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West beams. “Aw, Daddy Mitch.”
We all laugh at that, the stiffness in my back easing and my gut unclenching. Thank goodness I have these gigantic goofballs to keep my mind occupied.
Our new defenseman, who looks barely twenty, walks over carrying a fluffy white cat. With his freckles, curly brown hair, and blue eyes, he looks even younger than most of the other rookies.
“Hey guys,” he says with a nervous smile.
I rifle through my brain for names. I’m not great with people I don’t know, and I’m especially horrible with names. I do this word association thing, have since I was a kid, to remember names. Only, now I can’t remember my word association for the kid.
I glance at West and Colby. They’re good with people. “Hey, Thomas!” Colby says, giving the kid a big smile.
Thomas. I keep my face neutral but wince internally. Thomas the Tank Engine. Now I remember.
West ruffles the fur on the cat’s head playfully, apparently forgetting it’s a cat and not a dog. The cat’s ears go down and West doesn’t even notice. “You played amazing last week, kid.”
Thomas’s mouth pulls up into a crooked grin, like he’s trying to play it cool and not smile but he can’t help himself.
“Thanks, man.”
“Yeah, Thomas, great work,” I say, following social cues from my teammates. I think one of the reasons I’ve always loved playing hockey is because it gave me endless opportunities to watch people interacting and, in turn, learning how to interact with people myself.
Here I am, the leader of the D.C. Eagles…the captain, but I feel like a fraud. If it wasn’t for my teammates, I’d be lost.
Needing a distraction, I find the crate of a friendly dog. It looks a little younger than the others. The dog’s tongue hangs out as it breathes and its bushy tail wags. Glancing at one of the animal shelter workers, I point to the crate. The man nods, and I unlatch the crate and pull out the small puppy. Looking at the name plate, I see her name is Rose. As I hold her, I note that she looks like a different version of a dog I once called my best friend. My childhood dog, Moose, was a Bernese mountain dog. And this one has similar coloring, but with more white and less black. Rose licks my face and I run my hand through her soft fur. Her bottom wiggles happily, and it’s simultaneously comforting and sad. Moose used to greet me the same way.
I allow myself to think back to when I was a kid, when I’d hold it together at school all day…coming home to Moose felt like a reward. I could always relax and be myself with him. He didn’t care if I made too much eye contact, or not enough. He also had an uncanny way of knowing when I was close to a meltdown. Any time I felt itchy all over, he was by my side distracting me and calming me before I knew what was happening.
It's cool they train dogs for kids with autism now, and I’m glad I had those years with Moose even though he wasn’t an official service dog.
Glancing down at the puppy in my arms, my throat feels thick, and her face becomes a little blurry. My teammates probably wouldn’t care if I cried in front of them, but I’d like to avoid it anyway. I blink back the emotion and rest my chin on top Rose’s soft head. She jerks her head away and licks me right on the lips. I laugh, unable to help myself.
If I didn’t travel so much, I probably would’ve already gotten myself another dog.
“I can’t believe your visit is over already,” I tell Amber as I drop her off at the airport Sunday evening.
Amber hedges, thinking before she speaks. Her eyes are filled with a sadness that’s unusual for her. “I’m glad you have people here, Ford,” she finally says, her voice sounding like she’s holding back tears. “I loved meeting your hockey family. Your teammate’s wives and girlfriends.” She pauses, smirking. “And hanging out with you, of course.” Her green eyes twinkle in a way that makes it obvious she’s teasing. Amber is easy to read, which I appreciate. Most people’s expressions are difficult to understand.
Despite her teasing, there’s still something sad in her expression, or maybe the way she’s standing, or maybe I’m reading into it. Deciphering the way people are feeling has never been my strength.
The sounds of cars stopping and going whirls around us, the scent of gasoline keeping me from getting one last inhale of the way Amber smells… and Nella. Babies smell strangely nice. Now I know what my mother is talking about when she talks about her memories of me and my sisters when we were infants.
“I’ll see you for Thanksgiving, yeah?” She breaks the silence. Nella stirs in her baby carrier, always strapped to her mother, and Amber bounces a few times to soothe her.
“Yeah, Ambs. I’ll see you girls next week. My parents are excited to see you… and Nella.”
Amber chuckles. “I’m sure they’re more excited about the cute baby, but that’s okay.”
I smirk, sticking my hands into my pockets. “Maybe my mom, but you know she loves babies.”
Amber’s phone pings. “That’s probably my check-in notification. I better go.”
I keep my hands firmly inside my pockets so I don’t reach for her and holding her for a while before she leaves. I remind myself I’ll see her next week and that makes me feel a little better. “Have a safe flight.”
She waves and smiles, heading inside the airport.
I stand there, staring after her like a sad puppy. I always feel this way after her visits, but something about the look in her eyes made me feel like she wished she didn’t have to leave. Maybe just because she doesn’t have Theo to go home to any longer.
Or maybe it was more than that.
