Chapter 6 #2
“What about Tyler and Oliver? We’ve never changed family dinner for them, and there are stretches during their seasons when they can’t make it for weeks at a time.”
Sophie snorts. “If we changed family dinner because of their ridiculous schedules we’d never see each other. We don’t need them as much as we need you.”
Tyler lets out a low whistle, but his eyes are full of humor. “Harsh, Soph. Fucking harsh.”
Emmy shrugs. “Harsh but true, Ty Ty. No one on earth can keep up with the schedules of professional athletes.”
“And also, we just don’t want to,” Maya says breezily, and out of the corner of my eye, I see my brother scowl.
“Definitely not,” Caitlin says, shaking her head.
“We love you both to the moon, but we’ve long since given up on keeping track of where in the world you guys are at any given time.
When you’re here, we love it. When you’re not, we live to fight another day.
But you, on the other hand”—Caitlin leans her shoulder into mine—“you we’re keeping track of, and where you need to be is right here, with us, for family dinner.
Saturdays don’t work for you anymore, so we’re making a change. ”
My throat tightens with emotion. I’ve been in this family for more than two decades.
I know what it means to be a part of it.
To belong. To be known and understood by the very best people in the world.
But the scars from the seven years I spent moving from foster home to foster home before I finally came to live with my parents have never fully disappeared, and sometimes—like now, when my cousins and best friends change our longest standing tradition so I can still be a part of it—my brain takes me back to being a desperately sad, lonely kid who never felt like she had a place, and I feel those scars acutely.
My brother looks over at me and gives me a smile full of meaning.
He may be younger than I am, but I know he gets it.
That he understands this complexity that’s been a part of me as long as I can remember.
The one that’s mostly quiet but every now and then is very, very loud.
“Besides, you’re the best cook,” he says with a grin.
“If you’re not here to make our tacos, we’ll probably starve. ”
I give him a grateful smile, appreciating the way he changed the subject in my head just as much as I appreciate his quiet understanding. “I mean, I didn’t know we were family dinnering tonight, so I didn’t cook.”
“Don’t worry,” Jack says with a grin. “I called in reinforcements for tonight. They should be here any minute.”
“What kind of reinforcements?” I ask. Family dinner has pretty much always only been the eight of us, with the occasional appearance of a younger sibling or one of our Boston relatives when they’re in town.
Before Jack can respond, the door to the townhouse opens again, revealing who I assume are the reinforcements Jack was referring to.
“Hi, my babies!” Rachel Parker, in all her glory, strolls in with two grocery bags in each hand and a wide smile on her face as her eyes bounce around the room, taking us all in.
Rachel is Jack, Caitlin, and Tyler’s actual grandma, but she’s grandma to the rest of us too, having long since claimed us all as her own.
“I heard you have some dinner that needs to be made.”
“Did someone say tacos?” My dad, Jeremy, strolls in behind Rachel, carrying more grocery bags in one hand and a travel pitcher of what looks like margaritas in the other.
He flashes me a grin and a wink just like Oliver did earlier, and the way my little brother is a carbon copy of my dad never fails to make me smile.
“You called in Grandma and my dad to make us dinner?” I ask Jack.
“Fuck yeah, he did.” Tyler hops up to grab the bags from Rachel, kissing her on the cheek and turning towards the kitchen.
Maya grins at me. “Your dad makes tacos that are almost as good as yours, so obviously he needed to be our resident chef, and Grandma happened to be at your parents’ house when Jack called. Her FOMO kicked in and she insisted on coming.”
“I go where I want to go,” Rachel says breezily, walking around the room and dropping kisses on everyone’s heads before settling into the chair next to Sophie’s. “And where I wanted to go was right here, with all my favorite grandchildren for taco night.”
“Are you helping me make dinner?” my dad asks as he strolls back into the room.
Even in his fifties, Jeremy Wright is an imposing presence.
He still looks every inch the professional hockey player he once was, but to me, he’s just Dad.
The man I met when I was seven, who built me blanket forts and taught me how to make tacos.
Who read me bedtime stories and introduced me to ice skating and coached my hockey teams. Who gave me my first real nickname and loved me without reservations.
He is, undoubtedly, the best man I know.
Rachel scoffs. “Jer, you should know me better than that. I don’t cook when there’s a man around to do it for me. I’m just here for the entertainment.”
My dad laughs, hugging Oliver and then walking around the back of the sofa to wrap his arms around me from behind, kissing the top of my head.
“How you doing, Little Red?” he asks.
“Better now.” I lean back, soaking in the comforting warmth of his arms that, since I was seven, have meant home to me. “It was a long fucking week.”
“Saw you on TV on Sunday,” he says with a smile. “I didn’t know you would be on the sidelines.”
“Fuck yeah, we did!” Sarah hoots from her spot on the floor.
Maya leans over and bumps her shoulder with mine. “Our girl with her prime-time debut. I had a serious proud friend moment.”
“You?” Tyler asks. “What about me? I got to watch my girl on the sidelines in person. Talk about a proud friend moment.”
I roll my eyes at all of them. “It was a one o’clock game. Hardly prime time. Also, the second I showed up on TV, everyone in this room blew up my phone like I was just nominated for an Academy Award or something, so don’t act like this is the first time we’re talking about it.”
“We’re proud of you, Little Red,” my dad says, kissing my cheek and standing. “You worked really hard for this. I remember when you were twelve and you told me you wanted to be a sports psychologist. Now you’re doing it, and it’s a big fucking deal.”
My dad’s voice has an undercurrent of emotion, and while no one else probably hears it, I do.
His hockey career ended far too soon when a terrible injury forced him into early retirement.
I was with him when he stepped back onto the ice for the first time after fifteen years away from it, and watching him rediscover the thing he loves most made me want to do what I do.
To make sure that professional athletes never lose the thing that makes them happiest, even if they have to find a different way to do the thing.
“A huge fucking deal.” Rachel flashes me a wide grin, her blue eyes crinkling at the corners the way they do every time she looks at one of us.
Her family.
While my parents were the first people to teach me what it means to have a home, Rachel was the first person to show me what family can look like.
What it means to have a whole group of people who love you unconditionally and show up for you no matter what.
And because neither of my parents had that growing up either, in a way, the three of us learned together.
She might not be my grandmother by blood, but she is in every way that matters, and in this family, that’s what counts.
“Such a huge deal that we’re going to sit here right now while you tell us all about it. Except you.” She points at my dad. “There’s a kitchen over there calling your name, Jer, so get to it.”
“I’ll help!” Oliver says, jumping up from his chair.
“Good man.” My dad tosses an arm around his shoulders. “And don’t think I didn’t hear you say that my tacos are almost as good as Maddy’s, Maya Casey. Those are fighting words, especially considering I’m the one who taught her how to make tacos in the first place.”
Maya shrugs, giving my dad a sly smile. “I said what I said.”
My dad laughs and turns to head into the kitchen. “We’ll just see about that.”
As eight different conversations start at once, and the sounds of cooking drift out of the kitchen, my brain turns to the exact place it’s been on and off for the last week. The place I absolutely don’t want it to be. Or maybe I do? I don’t even know anymore.
My brain turns to Cam.
To the ease about him when he was with his kids.
The loneliness I saw in him during that first night.
I wonder whether he has people the way I do. And if he doesn’t, whether he wants them.
I wonder how he spends his nights after his kids go to bed. Whether he’s lonely because he’s actually alone.
I wonder how he might fit in with this group. With me. How we would be outside a hotel room or the confines of the stadium.
And despite the fact that those are the exact thoughts I absolutely cannot have, my brain won’t let them go. So just this once, with my favorite people sprawled around me, in one of my safest places, I let my mind run wild.
And I really, really like what I see.