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This trip doesn’t have to be about Quinn, although I won’t lie and pretend she’s not a big part of my desire to travel. I can see my mom. Maybe Vic too, unless he’s on the road. I want to see them. How many times have I avoided my family? How many times have I made bullshit excuses? I can’t take credit for helping Vic and my mom’s pet project if I also can’t bring myself to see them. That’s pathetic of me. I’m a coward. I wouldn’t have seen Vic beyond the arena if he hadn’t let himself into my hotel room and even then I bitched at him. It’s time to grow the fuck up and do something about this cavern I’ve carved out between us.
If Quinn wants to see me, great. If not…that’s okay. I have no expectations here. Just an opportunity. Even if it looks desperate. I’ll see my mother and do my job, and that’s why I’m going. An email pings into my inbox. The hospital is ecstatic that I’ll be in town.
It feels good to be spontaneous. It even feels good to think about seeing my family, about taking steps myself instead of waiting for them to ask. They don’t put pressure on me for visits or phone calls. Whether we’re hundreds or tens of miles apart, they’ve let me bail on so many family functions. No pressure to be a part of their unit. They never need to know that when I say I’m busy, sometimes I mean at home with my cat.
It was never fear that kept me distant, but there was, is, a constant ache of worry and anger. Worry they will treat me like they did when I was bed-bound and sick. A sort of smothering love that made me feel like every piece of what made me Erik had fractured off and disintegrated while I watched until all that was left behind was cancer and chemo and surgery and crushed dreams. Like I was both a toddler who needed coddling, and an adult who needed to hold it together for everyone else.
I couldn’t afford to show how scared I was, how much I hurt. My brother needed to focus on hockey. Anna had college. My mother was holding on by the edges of her fingernails. For a while, it had been easier to want them to leave me alone. Stop touching me. Don’t look at me like that. No, I’m not fucking okay. I don’t think I’ll ever be fucking okay again. Why do I have to be the strong one? We can’t all fall apart.
And then when they listened… when they backed off…. Then I felt abandoned and lost and I let the distance grow.
I know now, after years of therapy and almost a decade of education, that it’s common for families to struggle through a cancer diagnosis. The wedge I drove between us wasn’t entirely my fault. It wasn’t because I was a bad person, or because they failed me as supports. Illness is hard on everyone. Even when I’d wanted to yell and scream—how dare they cry? How dare they grieve like I was already dead when I was sitting right there and I was the only one fighting for each day? How dare my twin go off and play with the USHL as if nothing was wrong? How dare my mom sob in the hospital bathroom like she thought I couldn’t hear? How dare Anna stay in school as if I didn’t matter? —even as I’d lashed out, pain and fear clogging my brain, I’d still known they loved me. I only hope they know the same. I should make sure they know the same.
I dial Mom’s cellphone and she answers on the second ring. She’s a little out of breath and hard to hear over the weird roar of sound in the background.
“Are you in a tunnel?” I ask in greeting.
“Erik?”
Her surprise hits me like a punch to the gut, even though it shouldn’t. I don’t call her. Ever. If I want to do this, make changes, it’s going to be awkward until we both find our footing.
“Yeah, it’s me. What are you up to?”
There’s a long pause. She doesn’t want to tell me, and my brain clicks into place so I know what she’s going to say before she says it. I flinch automatically, not because it hurts, but because it used to.
“I’m in the box.” At The Stand.
I forgot Vic had a game tonight. Normally, forgetting wouldn’t be a strange occurrence. I only keep a cursory eye on Vic’s and the Arctic’s stats during the season. I don’t watch their games or track their schedules. I should have remembered tonight’s game because of Quinn. I’d been the one to get her Andrea’s ticket. I’d called Mom for that too, another call with awkward pauses and false starts. We do so much better over text. I should have just texted her… except no. I’m trying to make a change. That starts with the simplest steps. Like phone calls.
The background noise changes and Mom’s voice is louder when she says my name again. “I just stepped outside. Is everything okay?”
I try not to bristle at the question. I know it’s not a fair response. She’s not trying to coddle me. She’s asking because I don’t normally call her, and this is the second time this week I’ve changed things up. Anyone would ask what was different. She’s not asking about my last PET scan or counts. She’s not asking because she thinks I’m sick. Her question is normal, just like how it raises my hackles. I take a deep breath and close my eyes, willing the frustration to bleed away.
“I’ll be in town next week,” I say. “I thought maybe we could spend some time together. Vic too once I check his schedule.”
Mom sucks in a breath, her voice thick when she responds, “Vic is on the road over the weekend, but he’s home all week.” I can hear her smile even through the weird cell connection. “We can make up one of the guest rooms for you so you don’t have to waste money on a hotel. If you want to. You don’t have to. We… I know you like your privacy.”
Even if the hospital wasn’t going to cover my hotel, I could still afford it, but I also recognize the olive branch when it’s thrust toward me.
“I have a reservation,” I say, because I’m not ready to stay in their space, but we’re taking baby steps together. We don’t need to dwell on the fact that I could cancel the hotel.
“You’re always welcome, Erik,” Mom says. “We understand, but you’re always welcome.”
“How’s the game?” I ask, desperate for a subject change.
“It’s good. Your brother looks a little sluggish, but he’s still doing okay. It’s tied one-to-one right now.” Even through the phone, the buzz from the arena is loud. “Never mind. Tampa just scored.”
“It’s still early,” I say. “Plenty of time.”
The conversation is petering out like it usually does. I don’t know what to say and she doesn't want to push. Each silence gets longer and longer until discomfort sits on both of us like an anvil. Ending the call feels like a mercy, saving us both from the distance that we can’t quite cross. I’m going to say goodbye. I’m going to hang up and count this call a success. I’ll see her, and maybe Vic next week. I’ll call Anna. I’ll turn on the damn Arctic game and wait to see Quinn. We’d made the broadcast last time. She’s sure to be visible again.
“I saw your friend,” Mom says and my brain blanks out like someone dipped it in Windex. “Quinn? Well, I didn’t see her in person, but she’s behind the bench, so the cameras have panned over her a few times.”
“Does she—” I stop myself before I can ask if she has a book.
“She’s not on a date. Just here with an older man. Her father?”
“Yeah, Sean. He owns the season ticket for the seat next to Andrea.” I clear my throat. “She wanted to go see the game with him.”
