27. Goldie
TWENTY-SEVEN
GOLDIE
Mom came back a few hours later, her Toyota backfiring as she parked in the driveway. I shot up from were I’d been napping on the sofa, my heart racing. I looked around for Morton and then remembered he was with my dad. He wasn’t a guard dog, but he had a scary bark, and I felt safer with him around. I pulled back the curtain to confirm that it was the crappy Camry and not an actual gun that had made the sound.
“Gooooldie.” Mom teetered toward the house, her arms weighed down with grocery bags. I hurried to open the door and let her inside.
“What is all this?” I took a couple of the bags from her and headed to the kitchen. Mom followed and set the groceries on the table. One of her crocheted bags tipped over and apples rolled out onto the counter.
“You need some food. Healthy food, not just chips and moldy salsa.” Fern started putting the groceries away. I held up a bag of tofu. “Who the hell eats this much tofu?”
Mom took it from me and put it in the fridge. “We are not ordering takeout tonight. I’ll make some curried tofu with raisins. You two will love it.”
I helped Mom put away the rest of the groceries. She’d bought lots of weird stuff, but she’d also remembered all of my childhood favorites: strawberry jam, crumpets, and Earl Grey tea. Tears welled in my eyes. “Mom, I’m sorry I was mean to you earlier today.”
She wrapped her arms around me. “Honey, it’s okay. I know you think I’m a weirdo, and it probably feels scary that you’re experiencing some of the same things that I do.” She stepped out of the embrace and rubbed my arms. “You’re your own person. You’re Marigold Swanson, not Fern Lauper. If you decide to work with your gifts, you will still be you.”
I suppose that was the problem with having a mother as a psychic; she knew what I was thinking, even if it was crappy thoughts like “I don’t want to turn out like my mother.”
Tears spilled down my cheeks. She might be flaky, but she was kind and she was my mom. I made a promise to myself right then and there, over a pile of Honeycrisp apples, that I would be nicer and kinder to Fern Lauper, and maybe ask her a question or two about visions and energy every once in a while.
“I’m happy you’re here,” I croaked.
“I know.” She smiled.
I couldn’t help but laugh. “Mom.” I paused with the carton of milk in my hand. “If the visions go away when you love someone, how come I could see you when you were in California, and how can you see stuff about me?”
Did we secretly hate each other?
She took a bite of an apple. “Good question. There isn’t an official handbook for this stuff, but a mother and daughter bond is unique. I carried you inside me, and I will always have a part of you with me. That’s the way I look at it.”
“I like that.” I swiped at the tears on my face. “Although, don’t go snooping on me.”
Fern laughed. “I love you, Marigold.”
“I love you too, Fern.” I squeezed my mom almost as hard as she squeezed me. “Now, we better start cooking if we want to have your gross curry ready for dinner.”
We set to work. Mom put me on chopping detail as she ground spices by hand. My phone pinged a couple of times. I wondered when Dad was going to be home from the arena. I cleaned off my hands and picked up my phone. It wasn’t Dad, it was Ace. The text didn’t have any smiley faces or fun GIFs; it was two simple words, and they sent a shiver down my spine.
Call me.
“Mom, I’ll be right back.” I put on a sweater and my boots and stepped outside. The phone rang three times before Ace picked it up.
“Hey.” His voice was cold.
“Hi. I got your message.” My heart pounded in my ears. Something was wrong. “What’s going on? Do you need me to bring something to your place later?” I tried to keep my tone as light and fun as possible.
“Don’t come over, Goldie. It’s over.”
“What?” It was worse than I thought. “Ace. What’s going on?” Just that morning he had been mentally moving me in to his fancy lake house, and now he was breaking up with me?
“You know what’s going on. I think it’s irony. That’s the fancy word for it.”
“Ace, what are you talking about?”
“You wouldn’t date a player, but if I’d have known who you really were, it wouldn’t have been an option for you.” His voice was getting louder and angrier.
“I was going to tell you,” I whispered.
“When?” he shouted. “After I already fucking fell in love with you? Fuck, Goldie. I can’t date the coach’s daughter.”
The world around me slowed and I sat down on the stoop of the carriage house. “I tried to tell you yesterday, but you wouldn’t let me.”
“Goldie, you shouldn’t have kept this from me.” He seemed to be settling down, or at least the yelling had stopped.
“I know,” I whispered. “I’m sorry.”
The line went quiet. “Goodbye, Goldie.”
I opened my mouth to reply, but he had already hung up.
My instinct was to run downtown, burst into his loft, and make it right. But I couldn’t fix it. Ace was right; I shouldn’t have kept that secret from him. What was worse? The secret, or the fact that I was the coach’s daughter? If it was the latter, it could be fixed.
Ace was wrong. He technically could date the coach’s daughter. He wouldn’t be breaking any rules. But if it was the former, the secret, there was no fixing it. I might have seen it as a secret, but clearly Ace saw it as a lie, deception.
The shock from the call took a few seconds to wear off before the tears came. I dropped my head into my hands and sobbed. It was the kind of crying that shook your whole body, the all-consuming kind. I wailed so hard that I didn’t notice the door open. A blanket was draped over my shoulders and my mom sat beside me and held me until I was drained. Literally. I burned through my supply of tears.
A few hours later, Mom and I made the trek from the carriage house to the main house. All I wanted to do was curl up in bed and wish that the call from Ace had been a dream, a nightmare, but Mom wouldn’t let me.
My face was red and raw and I looked puffy and tired.
“Ladies.” Dad opened the door to let us in. “What is all this?”
Our arms were piled high with glass casserole dishes. “Mom didn’t want to order takeout.”
Dad cut his eyes to me and I didn’t have to be a mind reader to know what he was thinking. “Great!” A forced smile spread across his face. “There’s nothing better than a home-cooked meal.” He took the stack of dishes from my arms and mouthed, Oh no . “Is this tofu?” He took the lid off one of the dishes.
“And raisins,” I said.
“Stop it, you two.” Mom laughed and took the dish from Dad. “Quit with your sarcasm and try to have an open mind.” Mom opened and closed several cupboards before she found the plates.
“Wine?” Dad held up a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc, which was out of character, but timely. He was a red wine man, but white would go well with dinner.
“I think that will pair nicely with kale and cabbage.” My face hurt, and I didn’t feel like talking to anyone, but I was going to try to make the best of the night.
Dad poured three glasses while Mom dished up the food. “Is everything all right, Goldie?” He screwed the cap back on the wine and put it in the fridge.
“Everything is fine, Dad,” I lied.
Mom cast a glance at me but didn’t say anything. She was angry with my advisor and my father for suggesting that I keep the whole Coach’s daughter thing confidential. The more I thought about it, the more I agreed.
I took a bite of the tofu raisin curry and was shocked. “This is…”
“Delicious,” Dad finished my sentence.
“Are you two playing with me?” Mom pointed at each of us with her fork.
“No.” I enthusiastically took another bite, a big one. And then proceeded to try everything. “It’s all so good!”
A satisfied look spread across Mom’s face. “I knew you’d like it.” She pointed to Dad. “You, on the other hand? This is a surprise.”
“You’re telling me.” Dad laughed.
He finished his entire plate and went for seconds. My appetite wasn’t as voracious as my father’s, and while the food actually tasted good, after trying it all, I didn’t feel like eating. “Are you sure you’re all right, kiddo?” Dad asked. “You don’t seem like yourself.”
“I’ve just got a lot on my mind.” It was the truth. “How did things go at the rink today?”
I wasn’t sure how Ace had discovered I was the coach’s daughter, but the likely culprit was sitting across the kitchen island, eating his tofu raisin curry in ignorant bliss. “Good. A few of the players showed up to practice on their own, which is always a good sign.”
“Which players?”
Mom’s eyes followed the conversation between me and my dad like someone watching a tennis match. “Ethan Turner and Ace Bailey. They even met Mortman.”
Morton. Of course. Dad wouldn’t have told them his daughter’s name, he wasn’t a dummy, but there was no mistaking the big malamute. I glanced over to where he was sleeping on the sofa. The secret was going to come out, and maybe it would’ve been bad no matter how I’d told Ace, but I hated that he had discovered that I was the coach’s daughter this way.
“I had an interesting conversation with Gideon Bailey.” Dad filled our wineglasses, finishing off the bottle. “I also had a talk with management. We’re going to do a mid-season trade.”
I blinked. “Really? Management is willing to let him go?”
“I was as shocked as you are. He’s unhappy in Toronto, and management has started to hate him for what he’s done to the team. It’s a win-win. Saturday is going to be his last game with the Tigers.”
It was good news for the team, and for Gideon. I wondered if our discussion was what prompted him to reach out to my dad. I was relieved he had done it. I wanted to tell Dad myself, but I hadn’t figured out a way to do it that wasn’t betraying Gideon’s confidence. Luckily, it turned out, I didn’t have to.
“Do you know where he’s going?” I asked.
“Miami.” Dad held up his finger. “Don’t tell anyone. This isn’t going to be public knowledge until after the game.”
I made the lips are sealed with a zipper motion. If there was one silver lining to Ace hating my guts, it was that I wouldn’t have to keep this secret from him. Would he be happy about the trade? Sadness swept through my body because I knew the answer. Ace hated being on the ice with his brother, and he hated being around him. Secretly, I think he hoped that one day Gideon would believe his side of the story, and being in his day-to-day life might make it happen faster. Ace would be torn about the trade. He’d be happy that the animosity would be gone from his life. But if Gideon hadn’t come around while they were playing together, he never would. This trade would be the nail in the coffin of the Bailey brothers’ relationship.
“Does anyone want dessert?” Dad held up a box of ice cream sandwiches, one of my favorite treats.
I shook my head. “I’m beat. I’m going to go to bed.”
Dad shook the box at my mom. “Fern?”
She crossed her index fingers. “Dairy, Scott Swanson? Are you serious?”
Laughing, Dad shrugged and took one out for himself. “Suit yourselves. You’re missing out.”
My heart felt like it had been ripped in two, but that night, sitting in the kitchen with my divorced parents, it felt like one was being repaired; a little baby stitch was starting to put the two pieces back together. The three of us cleaned up the dishes and then Dad hugged us both before we left. “Fern, I have a spare room. You don’t have to sleep on Goldie’s back breaker of a couch.”
Mom squeezed out the dish rag and hung it over the faucet. “Scott, I love you, and I will share a dinner table with you, but I will never sleep under the same roof as you again.”
It was a little harsh, but that was my mom.
Back at the carriage house, I curled up on the sofa and turned on the TV while mom puttered around in the bathroom. When she emerged in a cloud of patchouli oil, she picked up my feet and sat underneath them, pulling the blanket over both of us. She took the remote from my hand and turned off the TV.
“What are you doing? I was watching that.”
“Goldie, I know you’re going through a lot right now. You’re going to need a few days to grieve, to hurt, to process your emotions. I’ll allow you to do that. Lie here and cry for a few days, but then get up, take a shower, and get on with your life.”
“You’ll allow me to do that?” I raised my eyebrows. If I wanted to rot on my couch until September, I was going to do it.
She rubbed my legs. “You know what I mean. Tonight at dinner, I felt two sorrows in you. The loss of your relationship, but there was something else.” She snapped her fingers a couple of times. “Something about siblings, brothers…” Her voice trailed off.
I sighed. The last thing I wanted to talk about was Ace, but I knew my mom would pester me until I did, so I told her the whole story. It was midnight by the time I was done. “So the reason those two boys are in this pickle is because of a twit of a girl named Hailey?”
“Essentially.” I yawned and stretched my hands above my head. “Mom, I need some sleep.”
She extracted herself from beneath my legs and kissed me on the forehead. “You need it more than me; take the bed. I’ll sleep out here.”
I shook my head. “I’m too tired to move. You take the bedroom.”
“Marigold Swanson, don’t think you’re too old for your mom to carry you to bed.” She rubbed her hands together, and I knew she was capable of tossing me over her shoulder. Years of surfing had carved my mom’s arms into pipes of steel.
“Fine,” I grumbled and padded to the bedroom. “Night, Mom.”
“Good night, Marigold.”
I shut the door and flopped onto the bed. The blackout curtains were pulled tightly shut and when I woke up, I wasn’t sure if I’d slept for a minute, eight hours, or eight days. All I knew was that it wasn’t long enough. My heart hurt even more when I woke up. It was going to take a lot more than a day or two to get over Ace Bailey.
“Mom?” I rubbed my eyes. The blanket was folded on the couch. Fern’s patchwork duffel bags were nowhere to be seen. I pulled back the curtains to look at the driveway. Fern’s car wasn’t there. As quickly as she’d appeared in my life, she was gone again.
I picked up the blanket and patchouli wafted through the air. Electricity tingled my hands and I closed my eyes. Fern was at a border crossing. “I guess she’s gone,” I said to Morton, but then remembered he had stayed at Dad’s place last night.
A sense of calmness came over me. I didn’t feel sad that she’d left. Our relationship was stronger than ever, and I knew that anywhere she went in the world I would be with her and she would be with me.
“Bye, Mom,” I whispered.
Then I fell back into bed. I was completely and utterly alone.