Chapter Twenty-One Jamie #2
There’s been local buzz about my decision to coach at the youth level, all positive for now.
It carries forward when I meet coworkers and players.
I’ve heard from several former pros—those I’ve played with and against—who have made the same decision after retirement.
Their encouragement has been universal. I’m grateful for the chance to connect to the hockey world in this different way.
I don’t see Harper a lot at first. She’s busy with the start of her school year, too.
As a second-year teacher, her workload is more overwhelming than Mateo’s.
Plus, Southern California traffic famously sucks, and we’re at least an hour away from each other.
The two of us meet for one dinner, but all four of us enjoy one amazing brunch.
We’re all looking forward to the holidays and more time together.
“You’re mumbling about Thanksgiving, and it’s not even Halloween yet,” Mateo says, his glasses low on his nose.
I love living with this older version of him.
He’s hot. It’s probably why I begged for a quickie ten minutes ago.
It's definitely why I begged even louder for him to keep the glasses on while I rode him. Now he’s made me return to my side of the bed so he can grade papers, but it’s fine. We can do it again tomorrow.
“I just can’t believe we get to have a holiday like this. Harper and Simon and his brothers and your parents and your sisters and their husbands and their kids and you and me.”
“You know, a lot of people go to therapy over spending a whole day with that many family members.”
“That’s why we’re not inviting my parents,” I point out.
I’ve only seen them once since moving back, and I thought maybe I had to introduce them to Mateo then. He’d kissed me senseless and reminded me that if we waited so long for us to have this, then they can wait a little while to know about it.
Time is finally on our side, in at least a couple of ways.
Mateo and I have the relationship we’ve wanted all along, without rules or reservations.
Whatever years we lost figuring this thing out, the rest of our lives are still ahead of us, and we get to share them now. Out loud. In front of everyone.
But it’s been almost 15 years since I was the league’s favorite hero and villain.
Maybe predictably, distance has given us space.
As much as I’ve been around—commentating, autographing, and coaching—my name has become a hotter commodity than my face or my ego.
There’s always been another good-looking hockey player to splash on ads.
Some have had the attitudes that keep post-game interviews interesting, a handful of them taking my place over the past decade and a half.
All of it means I don’t get recognized by the public like I used to, and sports media simply doesn’t care what I’m doing if it won’t earn them a click.
Out loud and in front of everyone isn’t what it would’ve been way back then.
Yet.
Those first few months—including a perfectly loud Thanksgiving at our house—go so smoothly that I decide to make reservations at Mateo’s favorite Italian restaurant the week before Christmas, and I follow that up by extending an invitation for my parents to join us.
Mateo hums. “A public spectacle will raise the chance of someone noticing it’s you—and me, with you.”
I smile at him even though he can’t see me. We’ve both had long days, me with my kids and him with his. He’s bending over to put some kind of casserole in the oven so we can enjoy a hot dinner before we inevitably crash. The view is distracting, but he stands in time for me to respond.
“That’s the point,” I say. “They care too much about appearances to cause a scene.”
Mateo nods. “So, they might be upset with you for putting your reputation on the line by having a relationship with me, but they won’t call attention to your relationship with me and be the ones to put your reputation on the line.”
“Exactly.”
And it happens, more or less, just like that.
He and I are the hottest couple at the restaurant, but we don’t advertise it.
Being able to love each other openly means we often don’t.
I’m not sure I would’ve predicted that when we were so busy hiding.
I think maybe he’s taught me how to live without needing an audience.
Or maybe I’m finally old enough to have figured out how to stop caring, all on my own.
Either way, my hand is pressed to the small of Mateo’s back as we follow the hostess toward our table, but I’m not touching him when the four of us listen to the specials and order a bottle of wine.
A kiss could’ve made our point, but I fumble through an explanation instead.
A lot about how much Mateo and I love each other.
Very little about how much we fucked up along the way.
My dad’s fist clenches around a fork he doesn’t need yet when he finds out we’re living together.
My mom narrows her eyes when I tell them I moved back home just to make that possible.
They warn me about the potential consequences—about how many people who've said they love me could hate me instead.
Mateo very gently suggests they not become the first two on that list. At the end of an awkward meal, they say goodnight to me and shake the hand of my friend.
Spending so much time with the Zavalas before and after that dinner should hurt somehow.
The comparison between our families is striking when I watch Mateo be embraced by such unconditional love.
But grieving the loss of something I’ve never had is impossible when his family turns and welcomes me with that same unfamiliar thing.
I'm adored through cookies and carols, a church I only know through its carnival and funerals, and gifts that mean more than most of what I’ve been given before.
I overhear Logan’s name once. Somehow, I don’t feel any less loved.
Then, just days after my parents first met Mateo, and after almost 36 hours straight with his family, we go to Christmas dinner at my childhood home.
Harper and Simon meet us there, as does a pretty blonde woman I don’t know.
I really hope she’s not joining us for the reason I think she is.
Then it becomes pretty clear pretty quickly that hope is a foolish thing for me to have brought to my parents’ house.
She and I are introduced smoothly and seated next to each other.
Mateo's across from me and next to my daughter. The woman’s a flirt, and my mom encourages it.
Simon redirects her attention whenever he can.
Mateo stays quiet because he won't fight this battle for me. My dad also stays quiet, but his fork is clutched as tightly as it had been a week ago. I’m trying to get through one bite after another because it feels like the best way to survive.
Harper, however, has had enough.
“What is going on here, grandma? Grandpa?” she asks.
“Why would you do this? Why would you invite a stranger—no offense—to Christmas dinner, as if you didn’t already know my dad and Mateo would be here together?
Did last week freak you out so much that you had to make some weird attempt at damage control for something that isn’t damaged? ”
I open my mouth, but Mateo subtly shakes his head. She’s not a little girl anymore.
“Oh, dear, there’s nothing freaking us out,” my mom says. “We understand your dad has a new friend, but it would be a great idea for him to have one more. A friend who won’t undo everything he worked hard for his entire life.”
Harper rolls her eyes. “Nothing is being undone. Nobody’s going to scratch his name off the Cup or kick him out of the Hall of Fame.”
“But the press—”
“Fuck the press,” Harper spits. “No offense—again—but dad and Mateo have been in love since I was 14, and this is our first Christmas as a family, and I hate that. I hate that we haven’t already done this for years.
But we’re here now, and you’re going to keep calling them friends because you’re worried that—what?
The hockey world will turn on him when they find out he’s queer, and you’ll realize you wasted decades not getting to know your own son off the goddamn ice?
Because I think you could still get to know him now, but you’ll need to get to know Mateo, too. He’s not going anywhere.”
My mom says nothing. My dad continues to say nothing.
The flirty blonde excuses herself soon after that.
Harper, Simon, Mateo, and I excuse ourselves soon after that.
The four of us end up back at our house for a little bit of hot chocolate and a lot of Bailey's before we all crash. Harper helps Mateo out with soccer practice the next afternoon. We don’t see Harper and Simon again until my birthday.
Everything changes about a month after that.
Mateo and I have continued to live weightlessly.
I’ve never completely forgotten the morning I choked down a breakfast sandwich made by my best friend, so I try hard to give myself credit for how far I’ve come.
I try hard to celebrate the distance we've put between us and the secrets we used to keep.
We still hang out with Kai and Sophie, but we don’t sneak away for dates up and down the coast. We enjoy local concerts and dinners and movies without a foot of space between us.
I show up at some high school soccer games.
He shows up for some youth hockey. I’m sure plenty of people assume we’re a couple.
Outside of my job, I’m not sure anyone’s noticed I’m me, and our respective seasons come to uneventful ends.
In hindsight, it’s probably why we got stupid. Or just complacent, I guess. Or, no. We’re stupid.