Chapter 5
Chapter
Five
Mom: Jace says goodnight, and he misses you!
Natalie: I miss him, too. I’m sure I’ll see him when he crawls into my bed in the middle of the night ;)
Never having paid attention before, I’m learning a lot about the intricacies of college hockey. For example, the team practices throughout the week and then has regular-season games on Friday and Saturday nights. Because of the travel factor, they play the same team twice in a row.
So Saturday night, I’m back at the arena and the boys are getting ready to face Bemidji State again. Hopefully tonight’s outcome is better for the Griffins than yesterday’s.
I might not understand the nuances yet, but my first stipend payment and my mom’s extra catering hours mean we have a down payment. The roofers are starting next week, and it should be done by the time the weather gets worse. Now we need to pay it off.
I’m in my little office, checking our socials and replying to comments, when my phone rings and startles me out of my groove. Clearing my throat, I answer.
“Natalie, it’s Kayla.”
My heart ticks up a notch. Why is my boss calling me? Did I post something offensive or make a horrible typo and change shot to shit?
“Hi, Kayla.” I twirl a pen around my fingers and try to keep my voice level. “How are you?”
“Great, I’m great.” She sounds busy, words coming out quickly, and there’s a low hum of noise in the background. “I wanted to give you a heads up—I’ll be at the hockey game tonight. There’s going to be a PR announcement, and I have responsibilities with that. But I still need you to snap some pictures for me.”
“Okay.” My mind races with the possibilities. “What’s going on?”
“We are—hang on.” She whispers on the other end of the call. “I’ve gotta go, Natalie. Just be ready for action before the start of the game, okay?”
Before I can say anything, she’s already hung up. I blink at my phone for a second. That kind of fast pace makes me glad I’m going into accounting. Not that accountants don’t have busy days—tax season is crazy. But I did an internship last spring at Caterpillar and manufacturing accounting is pretty awesome. I’m glad I picked something practical, like finance and not a flashy communications major. I’d like to be a CFO by the time I’m fifty, and slow and steady wins that race.
My blog might be fun, but it’s a side-hustle only. I would never count on that as a consistent income stream.
“God didn’t give you this brain for nothing.” I can hear my mom’s words echo in my head like she’s sitting across from me. She says this often enough. A fashion blog definitely counts for “nothing” in her mind.
My phone buzzes again, this time with an incoming FaceTime request from my mom, like my thoughts summoned her. I hope everything’s okay. I click on it, and Jace’s face fills the screen. Literally. I’m staring into his nostrils, up close and personal.
“Buddy, aren’t you supposed to be in bed?” I giggle at his camera skills.
“He won’t go to bed without talking to you first,” my mom says in the background, her voice harried.
Bedtime is hard. Now that Sarah works second shift, my mom and I take turns getting Jace to bed, but he’s better at it when I’m there. Probably because I just crawl in with him and listen to him chatter until he falls asleep.
Jace was not in the plans Sarah or my mom had for the future, but no one would deny he’s the best thing that’s ever happened to us. Just out of high school when he was born, Sarah put her college aspirations on hold. Jace’s dad vowed he was in love with her, that he was going to marry her as soon as he got the money saved up for down payment on a house. Three weeks after Jace was born, Toby split. Child support payments are all we ever see from him.
So my mom and I stepped up and helped her with everything until he could start daycare, and she could find a job. She’s tried a few different part-time gigs, but nothing seems to stick. When a job on the line opened up at Caterpillar, I heard about it and she applied. Second shift is not her first choice, but it’s a foot in the door at a stable company. I’m glad she took it, even if it means giving up her nights with Jace.
I don’t mind the added responsibility it gives me, and I love having a role in his life. But I didn’t think about how my new job would affect his routines.
“Jace, aren’t you getting sleepy?” I ask.
“No!” He squeals and shakes his head. “I’m not tired!”
“Honey, let me have the phone. I need to ask Aunt Nattie a question.”
The popcorn ceiling, then the shag carpet fly past, before my mom’s face comes into focus. Her face looks pinched and tired.
“I can’t get this one—” she jerks her thumb towards Jace— “to lie down. I don’t remember you or Sarah having this much trouble. What do you normally do?”
“He has his blankie and his stuffed animal?” I ask, biting my lip.
“Yep.” Her mouth forms a straight line and Jace bounces on the couch cushions in the background.
“Try setting a timer? Tell him he has five more minutes and then he has to go to bed without arguing or else you won’t read him a story.”
Relief fills her eyes, but I wish I was there to help. I didn’t think she’d have to do this tonight.
“Where’s Sarah?” I ask, checking my watch. I have a few minutes before I need to be on the ice.
My mom waves away my question. “Oh, she asked if she could go out tonight. It’s fine.”
“And Dad? Is he having an okay night?”
My dad was diagnosed with polycystic kidney disease eight years ago. At first, we had lots of support from friends and our church community. People brought meals and raised money. But my dad didn’t get better. He got worse and had to start dialysis and go on the transplant list. He needs a new kidney. We all got tested, but none of us is a match.
Eight years is a long time. We stopped going to church—not because my mom lost her faith, but lost the time. They stopped going out socially and seeing friends because it’s too hard on my dad. He’s perpetually exhausted. And the help kinda… dried up.
It’s okay. I’m thankful for this life lesson. Family is all you can depend on. Everyone else will let you down.
My mom’s features take on that tight, pinched quality again. “As good as can be expected. He’s resting in bed already. Which is where this guy needs to be!”
The camera pans to Jace again, now laying on the couch.
“Let me talk to him.”
Obliging, she hands him the phone, giving me a close-up of his left eyes.
“Buddy, it’s time for bed. Be good for Nana, okay?” He nods. “I promise I’ll come give you a hug when I get home, and we can play together tomorrow.”
“Can we finger paint?” His words are slower now, sleepy.
“Yep, and do Play Dough.” I’ll promise anything to get him to bed.
“Okay. Goodnight, Aunt Nattie.”
“Goodnight, Jace. Goodnight, Mom,” I say as he ends the call. I hope he doesn’t give her too much trouble. She deserves a few hours to herself, or time to catch up on sleep. I don’t think she’s been well-rested since my dad got sick.
It doesn’t bother me that my mom relies on me so much. I’ve always gotten good grades and done well in school. When it was time to choose a college, I was content to go to community college around the corner. I could get my Associates, take classes at night or online and work full-time. But even though it put us further in debt, she encouraged me to accept my offer from Harrison and get a four-year degree. I wouldn’t be here without her, and I can help so much more in the future with a stable, well-paying accounting job.
Why else would God have given me the ability? I don’t have an answer for her, and she needs me so much. After all she’s sacrificed for me, Sarah, Jace, and my dad, she deserves it, too.
Voices sound in the hall outside my office. It’s time to go. I should get to my seat in the arena early for this big announcement, whatever it is.
Making sure it’s tucked in, I smooth down my fitted Harrison Hockey polo. It’s made of some sleek UnderArmor fabric, and I see why that brand is expensive. It feels amazing against my skin, soft and light. The other staffers wear windbreakers, too, and last night I learned why. It’s cold down near the ice.
Is it weird I’m a senior, and this is the first piece of Harrison gear I own? I’ve admired girls in class who have cute Griffin sweats and tees, but everything at the bookstore is out of my price range. I check at my favorite thrift stores, but it’s still not cheap enough.
After making sure I have what I need, I grab my PBJ sandwich out of my purse—a little squashed but still good—and head towards the ice.
Never having been in a hockey arena before, I didn’t know what to expect last night. But in my mind, it was all industrial concrete, dingy and rough. The actual building couldn’t be more different.
While the floor is cement, it’s always gleaming and swept clean. Painted orange and navy stripes brighten the walls, pointing the way to the various attractions. As I get closer to the seats, championship banners hung from the ceiling wave in the breeze above me. So new it practically sparkles, the arena reeks of money. Hockey is clearly lucrative for the school.
I chew fast as I wave my badge at the usher, who’s getting into place. Anthony is a sweet guy and does a good job of keeping overzealous fans away from the home bench.
There’s less than an hour until the game starts. Getting situated in the staff section, I post a reminder about the game and available tickets on all our accounts. Before I know it, the team files onto the ice and starts their warmups. They take some practice shots and skate around in circles while I snap potential pictures to use later.
The other team comes out and does the same thing on their half of the ice, but the two teams ignore each other. Everyone seems focused and in the zone. The rest of the pre-game goes fast, and it’s not long before each team gets settled on their respective bench—the Griffins right in front of me. Glancing around, I look for Kayla, but I don’t see her.
A door opens in the wall around the ice, and then I spot her. Kayla, a camera operator, and three men in suits walk out onto a mat that’s been temporarily placed on the ice. Kayla beams and waves at the crowd, then the man with the microphone clears his throat and speaks.
“On behalf of the entire Griffin Hockey organization, we are pleased to welcome a special guest tonight.” The crowd murmurs and people sit up straighter to see what’s going on. I keep my phone camera open, snapping pictures even though I have no idea which one of those men is a celebrity. Then the announcer claps a hand on the tall, trim man next to him. “James Thompson is no stranger to us here. Former NHL star and current broadcaster, you also might know him as Hunter Thompson’s father.”
All eyes in the arena fly to the player sitting in front of me, including the Jumbotron. I’m far enough down the row from Hunter to see his face.
And it’s not great. Obviously surprised, maybe he doesn’t like the spotlight. But I live with my dad; I see him every day. And even if I saw him for breakfast, if he was suddenly here for a big announcement for my team, I’d be beaming. I’d leap over the wall and run out on the ice and hug him. So why does Hunter look like Eeyore’s rain cloud hangs over his head?
His dad lives in Boston, according to the info on the screen. I don’t know how long it’s been since they’ve seen each other, but Hunter’s expression stays impassive, almost stony. He’s practically glaring at the group of people making this announcement. What’s his problem? Why isn’t he excited to see his dad? Is he such a massive grump that no happiness can ever penetrate his pessimistic exterior?
I gaze at the picture I took on my phone. I can’t post this.
The guy next to him gives him an elbow nudge, and he blinks. A bland smile stretches his lips but doesn’t meet his icy eyes as he stands and gives the crowd a little wave with his stick. They cheer, and he sits back down, staring at his father. The Jumbotron focuses there, too, and I breathe a sigh of relief that it’s not showing Hunter anymore. I’m not a PR expert, but this guy is a nightmare.