Chapter 14
Beau
Milo leans over and whispers to me, “You know, you could probably pay to have her fixed.” His hand finds the small of my back and gives it a tiny, almost squeeze, like reassurance. He’s interrupting my phone loudly blaring Ave Maria, which is rude, but he’s cute, so I’ll let it slide.
“Shhh,” I hiss back at him, finger to my lips.
We’re standing side by side at a scrapyard, dressed in our funeral best. Honestly, we probably look kind of ridiculous. Milo is wearing a black cashmere sweater with black suit pants. I’m wearing a full black suit, down to the black button-down and dark wool overcoat.
I’m sweltering.
We look laughable. I realize that, but … but I’m sad. Like, genuinely sad about this truck.
Darlene got me through one of the toughest years of my life. And then she got me through the subsequent difficult years. I still remember the day I got her.
That was one of the single best and worst days of my life.
I had been saving for months to finally be able to buy myself a car. It had been a difficult few months, especially when big chunks of my earnings kept disappearing. I knew where it was going, but I didn’t dare call him out on it.
I took the bus to the dealership that day. The sun was high in the sky. Montreal is beautiful in June. It was my big night, and I wanted to reward myself for the accomplishment.
Drafted at eighteen—not a miraculous feat by any means, but there were rumors that I was one of the best rookies coming into the league. I knew what that meant. I was stoked about all the possibilities.
But I was there alone. So I decided to do something, alone. I made a decision to head to the nearest used car lot and buy myself something with my own money, money that I had worked hard to earn. Money that I’d managed to keep hidden from my dad.
My dad has always been impossible, not just with his incredibly brilliant drinking ideas for his child, but with money too. He would constantly steal my money for his extracurricular activities, gambling his life away.
So when I got there … there she was. This beautiful, dark green 1994 Ford F-150 XLT. She drove like a dream.
I had exactly enough money to buy her. I remember feeling so grown up driving out of that dealership in my amazing new ride. I drove her straight to the draft, where I was the number three draft pick.
I named her for my grandmother, my mom’s mom.
I only knew my grandmother as an adolescent. She passed over ten years ago, but she was a good woman when she was alive. The kind of mother figure I desperately wanted my mom to be. The kind of mother figure who wanted me around.
So, of course, I named the symbol of my independence after her.
It was when I drove her home that I found out my mom had left. It was in her that I drove for hours looking for my mom. It was in her that I got the call from my mom telling me she never wanted me, that she was going to start over and I should just forget about her.
I should say that now.
I should say all of that now, here, with him. With someone I’m quickly considering one of my closest friends. But my words feel stuck.
I steal a peek at Milo, and he smiles at me. It’s a sweet, tender little smile. It’s a smile I don’t want to ruin by talking about my mom.
I don’t want to let her ruin anything anymore.
My ringtone blasts through the silence between us, interrupting the song.
I look down at my ringing phone and see his name. The sun is beating down on the back of my neck as I stare at the phone in my hand. I stare at the caller ID.
Dad.
Dad.
Dad.
Fuck it, I guess. I pick up his call, unsure what even to say. I point to the phone, and Milo nods as I step a few feet away, standing on the opposite side of Darlene’s carcass.
“Dad.” My voice is strained.
“Squirt!” His voice is so jovial, he must be on a winning streak. He’s also never called me "squirt", not once in my life. “Hey, buddy, how are you?”
I hate that he does this. Every time, he does this. Tries to shoot the shit with me. Tries to talk to me like we’re a normal family who just talks to each other.
“I’m great,” I lie. No, no way. He wants to talk to me like a normal-ass dad, then he gets the real shit. “Actually, no. No, I don’t know why I said that.” I sigh, running my hand down my face in exasperation. “I’m really not doing too hot right now. I’m actually kind of bad, I guess.”
“Oh.” He’s not used to reality sneaking its way onto our calls.
He’s going to have to try and pivot to keep up.
“What’s going on? You want to talk about it?
” I can practically hear him begging me not to.
But he asked, so I’m gonna tell him. I walk back toward Milo because I suddenly feel so dumb for walking away.
“Darlene died.” My eyes tear up again, and Milo reaches out and hands me a goddamn handkerchief. I side-eye him, but I’m grateful.
“Your grandma?” he asks stupidly. “She died, like, nine years ago.”
“Ten years, actually, but no. I meant my truck.” I can feel when I start to curl in on myself. My hands start to shake, and my stomach feels flippy. But more importantly, I feel Milo standing next to me. I long to just lean into him, have him put his arms around me and just hold me.
Instead, he stands close. So close I can reach out my pinkie and loop it around his.
“Your truck?” he asks slowly. I know exactly what he’s going to do. He’s going to treat me like an idiot, like a moron. He always does this to me.
“Yeah, Dad, my truck. The truck I’ve had since I was drafted.” The truck I got when Mom left. But I don’t say that because I can’t form the words with my useless mouth.
“Okay…” The silence draws out. I guess he’s not going to just come out and say it.
“What do you want, Dad?” My voice is clipped. I don’t really have the patience for whatever it is that he needs, but I know I have to help.
“I just need an advance this month.” I sigh. There it is.
“Yeah, Dad, sure, whatever.” I’m more consumed by my finger entwined with Milo’s than I am with my dad’s desperate plea for my money. My pinkie slides up his, along the side of his hand before sliding back down and entangling itself again.
He doesn’t even sound ashamed to be asking like this. I guess when I’m enabling him the way I am, he has no reason to feel shame with me. Maybe I shouldn’t…
“Thanks so much, kid.” His voice has an edge to it. “It was just so expensive putting you through hockey when you were growing up. I appreciate you paying me back.”
And there we go. That’s why I always put up with his bullshit. His guilt trips.
“I already said I would send it, Dad,” I bark into the phone, annoyed and embarrassed. I don’t know if Milo can hear what my dad is saying. “I’ll send it tonight.”
“No, no,” he barks right back. “I need it now. Like, right now.”
Fuck.
That means he’s in deep and probably about to get his kneecaps busted. I pull my hand from Milo’s, suddenly feeling incredibly empty, and I move back around Darlene.
I pull my phone from my ear and get to sending my dad the money. Anything to get out of this uncomfortable situation. I peek over my shoulder, and Milo is being very intentional about not looking at me. I pay the man and walk back around Darlene.
Bless him, Milo is standing where I left him on the other side of Darlene.
I suddenly feel exhausted.
My dad has hung up, and Ave Maria is playing again on my phone.
Suddenly, all of this feels stupid. I want to leave, and I want to pretend we never came.
I say as much to Milo, but he puts a hand up , the other grabbing my arm gently.
“I think it’s making you feel better to say goodbye to her.”
Her.
Not it, her.
I take a deep breath. He’s right, of course. Having this dumb little funeral does make me feel a tiny bit better. Having him here with me, though, makes me feel like I can actually move past this.
I walk a little closer to Darlene and run a hand over the dark green paint of her hood. She was a great truck. She got me where I needed to go, and she helped me land on my feet when the rug was pulled out from under me.
I pat the hood.
“Goodbye, Darlene. Thank you.”
The drive home was quiet. The days after were quieter. The days come and go without incident. I sent the money to my dad as soon as we got home from the funeral. He doesn’t thank me. What’s new?
But as it always does, the ice calls us home.
Grief, I’m quickly learning, does not pause for hockey, but hockey helps the grief.
It is a new day, and we’re set to play against the Columbus Mammoths tonight. Our rivalry with them isn’t huge, but they’ve always been better than Minnesota. Than us.
I have to start thinking of myself as part of the team because I am. This is my team; this is my family. And if we’re going to keep winning, I have to mesh with this team like they’re my family.
These are my brothers.
I push onto the ice, ready to face off against the Mammoths. I look back to where Milo is mucking the crease. He slides back and forth, his skates roughing up the ice. He looks like a sweet little kitten making biscuits. I smile, my cheeks heating as I continue to watch him. I smile despite myself.
That one is definitely not my brother.
Definitely.