Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
I can’t quite claim to be a new mom anymore, but every day feels like a new day. No sooner do I think I’ve hit my motherhood stride, Bunny does something delightful or diabolical.
Not saying she’s bad or anything, but she can go from smiling and laughing to pooping up her back. Thankfully, those days are mostly over but time is flying by and I’d like her to slow down for a minute.
I don’t mean for her to regress or stop growing. More like before I know it, she’s going to be skating and then dating and then moving out.
My thoughts spin and spiral and I just want to spend every moment with her.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Slow your roll. Literally. You’re going to kill the napkins and cutlery,” Aleeyah says.
I glance down at the bin of silverware that we roll into napkins for the place settings. “Sorry. I was in my head.”
“Seems like a dangerous place to be.”
“Ha ha,” I reply dryly.
Aleeyah and I resume rolling the bin of napkins and cutlery for tomorrow—one of our daily duties at the Fish Bowl.
I glance at her perfectly folded linens. I bet she could make a napkin origami swan or rose. “How do you do it?”
She glances down at our task and then up at me as if deciding what I mean by the vague question. “What? Juggle motherhood, marriage, and my online custom wreath shop?”
“By the way, my mother already has the Easter one on display. She couldn’t help herself. Every time she opens the door, she smiles.”
“That’s so sweet to hear.”
“But I meant how do you let them grow up?”
“You’re already thinking about that?”
“Yes. No. Sometimes I look at Bunny and think, if a man breaks her heart, I’m going to break his face.” I set the butter knife down next to the fork and roll the napkin around it.
“Hmm. Sounds like you’re thinking about your ex. Maybe it’s time to allow someone to redeem the opposite sex. Bunny is almost two. You could reenter the dating pool.”
I flash her a flat look.
Aleeyah doesn’t waver. “The guy that came in the other day who sat with your brother was cute.”
“You mean Grady Federer? He didn’t even recognize me. Do I really look that different?”
“I have no idea since we didn’t know each other in high school.”
“Also, my brother’s other best friend. They collectively called me The Puck Bunny Brat.”
“Those big meanies,” she says in a motherly tone.
“I lived up to the name. But to answer your question. Grady is not cute.”
Aleeyah’s eyebrows bounce. “He had a playful smile. And what’s not attractive about thick brown hair? A chiseled jaw? A muscular build?”
“By default, he’s a troll.”
“Are we talking about the same guy?” She wraps the last bundle of cutlery. “If you were looking to date again, would you rather a guy with spindly arms, warts, a weak chin, and beady eyes?”
Now it sounds like she’s describing an actual troll.
“I’m never dating a hockey player again.”
Aleeyah laughs. “Those sound like famous last words and another way to say you’re going to end up tying the knot with one.”
My eyes widen. “Over my dead body. Plus, how could I date when I work two jobs, have a twenty-three-month-old, and live in my parents’ basement?”
“When Booker and I met, he literally lived in someone’s closet and rode a bicycle seven miles to work every day. Meanwhile, I lived in my grandmother’s attic, was enrolled in college, and sold plasma to put gas in my car to get to campus.”
“But you two are crazy about each other.”
Booker brings her coffee from the Busy Bee Bakery during the afternoon lull and rubs her feet every night.
Aleeyah laughs. “We were mostly just crazy.”
“No, that would be me, for giving Trey the time of day.”
“But maybe it’s time to let go.”
“Does Booker have a brother?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “Four sisters.”
“I’m just saying, instead of looking at the past, you could look into the future,” Aleeyah says, now using a sisterly tone.
“That will not be found with one of my brother’s friends.”
She clicks her tongue. “Don’t tell me you never fantasized about any of your brother’s friends. I have three older brothers and I had just as many crushes going at the same time. There was Anthony with the glasses.” She sighs. “Guys with glasses. I’m looking forward to when Booker has to get readers.”
I tip my head back with a laugh. “I definitely don’t have a thing for guys with glasses.”
“Oh, and let’s not forget about Mike, short for Michelangelo. I mean, can you just imagine him whispering my name?” She flutters her eyes.
“That’s odd.”
“Oh, and Tyrell. He was H-O-T in high school. But then he hit a wall.” She sticks out her tongue.
A deep, resonant voice from behind says, “Who hit a wall?”
As if she knew her husband was there, without skipping a beat, Aleeyah says, “Tyrell Adams.”
Booker frowns as if it’s a shame. “Went through the puppy uglies and never recovered. Thankfully, I’m aging like a fine wine.”
The happy couple laughs, exchange a quick peck, and then talk about their kids, dinner plans, and sports practice schedules.
It’s all just so adorable I could barf. I’m not bitter, but maybe a little jaded, which is a distant relation like a cousin three times removed.
There is no way I’m ready to get back into the dating world. Mostly because I don’t have the time or energy. I bite my lip and put the supplies from our side work away. The truth is I don’t trust myself to pick a good guy.
Trey and I got carried away and were married less than twenty-four hours after we first kissed. It was a flurry, a rush, a sandstorm of passion. I convinced myself that it was meant to be because we’d known each other for most of our lives.
Aleeyah wasn’t wrong. At various times, I had tween-age crushes on Trey and Grady.
When I was in eighth grade and they were in high school, Trey had already dated all the girls at Clarkson and moved on to the other nearby schools. During Homecoming week, he dated Sophia. Then the next week, he was going out with Shanna Pierson. That basically means they were practically a couple. There’s like one degree separating the two of them from kissing.
Meanwhile, Grady had a steady girlfriend junior and senior years. While I got by on my looks and athleticism, Hartleigh Nichols was the total package. She was beautiful in that effortless kind of way, played field hockey, was on the debate team, and scored the valedictorian spot at graduation.
Despite that, Grady is no different than Trey. They’re cut from the same cold, betraying sheet of ice.
Case in point, he acted like he didn’t know me, while Beer Belly knew I was a puck bunny, er, Ice Kitty and yesterday a customer called me Mrs. Dillard.
The Fish Bowl gets early bird busy—customers come in to claim tables with the best views of the televisions for big games and then camp out here all night. This means that I end up passing them off to the server on the next shift and they get the tip at the end of the night.
I should talk to Uncle Stan about a better system because my paltry sixty-five dollars and three cents—who leaves pennies for a tip?!—isn’t going to make a dent in the first, last, and security payments I need to get my own apartment.
Going home to the house I grew up in after work feels very much like a Groundhog Day situation—the movie, not the little critter who predicts the season. Puxatawny Phil did not see his shadow this year which means an early spring.
I never expected to live at home again, but the Easter decorations are up even though we have over a month to go. There’s Aleeyah’s custom wreath and also Mom’s little egg tree, a felt bunny banner, tissue paper carrots on the windows, and candy bowls everywhere Bunny can’t reach. Considering jelly beans are my favorite candy in the world, maybe moving back home isn’t so bad. There’s a nest filled with glittery eggs on the dining room table, a fuzzy baby chick garland, and numerous Easter baskets around the house—some circa my childhood.
It’s comforting because even though my life has changed a lot, some things don’t.
In the kitchen, Mom is making chili and it smells divine. Dad is cueing up the VCR. Yes, he still records hockey games the archaic way. Says it’s for posterity. I greet them and find my little bunny rabbit sitting in her play area clumsily stacking wooden blocks. She waves and then gums one. She must be teething again.
But splinters! Now I have a whole new thing to keep me up at night. How would I know if Bunny had splinters in her mouth?
I scoop her up, blow raspberries on her belly, get clocked in the head with the block, and then tell her how much I love her before inspecting the thing—the toy, not my noggin. My head is solid—Derek would go so far as to say I’m pigheaded.
Thankfully, the block is smooth, Bunny is delighted to see me, and I’m ready for dinner.
I’m not a particularly nervous parent, but there are so many things that could go wrong. Being so busy, I don’t have much free time to think about them, but they linger in the back of my mind, waiting for a moment to spring and spook me, mostly at night when I’m falling asleep, hence the endless social media scrolling, harkening back to a time when the only thing I worried about was the Lions viral hockey videos.
Dad sets the table and says, “Derek is missing out. Said he can’t come home for Mom’s chili because he has a night with the boys.”
“What boys?” I ask, suspicious. If Trey has the nerve to set foot into Cobbiton, I will find a pitchfork and a flaming torch, so help me.
“The pee wee team,” Dad says as if the kids’ hockey team he coaches weren’t obvious.
Mom adds, “Since you have to teach a lesson tonight, I’ll pack a thermos for Derek. You can bring it to him with a piece of cornbread.”
I help myself to a slice and Bunny points. Mom tells us how they made the batter together. I want nothing more than to be able to stay home and be the one who bakes with my daughter. I’m beyond grateful for my parents’ generosity, but this is not how I pictured my life to go.
After we say grace, Dad launches into his favorite pastime. “Did you hear Grady got traded to the Knights? I can’t figure out Badaszek’s calculus. The guy was coming off suspension. That’s like trying to move the contents of a safe the same day you robbed it. He’s playing with fire if you ask me.”
My mother pats his hand. “Ed, Tom Badaszek didn’t ask you. If he consulted all you armchair coaches, the Knights would be kicked out of the league.”
I stopped paying attention to our local sports news a long time ago and wonder why Grady was suspended, but if I ask, we’ll get more of my father’s commentary, and I want to hear about what I missed today while they looked after Bunny.
On cue, she excitedly tells me all about her new favorite unee-corn shirt with sequins for its mane.
When we dig into the chili, I get a play-by-play of the rest of the day, including the acquisition of the unicorn shirt—Grandma spoils this kid—which I much prefer to any discussion about hockey, especially hockey players.
I want to make a good life for my daughter. No drama. I learned that lesson the hard way. Lots of laughter and smiles. The unicorns can stick around too .
When we’re done eating, the last thing I want to do is bus the table after working all day, but I help and do my best to involve Bunny, singing a clean-up song and letting her play with the soap bubbles.
We take an after-dinner walk around the neighborhood and then I have to get ready to head to the Ice Palace. Mom makes sure I don’t forget to bring Derek his dinner.
On my way over there, I think about the conversation Aleeyah and I had earlier—the kids growing up part. I refuse to give another neuron’s thought to dating, Grady, or hockey . . . or the strange sound coming from somewhere within the hidden recesses of my car.
I’ll just forget that he’s back in town and that the 4Runner I’ve had since high school desperately needs a tune-up.
Rather, I consider how involved my parents still are in our lives. They’re not smothering or overbearing. More like they realized how important family is, did their best not to raise truants, and then let go, hoping we’d turn out okay.
Derek was on track to become a troublemaker, but joined the military, met Deborah who is still deployed, and then retired to start their landscaping/hardscaping company called Grow Together. The idea is that when she gets out, they’ll have a nice little business established to ease her transition.
I was a total brat from age thirteen to eighteen when I left for college. Then, when I realized I needed to do my own laundry and umpteen other things, I was slapped in the face with all the sacrifices my parents made with their time and attention.
Yes, Derek and I were both obnoxious in our own ways but straightened out before it was too late. Thankfully, Mom and Dad were patient.
I was not. Like an idiot, I rushed into marriage and fell hard and fast for my brother’s best friend. That was a failure. Except for the baby part. I consider Bunny a win.
I wanted the husband part too. To be happily married like Mom and Dad or Aleeyah and Booker. My nose burns and my eyes fill with liquid. Better wipe away these stupid tears because I’m about to head into the arena to teach a private figure skating session and can’t risk them freezing on my face.
While Tammy warms up, I review the program her coach emailed me with what we need to focus on. To be clear, I never had figure skating star aspirations. Some girls do, but I get geeky about the technical aspects—the physics of ice, metal, and movement.
Then I catch someone out of the corner of my eye.
Grady has entered the building.
My insides are caught somewhere in the four stages of caramel creation.
Likely, he’s looking for Derek. My brother is in the warm room gobbling down his chili and cornbread. I only brought a single portion. Ha! None of Mom’s home cooking for Federer! I recall Grady eating dinner with us at least half the time. That changed a bit in high school, but my mother routinely fed three hungry boys, which might explain why we eat leftovers so often. She’s still cooking for half a hockey team. I never thought about it, but Derek didn’t mention ever having dinner at the Federer residence. Grady’s mom probably made the cheap mac-n-cheese with the watery sauce. My brother is a mac-n-cheese snob. Fine, I am too.
Grady approaches at a saunter and takes up more room than he should with his broad-shouldered frame. Granted, the aisle is wide, but he’s also taking up my attention which is not okay.
I’d try to camouflage with my surroundings, but I’m wearing a bright pink hat.
He waves and wears a Knights hoodie along with a smile that I’d like to wipe off his handsome face.
When we were younger, my brother was the burliest of the three—average height but somewhat stocky like our dad. Mom says Rice men are built of brick. Trey was pretty tall but lanky until college—not that I paid much attention except that we were both associated with the Lions.
Then there was Grady. He always had an athletic build and somehow got tanner than the rest of us during the summer when everyone spent as much time at the lake as possible. I only became aware of this when I went from wanting tube rides to sunning myself so I had the perfect glow for back to school—this was before Mom let me get spray tans.
Grady probably heard about Trey and me by now. If Derek didn’t tell him, Mrs. Gormely, the Cobbiton gossip, who’s all ears, would’ve gotten to him.
“How’s it going?” he asks.
I need a diversion. Cupping my hands around my mouth, I holler, “Tammy, finish that lap with some swizzles and we’ll get started.”
She smiles with relief because usually I tell her to do an extra trip around the rink while I review the practice plan.
He gazes at me as if awaiting a response to his question.
Fine. If I must. “To answer your question, as you can see, I’m busy.”
Grady says, “Busy? I saw there’s a new bakery in town. Busy Bee or something.”
“Yep. Cobbiton has a bakery,” I say flatly, not interested in small talk.
“Um, sorry about the other day.”
“Sorry?” I ask, waving Tammy in.
“That I didn’t recognize you.”
I bat my hand dismissively. “It’s not your job to remember your best friend’s bratty little sister. In fact, I’m glad you didn’t recognize me,” I say with a bit more bite than I mean.
He tucks his chin back, then opens and closes his mouth like he lives in a fish bowl.
Before he can continue, I interject, “Did you come here to tell me that? Is that all?”
He slides his hands into the front pocket of his sweatshirt. “I don’t want things to be awkward.”
“More awkward than me having my Fish Bowl shirt on inside out?” I give my head a jiggle.
His eyes crinkle with laughter. “I put my hockey jersey on inside out once. It was momentarily back to being number eighteen like in high school.”
Grr. That was not my desired response what with all the hockey talk and smooth smiles and smirky eyes that could make a girl melt. Skin burning with animosity, I want him to hate me as much as I hate him.
Tammy glides toward the little half door between the boards and glass. Wearing a grin, to Grady she says, “You’re the new guy playing for the Knights, right?”
He nods, somewhat sheepishly.
“My boyfriend is going to flip when he finds out I met you. Can I get a picture for proof?”
Grady is willing to do so, but not overly braggadocious like some pros I know. Cough, Trey, cough. We couldn’t get more than a few yards while in Vegas without someone stopping him for a selfie, which resulted in him crowing about how amazing he was.
At least Grady is modest. When he smiles, the corners of his eyes crinkle and sparkle in such a way that makes me think if he were a genie, he’d grant all three of my wishes and then add a fourth just to be nice.
That makes me want to hate him even more .
For the next couple of minutes, Tammy misses out on her ice time because Grady asks about her career and her boyfriend, who aspires to be in the NHL—a classic coupling set up to fail. Hello!? I would know.
But Grady is like a big brother, a mentor, offering support and encouraging them both in their pursuits.
I can’t let that stop me from loathing him and everything he stands for.