Chapter 8
Eight. Tough shit, kid
Patrick
There are expectations when you win a medal at a big sporting event.
Like spending few days in Delhi, meeting with the Prime Minister and President, posing like assholes with our medals and talking to every journalist who said we’d never make it.
The media likes rubbing in the fact that we only won bronze, but I very kindly remind them they don’t have a single sporting medal to their name so they should shut the fuck up.
The Indian Hockey Association PR person didn’t like me saying that, but he knew better than to try and correct me every time.
Just when I think I’m done socialising and can get to my baby mama, another set of meetings are tossed my way.
When Tamara told me about the baby, I called Parth and accepted the coaching gig.
It gives me a reason to be in Chennai and even if I don’t know what this relationship is going to be like, I’m in the same city if she needs me.
And Elias offered me his guest bedroom so I have somewhere to stay.
I met with the League of Hockey Tournament officials to sign papers and get all the information about the Tamil Nadu Thunder.
The rules and regulations are similar to what I’ve followed my entire hockey career, but I sit quietly as they lecture me about the tournament and requirements for eligibility.
Then I’m on the first flight home, to Bangalore.
Every time Tamara and I talked in the last few days, I’ve almost brought up that I’m moving to her city.
I know better than to have this conversation on the phone; she can hang up on me and never answer my call again.
If I show up in person, she has no excuse.
She’s fiercely independent and doesn’t need me hanging around through this pregnancy.
What she doesn’t realise is I want to be there.
I haven’t said the words to her in years, but she’s always been my girl.
Even with the animosity and tension between us, and the time we’ve spent apart. Tamara Chandy is mine.
I’d love to remind her of that.
Tamara
Will you be here early September for the first trimester scan?
Me
I plan to be there by tomorrow.
Tamara
Finished fake smiling, huh?
You’ve been keeping track.
Tamara
Your face is all over the internet, every escape attempt has been foiled
You can admit you like seeing my face. I won’t tell anyone.
Tamara
I really hope this baby doesn’t inherit your ego. There isn’t enough room inside me.
Hope there’s enough room for me in there, Lotus.
They’re going to be unbelievably good looking, that much I can tell you.
Tamara
You’re ridiculous. I’ll let you know what day our appointment is.
Chuckling, I send her a thumbs up and toss my phone onto my bed.
Two suitcases are stuffed with all my clothes and necessities.
The rest of the apartment is sparse to begin with.
There’s a bed, couch, a large flat screen TV, kitchen cupboards full of random things and not much else.
Being a professional athlete who travels all over the world means I barely spend much time here.
I still paid the rent for the next six months, in case things in Chennai don’t go as planned and I need to hide somewhere.
My phone buzzes again and I smile as I reach for it, expecting it to be Tamara, but it’s Dominic. I sigh dramatically and then walk out of the bedroom as I answer the call.
“Dom.”
“You didn’t forget your session, did you?”
“I’m a busy guy.”
He laughs and I sit on the couch. “Are you back at home?”
“Got in last night. Packing up my things and heading out tomorrow.”
“How are you feeling?”
“Good. Better. Haven’t had another panic attack.”
I don’t know if everyone thinks about marriage and babies when they’re young, but it was never on my list of things I wanted to do when I got older.
As cousins and friends welcomed spouses and children into the world, it never once occurred to me I could have that.
I was raised by two incredible men—my father and grandfather—but it didn’t make me think about how I’d like to do that one day too.
I don’t know the first thing about being a good parent, even with the best role models, but there’s no guarantee I will fail or succeed at this one job.
What I do know is I’m going to try.
I want to be there for Tamara, I want to give this a shot for our unborn kid. There’s a part of me that’s still terrified this is going to blow up in my face, but I can turn to my father for advice. I can read all the books, hope Tamara knows what she’s doing and learn from her.
Most importantly, I want to be good enough for her and our kid.
“That’s good. Have the two of you talked about what the next few months will look like?”
Even though he can’t see me, I shake my head and consider how complicated it’s going to be.
Once I get to Chennai, we need to talk and figure out the future.
I want to be there for as many things as she’ll let me and that means possibly forcing myself into her life more than she wants.
But I’m going to take it all one day at a time.
“I didn’t want to do it over the phone. She knows I’m going to be there, just not why.”
“You didn’t tell her about the coaching gig?”
I didn’t tell Tamara a lot of things and that was definitely at the bottom of my list. “Another thing I thought we should do face-to-face, right? She doesn’t need me during this pregnancy, but I want to be there with her. For her. For the baby. I don’t want to ambush her.”
Tilting my head back against the sofa, I think about how all these conversations are going to go.
She’ll yell and get angry, I’ll attempt to be cute and pacify.
Which will make her angrier and then maybe we can indulge in some hate sex.
Wishful thinking, buddy. I grunt and scrub a hand over my face.
As much as I want to fuck her again, want to remind myself how good she feels, that’s a line we can’t cross.
“All right. How do you feel about the LHT?”
“Unclear,” I admit with a heavy sigh. “I signed the papers in Delhi, got an earful of information I’ve already forgotten. Meeting the team and management next week.”
“Are you excited?”
“I guess.”
“That’s not a glowing endorsement, Pat.”
“Look, I’m excited they’re trying to do more with hockey and getting people interested.
But it’s still hockey. We’re competing with the likes of football and cricket and in this country, even winning a bronze medal means squat,” I snap and close my eyes when I realise I fell into the damn trap.
Talking about hockey and how little attention we get always riles me up.
I hear the smile in Dom’s voice as he says, “I was waiting for you to break.”
“You’re an asshole.”
He laughs at my frustration. One of my biggest issues with hockey is the sports obscurity in India.
We can win medals at every global sporting event and people will still overlook hockey for cricket.
I don’t resent my brother for the sport he chose; I wish more people gave a shit about us.
Thanks to him and Vera posting about the matches on social media and their viewing parties on Instagram, people were aware.
But there’s no way for us to calculate how many people actually watched. Or even care about the sport.
I’m getting paid and invitations to play on bigger platforms irrespective of how many fans we have. But I want folks to be interested. I want them to buy our jerseys, make us famous and spread the word. I doubt it’ll happen in my lifetime.
“Okay, here’s what I want you to do,” Dom says in his serious therapist voice.
“Once you’ve talked to Tamara and met with the team and management, I want you to write down your plan for the next twelve months.
Make sure it includes everything, personal and professional.
And we’ll talk about it in your next session. ”
“I hate homework, Dom.”
“Tough shit, kid. You’re going through so many changes at once and we have to make sure we identify your triggers before they happen. These changes are good, but you need to get ahead of them.”
“Fine.”
We say our goodbyes, but I don’t move from the couch.
I think over all the things we’ve talked about.
Dom doesn’t mollycoddle, so at the mention of probably not being a good father, he asked me why.
He never once tried to comfort me, but kept pushing me to identify the reasons behind it.
Even now, I’m unclear whether it’s my depression and anxiety or the worry Tamara will never look at me the same way again or if I just don’t trust my ability to be anything more than I am.
I hope that before this baby comes into the world, I can figure it out.
Twenty-four hours later, I’m standing in the guest bathroom at Elias’s house.
It’s as basic as my flat—a bed, a large built-in wardrobe and a spacious bathroom.
Which is perfect. I caught the early morning train from Bangalore so I’d get to Chennai and have enough time to rest before going to see Tamara.
Unfortunately, I picked the same day she’s getting together with her girlfriends.
Elias invited their partners too, so when I show up, it’s not awkward. Things could still go either direction.
Elias wasn’t home when I got there, but I had the most delicious lunch courtesy of Mariammachechi1.
Growing up, she and her husband, Kuriakose, were a big part of our family.
I spent a lot of time with them after Elias was born and my mother was busy.
When he moved to Chennai to join the Renegades ICL team, Kuriakose moved with him as his driver.
A few weeks ago, his wife joined him, and now they share the house Elias built for them in the back of his property.
A heavy lunch, coupled with my jet lag and exhaustion, I was knocked out for a long nap. I woke up groggy and cranky, and hoped the shower would help. Staring at my reflection in the bathroom mirror, I’m not sure it did. I’m still tired and my head is heavy. At least I’m awake.
I dry my hair, tie it up in a knot and trim my beard before getting dressed.
I let my beard grow out this year, as some kind of good luck charm, but given that it grows way too fast, I have to keep trimming it.
I can’t remember my face without the beard and I definitely don’t want to know.
Wallet and phone in hand, I check the address for where I’m meeting them.
And make sure to take the box with my medal.
Despite it being a weekday, the traffic is ridiculous, but when we finally pull up outside the bar, I wish I was still inside the cab.
Chennai is known for its heat and even though I spent years here as a kid, I don’t remember it being this miserable.
The queue outside Yesterday, a retro bar, is long and winding.
I text my brother to let him know I’ve arrived and seconds later, the door swings open to reveal Vera.
I grin at the sight of her and am once again shocked my brother scored himself such a beautiful woman.
It’s packed inside. At least the temperature has dropped a couple of degrees, thanks to the centralised AC.
I take in the sepia toned art and vinyls on the walls.
While I can’t identify the song, I know it’s something my father listens to.
Vera leads me to the table and introduces me to her friends—Krystina and Venkat, Millicent and Jonathan—and they’re excited because they know who I am.
Elias gives me a hug and I pat my brother on the back.
It’s been three months since I saw him and he’s changed so much, mostly thanks to the love of a good woman.
Being back on the field and winning the ICL championship must help too.
I notice two empty chairs at the other end of the table and my smile falters. I look around and then back at my brother. “Where is she?”
“Uh…around?”
I narrow my eyes and Vera clears her throat, nodding at something over my shoulder. I turn and a growl slips out of me. “This fucking woman,” I mutter under my breath.
She’s standing too close to some asshole aggressively reaching for her.
Anger is my first emotion and it hits me instantly that I’m being silly and irrational.
Do I have the right to be angry with her?
I shake my head as I walk over, cataloguing her outfit—long skirt, full-sleeved crop top with a deep back and sneakers, her curly hair is in a high ponytail, flaunting the lotus tattooed between her shoulder blades.
The very same tattoo I kissed not too long ago. Wonder if this douchebag knows that.
“I’d really like it if you took your hands off me,” she says as I get closer, attempting to scoot away from the guy. He sneers and reaches for her again. “Seriously, dude. Back the fuck up.”
He laughs. “Come on, darling. You were flirting with me a few minutes ago. What changed?”
“I think someone needs a dictionary, I was just getting myself a drink.”
“Don’t be a cock-tease,” he groans and reaches for her hip.
I step up behind her and grab his hand before he can make contact. His eyes snap to mine and he snarls, but I tighten my grip. “You heard the lady. Now be a decent fucking human and get the fuck away from my wife.”
Tamara sucks in a sharp breath and turns to face me, her shoulder pressing against my chest. The asshole winces and tries to pull away, but I don’t let go. Instead, my attention shifts to her and I notice she’s not wearing a lick of makeup. And her eyes? A mixture of lust and frustration.
I finally release the guy. He swears under his breath, but scuttles away. Grinning, I say, “Hey, Lotus.”