“How are you a coach, Ellie?” My dad glares at me.
“This is great news, dear.” Mom rubs his back. “She got a promotion. It’s a pay raise.”
“Woo! We’re moving up in the world,” Granny Murray exclaims. “You and me, let’s start looking for real estate. These digs are cramping my style. I’ll be your wingwoman.”
“Er… it actually does not come with a pay raise.” I can’t swallow. “It’s just a temporary thing, Dad. You know, because of the arrest, yadda yadda. Dana Holbrook is a cheapskate.”
Angie and Maxie are horrified.
“You take that back!” one yells.
“She is queen of the cunts!” the other fires back.
“Icon!”
“Legend.”
“Her hair.”
“Her nails!”
“Her car!”
“Her vibe!”
“Her attitude!”
“Her clothes!”
“Her shoes!”
“Her everything!” they say in unison.
“Yeah, I mean, you don’t say no to Dana Holbrook,” Maxie says.
“Yeah, Dad,” my sister echoes, turning to Nate. “You do not say no to Dana Holbrook.”
“Wow, an NHL coach.” Dad pokes at his meat.
“You always wanted to be a coach after you retired, didn’t you, Dad?” my brother asks innocently. No one ever said hockey players were smart.
I try a distraction tactic. “Wow, this roast beef is perfectly cooked, Mom.”
My dad slowly sits down at the head of the table.
My mom loads up his plate then gives my brothers more meat, who attack their food like starving dogs.
“A new job for Ellie!”
“Why don’t we talk about literally anything else?” I say as I shovel cheesy potatoes in my mouth.
“Be proud! You’re the first female coach!” Mom hugs me.
“There’s that assistant coach in Winnipeg,” Angie says.
I nod. “See, not the first. Not a trailblazer.”
“Yeah, she’s an assistant. You’re the head-honcho coach. You call all the shots,” Gran boasts.
