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“Whatdon’tI want on it? Hockey sticks, obviously. A puppy face. Pizza. Michigan. The date we got married, ’cause I already forgot it.”
I start laughing and can’t stop until my stomach hurts and there are tears in my eyes. God, I love this man and the way his ridiculous mind works.
“Okay, the date is a good idea,” I concede.
“Come eat,” Grandpa calls, setting plates on the table. Brendon gets off the floor and offers me a hand up. Without a word, Brendon moves the chairs so we’re sitting next to each other and he can hook his leg over mine.
Brendon starts telling me about the eggs we’re eating—he collected them and is very proud—how the color of the yoke is an indication of what the birds are eating, and the taste can change depending on their diet. All of a sudden, he’s a chicken guru, and it makes me smile. I grew up with chickens; I’m well aware of what he’s telling me, but I won’t stop him from sharing what he’s learned. He’s excited about it, and I want to share in that with him.
Once everyone is done eating, I start clearing the table since it was usually my job growing up anyway.
“Since I was out with Gramps this morning doing men’s work, you can clean up,” Brendon says with the fakest straight face I’ve ever seen.
“Men’s work?” I scoff, picking up his plate. “You mean checking for eggs?”
“Mmhmm.”
“You realize that is typically a child’s job, right?” I laugh at his scandalized expression.
Grandma and I get the dishes done and the kitchen cleaned up pretty quickly while Brendon falls asleep on the couch. We should be doing some kind of workout stuff while in the off season, but we’re tired. I’ll get him back in the gym when we get back to Denver.
The mailman pulls up to the box at the end of the driveway and stops. He opens his door and steps out, coming toward the house.
“Grandma, Mr. Phillips is coming to the door.” She’s had the same mailman for twenty years.
I open the door, and he smiles at me.
“Hey there, Pauly. I found this in the mailbox and didn’t want it to get lost.” He hands me what looks like a metal wedding ring with a piece of receipt tape with words scribbled on it in pen.
“Oh, thanks.” I take them from him, confused when I see my dad’s handwriting.
Paul-
I’ve followed your hockey career for years. I loved your mother more than I loved my own life. I hope you can forgive me.
Dad
I stare at the ring in my hand that I never saw my dad take off. The silver band doesn’t look like much, but it has a story to tell. The story of a man who lost himself in grief.
I don’t know what this means, if it’s his way of extending an olive branch or his way of saying goodbye, and that hurts. As hurt as I am by his actions, I hope we can repair some of the damage and maybe start over.
Grandma rubs my back, reading the note in my hand, and she closes my fingers around the ring.
“I think your mom would love to have you wear that. It was a symbol of a promise he never broke.”
I give her a hug, the metal warming in my palm.
“I’ll think about it.”
She pats my back, and I sit on the couch next to my husband and puppy. Brendon stirs and shifts, leaning against me, and falls back asleep. Seymour grumbles and lays his head on my leg.
I don’t know how I expected my life to go or where I would end up. I definitely didn’t expect to be married to Brendon, but nothing and no one is more perfect than this moment.
40
June
Brendon
