12. Monty
CHAPTER 12
Monty
Mid-August
I shook my head and pulled Parfait into my lap. It was just us in the apartment. Tasha had been in Europe for the past week, celebrating Penny’s birthday at Xavier’s family’s castle. They’d invited me, too, but I declined, citing Ridgie engagements. I could have rescheduled them, but the truth was, Tasha needed space from me. I could sense it from the ways she went out of her way to avoid me and barely spoke to me directly at FireVolts practice.
She was due home tonight, and I’d reached out to Fyvie from the bakery to help me make gluten-free dairy-free alfredo that would be ready when Tasha arrived. I figured she’d have to be starving. What airline could accommodate her food issues? And if they could, was the food even edible?
Fyvie had moved here from Ireland permanently a few years ago after a stint with her college’s exchange program. She ran the bakery now, and though that was primarily breads and sweets, they always had a booth at community events, offering various savory items and hand-crafted chocolates. I knew she could make a mean shepherd’s pie. Surely, she could follow Tasha’s recipe, so I hired her to come to the apartment and help me create it.
“Ye couldn’t’ve done this yerself?” She stared me down, wiping sweat from her brow and winding a loose strand of curly auburn hair back into the messy bun atop her head.
“Why take the chance?” I needed this to be perfect the first time. I only got one shot.
She shrugged. “Ay. Well, ’appy to take yer money.” She patted the counter. “It’s good ter go.”
She’d left an hour ago, right after we’d added the noodles into the mixture of plant butter, oat milk, and broth. The trick was not to add them too soon or they’d become overlarge and mushy.
My phone buzzed. I pulled it out of my pocket and swiped to open the international chat app.
The message was from Penny. They’re on their way.
I’d asked her to text me when her parents and Tasha left the airport so I’d have an ETA. I thanked her and dumped Parfait off my lap and onto the adjacent sofa cushion. “Sorry, boy.”
Originally, I’d planned a big, fancy welcome-home dinner at the dining room table. But after I’d set it up, I realized it might send the wrong message, and I didn’t need Tasha hating me again, especially when I felt like we’d made great strides to repairing our friendship over the last two months.
Instead, I’d arranged two place settings at the bar and trimmed a dozen peach carnations, her favorite, arranging them inside a large mason jar I’d found in the pantry.
Informal, but slightly zhuzhed up to indicate this wasn’t any old dinner. I was glad she was back, and not just for coaching reasons.
I’d missed her.
I would never admit that to her, but Parfait and I had felt her absence. While she was gone, I also had a cleaning service come in and detail the common areas and bathrooms. I appreciated her taking in Parfait and me, even though I was the last person she’d ever wanted to room with.
When her key clicked in the lock, I pulled Parfait back onto my lap and pretended to scroll my phone, looking as bored as I could muster.
“Hey,” I said as she pulled her suitcase inside and closed the door. “Dinner’s on the counter.”
I raised my eyelids only enough to catch her expression. Surprise crossed her features, but there was something else there, too.
Exhaustion.
“Thanks,” she murmured, turning toward her room and stopping abruptly. “What”—she pointed past the dining table to the collection of boxes stacked in the corner—“is that?”
“That,” I announced proudly, “is Parfait’s new cat castle.”
“You made it out of product boxes from Costco?” she asked, bewildered.
“I did. Thirty-seven of them.” The boxes stretched out from the corner and lined the back and side walls for about three feet in each direction.
She blinked at the structure and sighed. “It’s … nice.”
I pushed Parfait off my lap and stood. He mewed in protest. “Sorry, boy.” I crossed the room in long strides to get ahead of her. “Stop.”
Tasha narrowed her eyes. “I don’t have the energy to fight with you. Please, move. ”
I shook my head. “Eat. I’ll shlep this to your room. Want it on the chest at the foot of your bed?”
She pressed her lips together, considering, then nodded. “Yeah, thanks.”
When she let go of the handle, I stuck my arm out for her backpack. She shrugged it off her shoulder and turned toward the kitchen.
After setting her suitcase on the bench and the backpack on her desk chair, I joined her at the bar. A scoop of fettuccine was on her plate, but she wasn’t eating.
“It’s safe, I promise.” I slid onto the barstool next to her. “And Fyvie oversaw the whole process so I wouldn’t mess it up.”
“Fyvie was here?”
I nodded, spooning a heaping portion of noodles and cheese onto my plate.
“Did she bring the flowers, too?”
I shook my head. “Nope, that was me.” Taking advice from Britlynne, but I left that part out.
Tasha regarded me curiously, and her cheeks pinked just enough for me to notice. Then she gave a half smile.
Would you look at that? I thought. I’d have to let Brit know the flowers worked.
Tasha turned back to her food and picked up her fork. Slowly, she wound the long noodles around the tines. “Penny’s pregnant.”
I swallowed my food and watched her carefully, not wanting to say the wrong thing. She was hunched, shoulders slumped. Her words carried a happy tone, but her body language told a different story.
“So, you’re going to be an auntie,” I said lightly. “Congrats. ”
“Thanks.” She brought the fork into her mouth and chewed her noodles for what felt like a long time.
I did some mental calculations. “May?”
“May you what?”
“No, May. The baby’s due in May?”
“Oh. Yeah. Right during the playoffs. They didn’t plan it.”
I believed that. I hadn’t been in the hockey world long, but even I knew players and their wives did their best to plan summer births to avoid the playoff madness.
“She won’t be able to travel to away games if the Edge make the playoffs this year.”
I wound up a section of noodles for another bite. “And there’s a good chance of Xavier missing the birth if they do.”
“Yup.” She popped the P. “But Auntie Tasha will be here. Or wherever I’m living at that point.”
“You won’t be here?” I asked.
She shrugged. “Depends if I find another roommate. But I was thinking it might be better if I moved home. Not having to pay rent is helping me make a dent in my bills.”
“College loans?”
“Those are almost paid off. It’s the medical bills. As long as I can manage to stay out of the hospital, I should catch up in about two or three years.”
I was sure my eyes bugged out. “Two or three years?”
“What can I say?” She shrugged. “This body”—she used her free hand to make a sweeping motion from head to toe—“is expensive to maintain.”
I struggled not to show my utter surprise. “And that’s with insurance?”
“Yup. Mine from the school and my parents’. But that runs out the day I turn twenty-six. ”
Which wasn’t that far away. I didn’t know what to say, so I took another bite of noodles.
“Thanks for making dinner,” she said. “That was nice of you.”
I nodded. “You’re welcome. Your recipes are really great.” That gave me an idea. “What about a cookbook?”
“Huh?”
“If you can’t open a restaurant or meal-prep service, what about writing a cookbook?”
The corner of her mouth lifted. “What, and sell all my secrets?”
I nudged her side lightly with my elbow. “I bet it’d be a bestseller.”
Tasha’s lips pulled into a full smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “I love the confidence you have in me.”
Her smile fell, so I spoke candidly to entice it back. “I’ve known you almost our whole lives, Tasha. You’ve always accomplished every goal you’ve set. Why wouldn’t I have confidence in you?”
The smile didn’t return, but she lifted her noodled fork and stabbed the air in my direction. “You forget I lack the trust fund to get any monetary dreams off the ground, and I don’t have any connections in any industry—except cheer—to even have a chance.”
“I can handle that part. Honest. And—” I nudged her again. “I’d work for free.”
She stiffened. “I told you already that I don’t want to be your charity project.”
“But—” I tried to think quickly. “I’m not supporting you, per se. I’m helping to get a service or a tool into the hands of people whose lives your knowledge could improve. Why wouldn’t you say yes to an opportunity that could help thousands of people better their lives?”
I had her there.
Tasha gathered the last of her noodles and twirled them onto her fork. “I wouldn’t even know how to start.”
I pointed to her recipe binder on the far counter, nestled between the microwave and knife block. “Type that up. Take pictures of your food. Put it all in a doc. Then give it to me on a thumb drive. I’ll keep it safe and make sure only the right hands have access.” I spoke that last sentence in a teasing tone, hoping to lighten the very big offer I was making.
“You’re serious?”
“Cross my heart.”
“And hope to die?” she filled in with just a smidge of snark.
“Let’s not go that far.” I ran my fingers through my hair and made a show of patting it all into place. “The world needs Montgomery Biddington alive and in studly form, thank you very much.”
Tasha rolled her eyes, and I let out an internal sigh as she slid off her stool and carried her plate to the sink. She hadn’t said yes, but she hadn’t said no, either. Not really.
“Are you done?” she asked, turning the water on and rinsing the fake cheese off her plate.
I looked down at my dinner. One forkful left. I twisted it up and handed her the plate. Parfait hopped up onto his vacated stool and leapt onto the counter, beelining straight for the running water.
“Your cat has the rudest habits.” She took the plates to the dishwasher and loaded them in with her fork.
I joined her in the kitchen and slid my fork into the utensils basket. “I got the cleanup. Go wash off the airplane ick and get to bed. We have Saturday practice tomorrow.”
She groaned. “Right. At least it’s at noon. Jet lag is going to be awful.”
“Lucky for us, the team can nearly coach itself.”
“Nearly?”
“They could probably stunt okay without us. But no one can choreograph like you, and none of those tumblers could touch me on the floor.”
“Yet. It won’t be long before the students surpass their teachers. Like we did ours.” Tasha gave a small smile. “Thanks for dinner, Monty.”
She turned and set off toward her room, leaving me stunned.
Tasha hadn’t called me Monty in years. Did she even realize?
Probably not. She was beyond exhausted. Her brain likely reverted to its original setting.
I rubbed the back of my neck and watched her until she closed the door. My mind started to spin with ideas for how I could keep up the level of camaraderie we had tonight.
I missed the old us. For sixteen seasons, we were stunt partners and best friends. When I chose Gabby as my stunt partner over Tasha, I never for a minute even dreamed I’d lose her friendship. Our rivalry heated up after that, and it was in the process of trying to outdo each other that she’d gotten hurt. Her stunt partner hadn’t known her like I had. Couldn’t anticipate her moves and quirks like I could, and he hadn’t had the experience to improvise quickly if something was off.
All these years, I blamed myself for Tasha’s fall and subsequent departure from competition. I knew she blamed me, too. And it was easier for both of us to act like it didn’t matter.
But I knew it did. To both of us.
I wasn’t sure if I could ever make it up to her. Not with investing financially or even helping her coach her team to another championship. But I sure would try with all my resources—and heart—to get my old bestie back.
It didn’t take long to scoop the leftovers into a container and load the cookware into the dishwasher. Her model was older than Nana’s. I read the faded instructions on the inside of the door, loaded the soap, and pressed start.
Sleep came fast and was filled with flashbacks from our childhood. I woke up smiling.
Until I registered the banging on my door followed by Tasha’s angry voice.
“Montgomery! You get in the kitchen NOW!”