Lasagna
EASTON
Istill make two cups of coffee.
A little habit I picked up from the first day she moved in, that has now become a part of me, and I find it difficult to drop.
I come down at ten past six because my body doesn’t know the season’s been taken away from it, and I pull one shot. I reach for the second cup before my brain catches up, and then I stand there in the quiet kitchen with a cup in each hand like an idiot.
It’s been fourteen mornings since she left, and I’ve done this.
I pour it out, and I don’t look at the sink while I’m doing it.
I drink the coffee with milk just like hers. I don’t taste it, but I don’t care. It’s the smallest thing that keeps her in me.
Soon, her scent will fade from the house, but I’ll always remember she has her coffee with milk.
My phone beeps beside me. I glance at it.
Another news headline that I ignore.
My story broke the internet six days ago. The confession, then the league statement, then the think pieces, then a man on a morning show explaining to the world that cocaine isn't a performance enhancer, which turns out to be the single most useful sentence anyone has said about my life.
I take another sip of the coffee, and the sweet taste fills my mouth.
Fuck! I can almost taste her.
My fingers wrap tightly around the mug, the familiar ache in my chest returning.
It has gotten better since the news of her separation from Preston broke out.
The bastard. A sad part of me was happy. I don’t get her, and he doesn’t fucking have her either.
A little win.
Footage of Richard Brooks, Riley’s dad, taking him apart in the middle of his own front room has been circulating the media for the past week.
There’s a photograph of her from two days ago. Coming out of a building downtown with a camera bag on her shoulder and her hair down. No ring. Nobody’s hand at her back. Walking like she’s got the world at her feet, and damn right she does.
I’ve looked at it more times than I'm going to admit to anyone.
God! I want her badly. Want her with me. In my arms. In my bed. Forever.
I should be relieved. Everything I wanted for her, she has. But every time I see a picture of her, or even stalk her social media pages, it’s like there’s a rock lodged in my throat that won’t go.
And I have never in my life felt worse.
It’s mid-afternoon when my mom lets herself in.
I gave her the gate code in the spring, and she’s never once used it. She uses it now. I hear the door, and I don’t get up from the couch.
She comes in and stops.
I know what she’s looking at.
Her very emotionally wounded son, looking unkempt, shirtless, with a beard well past a stubble and messy hair. Not to mention the living room reeks of coffee and liquor. The only thing I’ve had all day.
“Hello, Mom.”
She doesn’t say anything.
She heads straight for the kitchen and returns a minute later.
“I’m making lasagna. You have nothing in this kitchen. I’m going to the store.”
“Mom…”
“You can come, or you can stay there. Either is fine.”
I stay there.
She’s gone forty minutes and comes back with six bags, and then my house smells like onions and garlic and my childhood, and she works at the island in an apron she found in one of the drawers.
It takes her three hours.
The smell takes me down memory lane. It’s the meal she made when things were bad, when Donovan was traveling, and we could finally live in a bit of peace. She’d put me on a stool and let me grate the cheese, and we’d eat at seven and stay at the table until nine.
We eat at seven.
I have two helpings, which surprises me, and she watches me do it with an expression of amusement.
“It came through Monday,” she says, and I know she’s talking about the divorce with Dad. “The decree. It’s final.”
I set my fork down. “Mom.”
“Thirty-two years.” She turns her glass by the stem. “I signed it in Karen’s kitchen, and then we had tea, and it felt normal. Good, even.”
“How do you feel?”
She thinks about it for a few moments before responding.
“Light,” she eventually says. “Then guilty for being light. Then annoyed with myself for the guilt, which took about a day. But, I think I’m over it now, and looking forward to this new chapter.”
That makes me smile.
“I’ve started painting again.” She laughs. “Badly.”
“I’m sure you’ll find your footing soon enough.”
“Oh, of course. There’s a class at the community center on Tuesdays, and I joined.”
“I’m glad you’re finding your way again, mom. You deserve it.”
The room falls quiet again, and we finish our meal in comfortable silence. When we're done, I clear the plates while she makes tea.
A few minutes later, we're settled in the living room.
It's almost ten when she finally looks at me over the rim of her mug. “Do you love her?”
I don’t hesitate to respond. “Yes.”
My eyes meet hers across the room. “I love her. I loved her long before I realized that's what it was. And it isn't loneliness talking, because I was fine on my own. I was good at being alone. I'd built an entire life around it.”
My gaze drifts around the room before finding hers again. “Then she walked in here and turned on the lights.”
I swallow. “Now I can finally see how dark it really was.”
A sad smile tugs at my mouth. “And I can't unsee it.”
“Then why haven’t you gone after her?”
“Her brother asked me to let her go.”
She sips from her tea and looks away. I feel the need to explain more.
“Mason’s known me since I was fifteen. He’s watched me do every stupid thing I’ve ever done, and he called me and told me I was going to hurt his sister, and…” My jaw works. “He wasn’t wrong. I hid the Maya situation from her.”
“But it’s out in the open now. There’s no estranged ex-fiancé to hold you back.
Your career has already taken the most brutal hit it can ever take.
And Mason… he’s your best friend. I’ve known you boys together for over a decade.
I’m sure you’ve had fights over the years.
Mason loves you like a brother and would never intentionally hurt you.
You only need to let him see the truth.”
I sigh. “It’s different.”
“How? You’re yet to let him see that you love his sister, Easton. He has a perception of you that you created over the years. The only person who knows the new you is Riley. You need to make him see it too. Tell him the truth. Show him that you love her.”
“What if he says no?”
She laughs. It’s calm and quiet. “You don’t get to assume until you’ve tried, son.”
The rest of the night goes by with various conversations around my career and her new life. She tries to leave at eleven, but I convince her to stay the night.
By the next morning, I drive her to the airport and watch her leave, after another talk session, making me promise to meet with Mason.
I return home feeling lighter than I’ve felt all week.
Kai shows up by evening.
The man drives up the canyon, punches a gate code Wyatt definitely gave him without asking me, and stands in my entryway with his car still running.
“Team thing at Merchant’s.”
“I’m not going.”
“I know you’re not saying no to me, Blake.” He cuts the engine and steps out of the car. He moves to the front door and lightly pushes me in. “Go get a shirt on, unless you want all the guys here hauling your ass out.”
I don’t wait another second because it’s obvious he wasn’t taking no for an answer.
We leave ten minutes later, in his car.
Back room, eleven guys, Wyatt on his feet within four minutes of my arrival. Nobody mentions the review. Nobody mentions the confession. Nobody says her name, which means every one of them decided that in advance.
That brings me some comfort.
Theo brings me a club soda without asking.
Wyatt tells a story about a rental car in Winnipeg that I’m fairly sure he invented on the spot, and I laugh once, and it’s real, and it startles me.
I last fifty minutes.
Kai catches my eye while I’m putting my jacket on and doesn’t try to stop me. Instead, he follows me, wordlessly offering to drive me home. I don’t object because I’m not ready for another back and forth with him.
At the door, Theo claps my shoulder. “Have a good night, man. See you next week.”
I’m supposed to be back on the ice in a week. I got Coach Brennan’s text this morning. The club is retaining me. It’s good news, but there’s one more thing I need to do.
The talk with Mason.