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My alarmon my phone alerts me to the time.
“Want to come sit outside with me? I need to get Tillie from the bus.”
“Sure. How is that little cutie anyway?”
“She’s great, growing taller every day. Do you want some water or a soda?” I grab my bottle from the counter.
“No, thanks. I’m all set. Ryan fed me lunch.”
“Your brother cooks better than anyone I know. I blame the size of my ass on him.”
Wendy laughs. “If I lived closer, I’d be over all the time to mooch meals.”
Passing through the mudroom, I slip some flip flops on before we step outside and walk to the front lawn. We each sit in an Adirondack chair and put our feet up on the footrests.
The sun pleasantly warms the top of my head. “I love early March. Spring is coming and it’s the perfect weather to be outside without it being too hot.”
Wendy gives a small shiver. “It’s still a little chilly for me, but it sure beats winter. Is Tillie doing any sports or activities?”
I groan and turn my head toward Wendy. “She wants to learn to ice skate.”
“Of course she does.” She snickers.
“It’s not funny.”
“Yeah, it kind of is. Besides, did you really think with your father coaching an NHL team for her entire life, she wouldn’t be interested in learning to skate at some point?”
“I haven’t given much thought to it at all. I don’t think about my dad’s job. And I certainly don’t think about hockey or hockey players. I could bump into the entire Charleston Coyotes team and I probably wouldn’t know a single one. Unless they’ve been on the team for ten plus years.”
“Is that how long it’s been since you went to a game?”
“Yep. I was fourteen and still holding out hope that my dad would notice me and suddenly start acting like a loving parent. But he didn’t. He’s always chosen his smelly-ass hockey team first, and he always will.”
Wendy laughs.
“What?” I ask.
“Smelly-ass hockey team.” She continues laughing.
“It’s not a secret that hockey players stink. If I think about it too much, I can recall their exact scent. It’s an overpowering combination of cheesy feet and sweaty pits mixed together. And the craziest thing of all is, I could smell them the minute they walked into the ice rink. I’m talking about before they got dressed in their gear or had even worked out. I’m assuming their pads are part of why they reek, but if that’s the case, why don’t they spray them with some disinfectant or something? Do they like to smell awful?”
“I’m sure there are new ways to clean their gear. It’s been ten years since you were there. Maybe they smell better now,” Wendy says.
“I doubt it.” My eyes briefly squeeze shut like I’m in pain. “Bleh.” I could literally gag from thinking about it. I shake my head, trying to rid myself of the memories.
“Well, when you take Tillie to skating lessons, you can do some research on whether hockey players still stink,” Wendy suggests with a mischievous bent.
“She can learn when she’s old enough to drive herself. I’m not taking the chance she’ll want to play hockey. My dad would no doubt stick his nose in and push her in that direction. I always tell her she can be anything she wants, but I draw the line at her playing hockey.”
The yellow bus pulls up, stopping in front of the house. I wave to the driver as Tillie comes down the stairs. Once she’s on the sidewalk, she yells, “Auntie Wendy,” and runs over to us. I get a quick hug before she’s jumping into Wendy’s lap.
“How’s my little Tillie Bean?”
“I’m not a bean, Auntie Wendy.”
“Are you sure about that? You’ve always been my little Tillie Bean and you always will be”
Tillie places her hands on Wendy’s cheeks, making sure all her focus is centered on her. “I’m not a little Tillie Bean. I’m just Tillie.”
