There’s no excuse for complaints even if my teammates hate me, even if management has no fucking clue how to put a team together and expect me to win alone on the ice, and even if Coach Rocco only seems to encourage my teammates’ asshole behavior.
I use the twenty-minute drive to Mom’s house to get my head on straight and remember everything I do have, just like she and Aunt Shell taught Vinny and me, and when we get there I thank Troy for the ride.
She’s right there before I even close the car door behind me, looking down at me from the front door with a sentimental smile on her perfect face. Her straight, perfectly sized nose does look better on her than on me. Her eyes are blue, unlike my green ones, but everything else is pretty much the same. Except for our size, of course.
“Hey, Mom.” I give her a crushing hug, and even though I’m half a foot taller than her, she somehow manages to envelop my whole body.
“My baby,” she croons in my ear. I don’t let go for a long moment, and maybe cling a little desperately, but she pulls back, holds me by the shoulders, and looks at me in that way that says I can see everything you’re trying to hide.
I manage not to fidget and keep smiling at her.
I’m never going to beat the momma’s boy allegations, but still, I don’t want her to feel like I need her all the time.
Some of the time is okay, I think. Some of the time is acceptable. But I can’t have her or Dad interfering in this at all.
I’ll find a way to deal with it, eventually. Hopefully soon.
“Come on in, Sam made you pot roast.”
“He did?” I ask. Any thoughts of my team are pushed aside at the thought of my favorite meal. “Did he add the little?—”
“Yes, he called Corinne so he could make it exactly like hers.”
“Man, I can’t wait.”
“Our chefs have a soft spot for you,” she murmurs and grips my arm as she leads me to the kitchen.
“It’s because hockey players appreciate food like few others,” I quip, and squeeze her hand quickly before looking up at the big kitchen and the short man mumbling to himself as he does three things at once it seems.
Chopping, stirring, checking the oven . . .
“Hey, Sam.” Maybe my cheerfulness is a smidge forced, but I’m choosing to ignore that for now.
“Hey, kid,” he mumbles without looking away from the big pot. “This’ll be ready in about two hours, so you can catch up.”
“Can’t wait!”
“Corinne only does one thing differently than me, so we’ll see if it’s any better.”
“A little bit of healthy competition never hurt anyone,” Mom muses.
I’m onto her, and I’m not going to take the bait.
“Is Michael here?” I ask her, ignoring her comment completely as she pulls me out of the kitchen and toward the stairs.
The comfortable family room with the big couches is on the second floor, where Michael’s and her room is too. The third floor is all Eli’s, and the fourth is where my bedroom and gym still are.
“Mmhm.” She nods. “So is Eli.”
I hum in response. I’ve never known how to navigate the wholeElithing with Mom, or with Michael, or with Eli if I’m honest.
The only person I’ve talked to about this at length is my older brother, Vinny, and “at length” is a stretch.
What is there to say?
I lived in this house for only two full years before I begged Mom to let me go to the same Juniors boarding school in Canada that Vinny went to, and that little amount of time living with Eli made things pretty clear for me.
My silence breaks her patience like it rarely does.
