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It’s the reason I spend my off-season in Vancouver now. I don’t want to miss time with my sister or watching my brother’s kids grow up.
“Anyway, I grew up in a loving family, came from a hockey dynasty, got drafted out of high school and moved to the US to play for the NHL. And no animals to speak of. I think we were enough to try to keep alive as it was with all the crazy stunts we’d get into.” I chuckle.
We also traveled too much on the hockey teams we played for to properly care for an animal.
“That sounds like you had a good childhood,” she says.
“I did. Now it’s your turn. Let's hear it.”
I lean against the ledge facing her.
She lets out a sigh, but she’s not going to get away without telling me something. This woman intrigues me and I need to know more about her family dynamic and her brother.
“As you already know, I have one brother, Jerrin. My parents married young and had kids young. They seemed happy, but then my father got hurt on the job and he was never the same after that.”
“Got hurt on the job? What did he do?”
She pauses for a second and reaches for her cup running her thumb over her red lipstick on the rim of the glass.
“Uh… he played for the Portland Pirates.”
Hold the fuck on.
Her dad was a professional baseball player?
Then her name finally clicks and those violet eyes… I knew they looked familiar. Her dad has them too.
“Philipe Di Costa is your dad? The shortstop for Portland?” I ask.
He’s a legend. Or at least for the time he played. It’s a shame what happened to him out on the field. No great player should go out that early in their career.
“That’s the one,” she says, casting her eyes down to her heels.
“He was my brother Camden’s idol growing up. He wanted to play professional baseball but hockey runs in our family and my dad pushed him towards the ice. I’m sorry about his accident,” I tell her, remembering the moment on live TV when Di Costa took a line drive to the knee-cap that ultimately ended his career before his time.
“I’m glad he was your brother’s idol… but he’s not mine,” she says, her eyes back on the skyline.
Now I remember her saying that her dad wasn’t around to help with her brother's expenses. I didn’t realize that she meant that Philipe Di Costa abandoned his family.
“When was the last time you saw him?” I ask.
It doesn’t feel like the right time to dig into something this deep but I’m not sure when she’ll open up like this again.
“The night my mom kicked him out. I was six and Jerrin was four and a half. My dad moved us to Seattle because there was a sports physical therapist who thought he could help my dad, but his knee just never worked right again. Over time, my dad kept coming home smelling like alcohol and perfume and my mom had enough. She told him to leave, and I never saw him again,” she says, crossing her arms over her chest. “The first couple of years he’d call on our birthdays and Christmas, promising he was on his way up to see us from California with presents… but then he’d never show.”
“Shit, I’m sorry Juliet. I wouldn’t have brought it up if I had known your history.”
Though my history is painful, the memories of my father are good ones. I hate that Juliet has a father that doesn’t even call.
My father was sports-obsessed and a workaholic who expected a lot from us kids, but he was always present whenever we needed him. I can’t imagine what it would be like to not have had a relationship with my father.
“It’s ok, and I know I’m the one who asked. It's why my mom doesn't like this idea. She doesn't want me dating a professional athlete."
The information she just dropped takes me off guard. I would think most mothers would be ecstatic to know their daughter is dating a man with a decent-sized bank account to take care of her.
"Hold on… your mom doesn't want you dating a professional athlete? What does she have against pro players?"
"She was married to one, and it didn't end well. But I shouldn't have said anything. This arrangement is between you and me, and this conversation about my mother's preferences is getting off-topic. Can we talk about what we need to prepare for tomorrow?"
