Chapter 23
CHAPTER 23
R en
“Dominick! Over here!”
The shrill voice cuts through the air in a restaurant with its stone floors and industrial beams for a ceiling. In other words, the place is loud, but my mother is louder.
I follow the source of the voice, my eyes landing on a dyed eggplant shade of hair that I’ve never seen before. Interlacing Trix’s fingers with mine, I guide her through the Cheesecake Factory, noticing enormous salads, full-sized pizzas, and whole broiled chickens on the plates of the people in the room. Of course my mother chose this place. The menu is a fourteen-page book with every imaginable dish, but she plays this game where she can’t decide on one thing, so she orders two. Then she realizes she’s less hungry than she thought and has the waiter wrap everything up for the next two nights of dinner.
I’ve called her on it plenty of times and even offered to arrange a dinner delivery service for her because she hates to cook, but she won’t hear of it. She has her ways about certain things.
Trix isn’t wrong in her assessment of my mom, but she doesn’t need to worry. I won’t let anyone disparage Trix or make her feel like she’s in the wrong, least of all my own mother. But I’m still hoping the meal will go off without any drama.
I wave as we squeeze between two tables for eight to reach my mother’s outstretched arms. Trix’s grip on my hand borders on painful. My mother has already ordered her typical iced tea mixed with lemonade, but she hasn’t touched it, which means she’ll be sending it back.
Mom pushes her chair back and stands, absently stroking the top of her hair, which is shoulder length and wavy. The color matches her lipstick, her only bit of makeup, which makes her look more innocent than she is. There’s always an agenda, usually getting me to visit more often, even though she knows my schedule is nuts during hockey season.
“Hello, hello,” my mother says, reaching for me. I go in for a hug, and my mother pats me on the back and kisses the air next to my cheek. She never used to do that, but she’s been watching reruns of Dynasty, and now, it’s her standard greeting.
“And Beatrix, it’s been a long time. How are you doing?”
“I’m doing well. It’s so nice to see you, Mrs. Renaldi.”
“Please, it’s Ellen.” My mother smiles at Trix like she hung the sun and the moon. Maybe this will all be fine. My mom takes her seat, and I pull out a chair from Trix. “So, tell me everything. The team needs its chemistry, I can see that, but what else? Fill me in!”
I don’t want to bury the lead item for our visit, so I just blurt it out. “Trix and I are having a baby together.”
The din of restaurant chatter and silverware against dishes continues, and I’m grateful for the noise because our table has gone silent. Trix looks from me to my mother, who sits with a blank expression like she can’t have heard me correctly. She blinks slowly as a smile spreads across her face. Then she turns to Trix and looks from her face to her belly. “Is this true?”
Trix nods. “Yes. I’m just starting my second trimester.”
My mother makes jazz hands and stands up, coming around the table to hug me from behind. She does the same to Trix before fanning herself and sitting back down. “This was not what I was expecting. But I’m thrilled! Dominick, why did you keep this from me?”
“We wanted to tell you in person.” It’s not the entire truth. In part, I was avoiding telling my mom because I knew she’d have opinions. I just had no idea what they’d be.
“Well, glory be. I’m just tickled about your little bundle of joy.” My mom stirs her iced tea for longer than she needs to mix in some sugar.
Trix and I exchange glances, each of us letting out a sigh of relief. I guess that’s the magic a grandchild can bring. Based on my schedule, my commitment to hockey, and my refusal to date anyone seriously, my mother didn’t have high hopes for grandkids any time soon.
I look at Trix as if that’s evidence she has nothing to worry about, but the fear still creases her brow.
We take our places at the table, and I look from my mother to Trix and try to imagine what’s going through their heads. Curiosity? Competition? Détente?
My mother takes a tiny sip of her drink and pushes it to the edge of the table. “Too sweet,” she says, looking around for our waiter, even though she’s the one who just added a packet of sugar. She’ll now go through the ritual of having the waiter spill some of her drink out and add more iced tea until it reaches the right balance of flavor.
I think I did a good job of convincing Trix that lunch would be okay, but my insides are knotted like a pretzel. Trix isn’t wrong about my mother disliking her, but it was always more about my career than about her. My mom saw early on that hockey was my gold ticket to a good life, and she steamrolled anything or anyone that could get in the way. There were so many parties I missed during high school when I had training the next day. Proms I missed because she wouldn’t let me go. College graduation I skipped for a signing event in Canada.
Looking back, the sacrifices were worth it because they got me to where I am today. No one can argue with the trajectory of my career, and it’s hard to regret missing a high school party all these years later.
I only have one regret—losing Trix. I can’t blame my mother entirely, though she encouraged me to break things off. “You need to eliminate distractions, or you won’t make it in the pros,” she said back then. Trix was my biggest distraction, albeit a welcome one. But I had to let her go—not just for my future, but for hers. It was the right thing to do.
Our waiter brings my mother an entirely new drink, and she seems content. “This is good. Do you kids know what you want?”
“We haven’t looked yet.” I hand Trix a menu and scoot my chair closer to hers so we can look at it together. We each choose a salad, and my mom orders a pastrami sandwich with mustard and a side of potstickers.
There’s a lot of small talk about the team and its prospects, and I try to downplay the stress I’m under as captain. “It’ll take work, but we have what we need to win games. We’ll get there.”
“I hope so. The last game went well, but those earlier ones…” my mom says, looking to Trix for confirmation.
“Eyes on the future,” she says as the server brings our food. My mom asks for a to-go box before she even takes a bite.
Pushing her drink away, Mom leans toward Trix, her tone conspiratorial. “Well. I’d just like to propose a toast to you two and my future grandchild.” She looks around the table as if three champagne flutes will have appeared from nowhere and settles for raising her iced tea glass. Trix and I each pick up our water glasses .
My stomach lurches because I’m not sure what she’s planning to say, and with my mother, it could be almost anything.
“It’s sweet that you two found your way back to each other again. Honestly, with the way this one used to talk, I never thought I’d be a grandma. So thank you, dear, for roping him in.”
“That’s hardly how it went. I feel like I’m the lucky one here,” I say, putting my arm around Trix and hoping my mom will chill the hell out.
“Of course you do, sweetie. You always see the best in every situation.” She turns to Trix before either of us can unpack her statement. “Do you have any cravings? I always wanted ice cream.”
Trix smiles. “Me too. I think the baby’s going to come out asking for a chocolate sundae.”
“Or asking for a hockey stick,” my mom adds. “Wouldn’t be the worst thing. Sports are so good for children. It taught Dominick about perseverance and commitment, not that I need to tell you that. After all, here we are, and he’s doing what’s right.”
Her subtext has my stomach lurching and my heart thudding like I’ve spent an hour on the ice. Protectively, my hand shoots to Trix’s knee, which I rub reassuringly.
“I’m doing what makes me happy,” I clarify, more for Trix than for my mother. Maybe what my mom said didn’t strike Trix as badly as it sounded to me. But I feel the way her leg tenses up.
“I do appreciate his commitment.” Trix smiles sweetly at my mother and forks a piece of lettuce. “I appreciate all the facets of him, especially how hard he’s trying to find balance.”
“Balance?” My mother scrunches her face up as though she doesn’t recognize the concept.
“Yes.” Trix takes a bite of her salad and looks at my mom innocently. It’s like a duel between masters, and my vocal cords feel suddenly frozen.
“You mean back in the summer, before the preseason games?” Mom clarifies .
Trix shakes her head. “Even now. We see each other between games. It hasn’t been an issue.”
I know Trix thinks she’s telling my mom what she wants to hear—that I’ll be a good, devoted father because my entire life isn’t hockey. But I feel my blood drain at my mother’s disapproving scowl.
I feel a muscle in my jaw start to tick. I’m about to say something, but Trix grabs my hand under the table, and her eyes dart to mine, letting me know she’s got this. We’re fine.
“You okay?” she whispers, looking from my mom to me with wide eyes.
I simply nod, trying to think of a way to divert this conversation. My mother will always worry about me. She’ll think fatherhood is too much for me to juggle, and she’ll fear that I’m sabotaging my livelihood.
“Dominick, are you having this girl drive back and forth to Berkeley several days a week? That’s not going to be able to continue in her condition, you know,” she scolds.
“No, Mom. I’ve been spending time in Napa.”
My mother visibly flinches. She picks up her iced tea and takes a sip. She doesn’t need to say more. The implication is clear—I’m right back where I was ten years ago, a love-struck fool who’s jeopardizing his hockey future over a girl.
“I see,” my mom says, finally. “But what about the team? You have a big responsibility as captain, and you told me the team needs a lot from you.”
“They do, and I’m giving it to them. I’m handling it all.” It’s not entirely true, and I feel a pang of guilt over the team’s lack of focus and Barrington’s misplaced faith in me, but I won’t lose this woman to hockey a second time. “Have some faith in me, Mom. I’m happy. I intend to be a good dad. And I’m in love with an amazing woman. I’m handling it all, and I’ll continue to handle it all. Nothing is falling between the cracks with the team.” I sit back in my chair and inhale a slow breath to calm my nerves .
My mom’s face is a stern mask, one I know well. She worries about me. But I’m not twenty-two, and I don’t need her to sabotage my happiness. I’m about to become a dad. Why can’t she just let me have this?
“I understand your worry, Mrs. Renaldi. Ellen,” Trix inserts, clearly not wanting me to implode my relationship with my mom. “We both know Ren’s a standup guy. He won’t let the team down.”
Trix shifts in her chair so I can’t see her eyes, and she holds up her water glass for a toast.
“What are we toasting to?”
She clears her throat, and her voice comes out strong and unwavering. “To being a standup guy.”
“That he is.” My mother holds up her iced tea. “Cheers.”
Trix puts down her water glass and picks up her fork. I try again to catch her eye, but she stays focused on her meal. My mom doesn’t notice anything, but I can tell something’s bothering Trix.
“ You okay?” I whisper when my mom signals for the waiter to bring dessert menus.
She puts her hand on mine under the table and tilts her head to rest it on my shoulder. It’s not an answer, but it gets me through the rest of our lunch.