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I top the bread with cheese and broil them in the toaster oven. Once they’re done, I cut them in half, top them with a thin slice of fresh tomato, and finish with a sprinkle of salt and pepper.
“How was pick-up hockey? Did you have fun?” I hear all the unasked questions in her worried tone, like, how much did it cost?
I hand her a plate and sit at the other end of the couch. “Yeah. It was free, and it was at the new arena. You know the one the retired hockey players built?”
Her eyes flare. “You mean the real nice one on the edge of town?”
“Yeah, that’s the one. Got my skates sharpened for free and everything.”
She nibbles on the edge of her toast, expression growing pinched. “You didn’t tell them you couldn’t afford it, did you?”
“No, Mom. It’s just the way they run things there. You remember the lady I told you about who works at the library? Clover? She runs the literacy program attached to the shelter. She’s new, though.” I take a bite of the cheese toast, chewing slowly to savor it.
She makes a face. “Doesn’t matter if she’s new. She still probably thinks she knows stuff about our family.”
“They’re not allowed to talk about the families who use the shelter, Mom.” June and July can be bad for thunderstorms around here. Sometimes we had to leave the trailer for a couple of days when the rain washed us out. Then it took a few days for everything to dry afterward. Dad never came with us, opting to crash on a friend’s couch instead. But since my grandma passed away and left Mom the cabin, we won’t have to do that anymore.
We won’t have to worry about ending up in the trailer for missing rent too many times either, since the cabin is paid for, and it’s in my mom’s name. Grandma wasn’t fond of my dad. But we have to stay on top of the property taxes and the electric bill so we don’t lose hot water or heat in the winter. There’s a wood-burning fireplace, though, so at least we’ll always have some warmth. Mom was able to cover the property taxes for the year with the little my grandma had in savings, so we have until January before we have to worry about that again.
“Just because they’re not allowed doesn’t mean they don’t.”
“Anyway,” I redirect the conversation. “Her boyfriend coaches over at the new arena. His name is Maverick, and his dad is one of the retired hockey players. I met him tonight.”
“Oh yeah?” Her eyes narrow, and jealousy leaches into her tone. “Those guys are made of money. Always driving brand-new cars and riding around the lake in fancy boats.”
She would shit a brick if she knew how close I’d been to denting one of those fancy cars. “I guess when you have a lot of disposable income, you can do that kind of thing.” I swallow, nervous about this next part. “Anyway, I shot the puck with them tonight, the retired players. It was really cool.”
Her jealousy turns to worry. “Be careful hanging out with those people, Winter. You’ll start wanting things you can’t have. We can’t afford hockey right now. It’s too expensive. We’re barely getting by as it is.”
“Yeah, I know, Mom.” I take another bite of my toast and swallow the rest of my words. I already want things I shouldn’t—one of them being BJ. Another is to play hockey with them again.
It doesn’t matter what I say or how I say it, to her and my dad, hockey is an expensive waste of time. So I keep the biggest news to myself: that Alex Waters and Randy Ballistic offered me an opportunity to try out for a spot in their program, that they see real potential in me. That it’s subsidized.
That’s the part I need to find out more about. Because even if I don’t have to pay for the things I can’t afford, hockey takes up a lot of time, and there are only so many hours in a day. I still have school and work, and those are my top priorities.
I finish my toast while Mom tells me about her shift at the diner. It’s always the same. The teenagers are rude, and half the time they don’t tip. I hope Lovey and Rose don’t fit into that category. Although, mom was already home by the time they got to the diner.
When she’s gotten it all out, I excuse myself to my room and get ready for bed. When I put my phone on the charger, I notice new messages. There’s one from Rose telling me she’ll see me at Boones in the morning and she’s glad I came out tonight.
Under that are several from BJ. My stomach does a somersault and my throat tightens as I open the thread.
Hey, Snowflake.
It’s followed by several more:
I have private ice time tomorrow afternoon.
Four o’clock. Same rink as tonight.
A gif of a guy getting checked into the boards follows. And then:
I’d love it if you’d join me. *fingers crossed*
A grin forms. I don’t answer his messages, even though my thumbs are itching to. Better to wait until morning, give him time to stew in his uncertainty and me to marinate in mine.
6 PERSISTENCE AND PAYOFF
BJ
