Chapter Three
EDDIE
By the time I finally get my key in the lock, my spine feels like someone replaced a handful of vertebrae with dry spaghetti.
The shift had been long, chaotic, and the kind of emotionally draining where you don’t even realize you skipped lunch until you’re halfway home and threatening to pull into a drive-thru like a feral raccoon.
The door clicks behind me, and I let my whole-body sag forward.
I’m home, I call out weakly.
No response.
I let out a long breath of relief. I was half expecting Joey to be glued to the TV, playing one of his video games and trying to make a dash for his room at being caught. This silence means that he actually might have gone to bed at a reasonable hour.
I’m trying to give him more responsibility. Trying being the operative word. It’s been him and me, just us, for a very long time, and watching him become more independent and wanting to spread his wings has been both an absolute pleasure and a kick to the gut.
He’s a teenager now, growing every day, changing and discovering who he is, while I stay the same, watching from the sidelines…or whatever distance he finds the least embarrassing.
I kick off my shoes, ignoring the mountain of mail on the console table, and let myself fall, face first, onto the couch. My muscles sigh in relief. My bones applaud. Even my hair gives up and settles into the nearest throw pillow. It’s pure bliss being off my feet.
I close my eyes for one glorious second.
Then I hear, heavy footsteps stomp down the hallway. I take a deep inhale, preparing myself for what version of my grumpy teenager I’m about to get tonight.
Joey appears in the doorway, hair sticking up, cheeks flushed, and wearing pajamas that are too small for his growing frame.
I press my lips together to stop the laugh, my heart melting at the sight of him.
He looks so cute. The long-sleeve top is stretched over his chest, the hemline hovering just above his cotton pants so that you can see a section of his stomach.
And oh my God, his pants! They stop mid-shin. Too short for his teenage height.
The pajamas need to be thrown out, but every time I bring it up, Joey insists they’re were fine.
Every now and then, I get a peek of my once sensitive boy through the moody hormones, and my heart swells.
These pajamas hold sentimental value for him.
He would never admit it, but I know. So if he wants to keep them and keep looking like the Incredible Hulk expanding out of his clothes—fine.
Mom? he asks, rubbing one eye.
I melt instantly. Hey, buddy. Shouldn’t you be in bed?
I was, he emphasizes, but I heard the door. He shuffles toward me, climbing onto the sofa beside me but keeping enough distance that it can’t be considered cuddling.
Did you have a wild night? I ask, trying to brighten his mood. My hand reaches out, itching to brush his curls back off his face. He darts out of reach, giving me a squinty glare.
No. Just played Xbox, then ate the pizza you left in the microwave.
I wait for him to tell me more, but he stays silent. I guess that’s it.
Did Mr. Alverez come by to check on you?
I know the instant the words are out of my mouth, asking about our neighbour, that I’ve made a mistake.
I don’t need a babysitter. I can take care of myself.
I know you can, Joey, but it gives me peace of mind while I’m working that someone else is looking out for you.
Whatever, he grumbles, scrunching his face up, then goes to rub both eyes. He stopped by but didn’t stay long. He slides back off the sofa, already turning toward the hallway again. ’Kay, I’m going back to bed. Remember to set your alarm.
I blink, stunned. Why is he telling me to set an alarm? My alarm? Why?
He pauses, confused by my confusion. For practice tomorrow.
My soul tries to leave my body. Practice? I repeat, stalling for time. Are you sure? It’s—uh—Sunday. This can’t be right. Sundays are my day off. My day of rest and binge eating while I watch dumb reality shows.
Joey gives me a look that could only be described as Mother, please. Not practice-practice. The charity thing. Goals for Good.
What charity thing is he talking about? I search my brain, trying to find the answer. I catch Joey’s eye, and the look he’s giving me has my shoulders going tight with tension.
Goals for Good…Oh! Yes! The mental health fundraiser his team volunteered for. At the community centre. With a rotating schedule of parents supervising. Parents like…
I groan. Sweetheart, remind me what exactly ‘the charity thing’ involves.
You said we had to go early, he chirps. Because it gets busy. And my favourite player is gonna be there. Remember? You’re doing drinks or whatever and my team is teaching skating techniques to the younger players. Remember, he says again with more bite to his words.
Oh no.
Alright, Joey. Tone down the attitude for a second, will you?
I just got off work, and my brain is tired.
I remember now, yes. I take a deep breath, needing a second to compose myself.
And who did you say was going to be there again?
I ask weakly, blanking on who his current favourite is. It changes every hockey season.
Sidney Crane! Joey whisper-shouts, as if invoking a sacred name.
I close my eyes. Past Eddie was a fool. A reckless, overly optimistic fool who clearly believed Future Eddie would have eight hours of sleep, no lower back pain, and would be ecstatic to volunteer on a Sunday morning.
That’s right, I say, because what else can I say? Yes. Right. It’s his charity.
Joey’s face slowly morphs from extra annoyed to mildly annoyed by my lack of memory. Giving me a slow nod, he turns away again. Don’t forget your alarm. Coach said we gotta be there early-early so we get our team name tags and skates on before the little kids get there.
Yep. I try to sound enthusiastic and not like I want to lie face first on the carpet. I pull myself to my feet, my whole body silently screaming at me. Alarm. Definitely.
I walk in his direction with my arms extended, shooting my shot and seeing if I can get a hug out of him in his semi-sleepy state. I’m a foot away when he dodges me and runs back into his room, slamming the door. He leaves the scent of sweat and something sour in his wake.
I’m too tired to even contemplate what that smell is. Getting him to shower is a morning item to tackle. If I have the mental brainpower to even remember that. God, how could I be so stupid? I really need to start keeping a better calendar in my phone for all of Joey’s extra hockey events.
Games and practices, I can remember no problem. It’s all the add-ons and random events that go in one ear and right out the other.
Night, Mom, he yells through the closed door.
I smile, feeling a warm tingle in my chest. Night, bud, I say back at a more reasonable level. We don’t live in a mansion. We don’t need to scream to be heard in this townhouse.
Walking into the kitchen, I grab a can of sparkling water from the fridge and then slump my upper body over the counter.
I let my head fall to the cool laminate and let out a tortured sigh.
Fantastic, I mutter. Six-o’clock wake-up.
On my day off. I’m going to have to splurge tomorrow and buy an extra-large coffee.
Still…Joey’s excitement would be worth it. It always is. Hockey is his happy place, the thing that lights him up from the inside. I’d walk into a burning building for that smile.
Even if tomorrow morning is going to feel like torture.
I push myself upright and eye where I left my phone at the front door. If I don’t do it now, I’m going to forget to set the alarm and never do it.
Trudging across the room, I grab my phone and click into the clock app.
I set one alarm for the time I need to get up.
Then I set a backup alarm just in case. I pause, wondering if a third alarm is overkill, and decide two is enough.
I’ll just switch the setting from vibrate to music. That should get me up.
Heading back into the kitchen, I grab my unopened sparkling water, my finger hovering over the tab as another thought drifts through my mind, sliding in uninvited.
Sidney.
Not Joey’s Sidney.
My Sidney. The one from triage tonight. Tall, broad-shouldered, tired eyes, but a warm smile. The one who handled his terrified niece like she was something precious. The one who made my stomach do something embarrassing. What are the odds I’d hear that uncommon name twice in one night?
I shake my head firmly, then take a nice long chug of my drink.
The bubbles tickle as they dance down my throat.
It’s a nice distraction from where I was letting my brain wander.
I don’t even want to allow myself the thought of that rabbit hole.
There’s absolutely no time for fantasies like that or what ifs.
Life is too busy right now to even contemplate meeting someone in a romantic way.
But a girl can relive an interaction over and over in her head. There’s no law against that. Just a tiny bit of internal indignity…but no one but me would know that. The man had been outrageously gorgeous.
Glancing at my phone one last time to make sure the alarms are switched on, I circle the kitchen, turning off machines and switching off all the lights Joey left on before he went to bed.
Once that task is done, I flop back onto the sofa and groan. I’ll make my way to bed soon. Eventually.
Four hours of sleep is enough, I lie to myself. Everything will be totally fine.