Chapter 24 #2
“I know, James, it’s just hard sometimes.
She always knew how to get you out of your funk and inspire you.
Maybe she couldn’t fix the problems with your team, but she would have supported you in a way I’ll never be able to.
I’ll never understand what you go through as a goalie. I’m sorry I can’t give you that.”
Hearing of my dad’s own helplessness underscores my own. I was drowning in the series against LA. My team was wholly unprepared, and game after game, I pushed myself to the point of exhaustion to try to be the hero.
After game four’s horrific loss, I thought I had let everyone down. My mom, my team, Eric… even my dad, deep down. I thought if I could bring home the Cup, I could dedicate it to my mom, and somehow, naively, everything would be better.
But maybe I was wrong.
“Your mom and I just wanted you to be happy. If playing goalie makes you happy, then continue pursuing that dream. Don’t listen to what others say. You know in your heart you tried your best.”
“I wanted to win,” I mumble, screwing my eyes shut as hot tears slide down my face. “I wanted to win it all for her. I thought I left everything on the ice, but instead, I… I failed. Nothing I did mattered in the end.”
“It mattered, James. I know it doesn’t seem like it now, but I promise it did. You’ll learn something from this loss. You’ll find a way to grow. There will be other chances. We have tomorrows for a reason.”
My mom’s old motto she lived by. Between marrying a worry-wort and having a son who struggled with anxiety, she was always referencing it to keep the two most important people in her life steady. Tomorrow would always be a fresh start.
The physical distance is agonizing. Whenever I was sad as a boy, my dad would lift me up into his arms and give me a tight hug.
He would ruffle my hair and give me a kiss on the forehead, and even through my tears, his smile would make the clouds part.
I’m grateful we can talk over the phone, but I wish I could be beside him in person.
I could really use one of those big hugs.
Sometime later, when all the tears have been shed, my dad sniffles and blows his nose. He’s probably gone through a box of tissues this weekend thanks to me and my boneheaded decision, but maybe it’s for the best. Maybe everything happens for a reason.
“Do you want to come home for a while?” he asks, his voice a little stronger now. “I’m staying in the area this summer. We could go to Cape Cod and get some of that clam chowder you love so much.”
As much as I’d love to see my dad…
“I’m actually uh… I’m already on vacation. Staying just outside of Seattle.”
“Really! That’s quite the getaway. You didn’t tell me you had a place out there.”
“I don’t. I’m out here because… well, do you remember my teammate from All-Star Weekend? Eric Sinclair?”
“James, I think it’s impossible for me to forget Mr. Sinclair.”
“He invited me to come spend the summer with him to lie low and recharge.”
“Oh. I see.”
A long pause follows until my father takes another deep breath, causing me to brace myself for the question coming next.
“I’m glad you’re dating someone who’s able to take care of you.”
I blanche. “What? No, dad! We’re just friends! What would make you say that?”
“James.” The way he says my name makes my stomach flip. “Your mother and I knew. We’ve always known.”
Jesus Christ. How? For how long? What gave it away? I’ve never dated anyone, not even in secret. I’ve never given any inclination of my sexuality, except, well… I suppose you could make some assumptions based on my hockey collection, but they’re certainly only assumptions, right?
“What do you mean you both ‘always knew’?”
“James, you cried for weeks after the Jacobs family moved away. You and their son were very close. We just had a sense you had a little crush.” My dad whistles through his teeth. “And, well, the poster over your dorm room’s bed…”
I bite my lip to suppress my groan of embarrassment. If they’ve known, who else knows? Is this just a case of parents picking up on signs, or am I that obvious?
“James, it made no difference to us, that’s why we never said anything. Your preferences are your own. Your happiness and success has always been our number one priority. We love you no matter what.”
Coming out over a wellness check-up was never how I imagined this conversation would go…
My dad laughs sheepishly. “I mean, your mom and I, when we were in college, we both explored being open with our—”
“Don’t finish that sentence, please.”
“What I’m saying is you never need to be afraid of what we think.
You’ve never been one to read my articles, but if you had, you would know I’ve actually done extensive research about how many Transcendentalist poets were inspired by their lovers in addition to nature.
Many of them even experienced same sex attraction. ”
How is it every conversation with my dad somehow manages to detour towards his research and him nerding out over it.
“I’ve read the articles, dad.”
But reading and writing about famous poems and their wild sexual escapades is different from acknowledging a family member’s orientation.
He clears his throat. “What I’m saying is I’m relieved Mr. Sinclair—Eric—is looking after you. You shouldn’t spend the summer alone. Inviting you to stay with him is very generous. He must care about you deeply.”
I can’t push back against that. What Eric’s done has already helped in countless ways.
“He does, but I meant what I said before. We’re not together.”
But I wish we were. I wish Eric and I were dating, but we’re not. Thankfully, my dad doesn’t press the issue.
“So what are you and Eric planning to do around Seattle?”
“Eric’s taking me camping next weekend. We’ll be gone for a week.”
“That sounds fun and relaxing. I’m sure you both will have a great time, just make sure to pack sunscreen and mosquito repellant. Oh, and plenty of marshmallows for s’mores. Warm clothes, too. It probably still gets chilly at night, even during the summer.”
“Don’t worry dad, Eric has it all covered. He goes camping every year. We’re taking his trailer.”
“Good idea. Make sure to take plenty of pictures! Have fun, and remember, don’t overthink everything!”
I can’t help but roll my eyes. Overthinking is what two-thirds of the Harrison family does best.
“And I know you’re busy, I know you’ll want to enjoy your summer with Eric, but please check in every now and then.”
“I will. Love you, dad.”
“Love you too, James.”
The call ends, but I remain in the guest bedroom, holding my phone to my chest. I can picture my dad back in Massachusetts, likely sporting the same expression as me: rubbing his eyes, feeling tired and rough around the edges after such an emotional experience.
While I’m glad to have heard my dad’s voice again, I wish the circumstances prompting the call had been better.
We’ll talk again soon, probably after the trip.
Maybe every time we talk, we’ll work through a little more of our feelings and start healing together.
This year has been full of high highs and low lows.
We lost my mom over the summer last year.
We spent our first holiday season without her.
I was invited to play in my first All-Star Games.
I became close friends with Eric Sinclair.
I made it to the third round of the playoffs for the first time but ultimately lost. My head coach criticized me on live television.
Eric invited me to spend the offseason with him.
I’ve gone full circle, returning back to another summer.
What will the next year bring? Will it be filled with as much heartache?
My phone pings, and to my surprise, it’s not my dad sending a goodnight text, it’s Eric.
Eric
Everything alright?
I stare at my phone, fingers curled around it tight.
Yes and no. I’m split in two, as much exhausted by the phone call as I am relieved to have made progress with my dad.
Yet talking with him exposed all the lingering troubles bubbling under the surface.
My future with my team, let alone the league.
My grief over my mom, how I miss her every single day.
One phone call won’t erase all the hurt my dad and I are enduring overnight.
There’s still so much work my dad and I still have to do with repairing our relationship amidst our new normal.
And then there’s my relationship with Eric. My dad thought we were together, but we’re not. Eric’s friendship and compassion has been remarkable, but I’m greedy, needing him in so many other ways. My secret will always remain locked inside my chest as far as Eric’s concerned.
Thoughts of Eric cause me to glance back at the phone. I totally ghosted Eric, leaving him downstairs without an explanation. I told him I was only going to be away for a few minutes, but no doubt it’s been much, much longer while I talked with my dad.
Instead of answering his message, I return to the living room. The first episode of the TV show is still on, paused where we left it. Eric’s lounging on the couch with his legs propped up on an ottoman. He was browsing his phone while I was away.
When Eric notices me, his face falls, so I must look terrible.
“Come here,” he tells me, and I’m too broken up inside to resist. I go to him without hesitation, needing his solid presence more than I need air. He grabs a blanket bunched up beside him and spreads it across the both of us. To my shock, his arm drapes over my shoulder.
“Is this alright?”
The contact is overwhelming, but so, so desired, needed, craved, yearned for.
I curl into his chest and nod, too choked up to speak.
Eric pulls me closer, and I burrow into his side, seeking out his warmth, his familiar smell, the steady rhythm of his breathing and heartbeat—anything to serve as a distraction from the buzzing static in my head.
“I hate seeing you sad, James,” he murmurs, his soothing voice a much-needed balm.
I expect Eric to turn the show on again, but instead, he brushes his fingers through my hair with slow, steady strokes, causing my eyes to grow heavy. I try my best to keep them open, but eventually they flutter closed, and I fall asleep against Eric.