I’ve watched. I can already tell I sort of like it. I might have a heart attack watching Mark play, though.”
“Hockey has always confused me. I dated a guy once who loved it, but he could never explain to me the freaking point.” My mom laughed as she leaned over and grabbed a slice of pizza.
“The point…” Reagan smirked. “Hot guys… in skates…. Like I said… what else is there to know?”
“The point, Mom, is to get the puck in the net.”
“Score points,” Reagan agreed.
The fighting I could do without. But the game itself, was addictive. I loved the fast pace and how everything could go terribly wrong or terribly right in a matter of seconds. The skill alone had my eyes glued to the rink. I had a feeling once you fell in love with hockey there was no turning back. My heart stuttered over a few beats as I thought about how that same line of reasoning could be applied to the players as well.
I pulled my phone from my pocket as Reagan schooled my mom on a few of the rules we’d learned Monday night at the game. I opened my messaging app and thumbed down to Mark’s name. My cheeks ached with a smile as my fingers swept across the screen without caution.
ME: CONGRATS!
ME: I’m impressed, that was a pretty sexy goal, sir.
ME: Would I be too much of a bunny if I sent you a dirty picture as a reward for that spectacular showcase of athleticism?
As I slipped my phone into my pocket, I actually thought about sending him the real thing and not a picture of our used pizza napkins. I made a silent deal with myself. Mark would get his naughty pic, but only if they won the game.
Ray’s loud “whoop” lifted my eyes to the screen.
Tampa had scored another goal.