54. nick
NICK
EPILOGUE: ZOOKEEPER
For about a year, I used my connections at Marrs to cozy up to the head coach of the Tulsa Wasps. I worked my ass off for Oklahoma to notice me. At my second gift basket, the head coach called me.
“Kurosawa.” He was chewing something over the phone. “You said no to New York. You jerked around with Philly. Vegas said they tried to recruit you months ago—what the hell are you doing on my line?”
“My girlfriend’s Cherokee.”
“I don’t give a fuck about your girlfriend. I’m not in the business of signing her. I’d be signing you.”
“So sign me.”
“That’s not how it’s done, kid.” He muttered something under his breath. “Respectfully, hell no. I’ve dealt with too many players traveling for one person. Guess what happens? That one person flies the coop, and then I’m out a fucking hockey player with a thumb up my ass—”
“I need to play for Tulsa—”
“No. You’re too valuable. Those coaches would punch me in the dick if they found out about this. I’m not getting into a dirty fight for an asshole who’ll play half a season and fuck off from the team when his girlfriend leaves him—”
“I’ll sign a seven-year contract,” rushed out of me.
There was a long bout of silence over the phone.
“You crazy son-of-a-bitch,” he mumbled. “You better hope the girlfriend’s worth it.”
She was.
Tallulah was so anxious about the future. She panicked over whether or not this was a mistake, panicked that I’d regret signing on to Oklahoma. She was welcome to do so. Nothing I could say would ease the anxiety, just time.
Time was all I wanted.
Tallulah earned a spot on the investigative branch of The Oklahoma Record. Her first day, I had to calm her down in the parking lot and convince her that we couldn’t run away and get new identities.
I had to calm her down again before her trip to a D.C. conference for her reports on a Southwest political corruption scandal where she’d give her report to a government hearing. I had to calm her down again when she was promoted to deputy managing editor, the youngest ever on their staff.
Years passed. I traveled for hockey games throughout the US, Tallulah traveled more and more for work.
We got married, we hiked every national park together, traveled constantly to Brazil with my mom, and Japan where I surprisingly discovered distant cousins who were overjoyed to welcome me into the family.
Throughout it all, Tallulah and I fell deeper in love.
Every summer, we moved from our two-story house in Tulsa, to a summer home on the Cherokee Reservation, a fifteen-minute walk from the lake.
During my off season, we came back to each other, and I got to see my wife for long, uninterrupted weeks.
It wasn’t a shock when we found out she was pregnant.
At so many points in my life I thought—this is as good as it gets—and then life would get so much better.
I cried when I held my son, Zachary, for the first time and I cried just as hard when Harlow was born.
Now that we stopped traveling as much, we had a centralized location, a home to come to.
It was always a breath of relief to walk through the front door, back to my family that I’d never imagined I’d have.
This was home.
It was Mother’s Day.
Another summer, another move back to the reservation, to the picture-perfect one-story house that we rented for three months.
Zach was sitting on the kitchen floor, my old For the Arena sweatshirt baggy on his nine-year-old frame.
His long, dark hair touched the tiles because he didn’t listen to me when I told him to put it in a ponytail.
“Uncle Caleb says he’s got photos he wants to show us,” Zach told me, my phone pressed to his ear.
Photos from Montoya? Shit, those were probably from college, a lifetime ago. I grimaced, slicing fruit into a bowl. “Tell Montoya if it’s the photos I think he’s thinking of, he’s banned from the house.”
Zach whispered into the phone, like I couldn’t hear him. “Dad said I can see them.”
I sighed, snapping my fingers for him to end the call. “Bud, you’re supposed to be assisting with Mother’s Day breakfast. Help me chop.”
“I’m a kid. Knives kill kids.”
“Knives kill everybody—you’re trying to get out of helping.”
“Daaaaad. I’m not gooood at it.”
“Yeah? Takes practice.”
I made sure he washed his hands and I pulled his hair into a ponytail before showing him the cutting board. He was so tall for his age, but still tiny to me. I put my hands over his, teaching him how to slice the bell pepper for the omelette.
He glanced up to make sure he had the right position, his smile wide and toothy. My heart squeezed in my chest. I’d never get over how this piece of me and Tallulah lived and breathed and smiled at me.
“Dad!” Harlow whisper-shouted, springing into the kitchen with her hands out like claws. “He’s heeeeere!”
I did a double-take, finishing the omelette, sliding it onto the plate. “Harlow, I said no turtle costume. Take it off—”
“Noooo!” she squealed.
“I don’t care how many days in a row you wear it, but I need to wash it—”
“Then it won’t look aythen-tac!”
“Yeah, Dad.” Zach whipped around, with a smug grin. “Then it won’t look aythen-tac.”
I gestured the spatula towards him. “Instead of making fun of her for saying a word wrong, why don’t you try being a nice older brother?”
Zach nodded, putting his hands on his hips. He studied his five-year-old sister. “You smell bad.”
“Zachary,” I chided.
“What? That was nice. She should know the costume smells bad!”
“Your brain smells bad!” Harlow roared.
Oh my god, I didn’t have the mental capacity to parent, and get the breakfast ready, and answer the door.
I set the food on the table, ignoring my kids.
Why would I bother? Annoying the crap out of each other was their favorite activity of the day.
Rolling my eyes, I opened the door, and the kids quieted instantly.
They were excited about the Mother’s Day gift too.
“Morning, Mr. Kurosawa,” Dan greeted me.
“Mr. Walker,” I corrected him with a smile.
“Why is it Kurosawa in hockey…?”
“I got married after I signed my merchandise contracts.” I shrugged. “On the ice, it’s Kurosawa, at home and my driver’s license, it’s Mr. Walker.”
He was careful with the white box, an assortment of holes punched into it. “Give my best to Mrs. Walker.”
My kids immediately reached up, tugging on my sleeves, until I knelt down to open the box for them to see.
Their mouths fell open in glee.
“Here’s how we’re going to do this,” I whispered. “We’re going to wake up Mom gently. One of us carries this box, one of us carries the breakfast tray, and one of us carries the flowers.”
They jerked up, wrought with terror at being the sibling who didn’t get to carry the special gift.
I sighed. “Never mind. You two take it together. How’s that?”
My kids nodded, and I showed them the proper way to carry the box. Their little hands were careful to steady it as they shuffled across the hallway. They didn’t even wait for me. They were too excited. I struggled with the tray for breakfast and the huge bouquet of flowers, following them.
“Very quiet,” I warned them. “Gently. Do you understand? We’re going to wake up Mom gently.”
Zach pushed open the bedroom door.
The room was bathed in darkness, only a few streams of light came from the hallway. Tallulah arrived home from a Seattle conference yesterday, her sleep schedule was still in limbo. They never let her rest enough on those trips.
She was curled up in bed, her long, dark hair in a braid over her shoulder, her face peaceful, one of my t-shirts on.
Sleeping just as soundly, Rat was nestled in with Tallulah.
Her thick, black fur now mixed with gray, her back leg didn’t work well anymore, she was blind in one eye, and her meows sounded like a smoker coughing out ashes.
But she was just as sharp as when we found her.
Ever since Tallulah gave birth, Rat became extra protective and was never more than two feet away from her when Tallulah was home.
My lips curved into a smile before I even realized I was smiling. Something melted inside of me at the sight of Tallulah.
Fuck, I loved my wife.
“MOM!” Harlow screamed. “WAKE UP, THERE’S A PRESENT!”
Holy shit! I clapped a hand over my daughter’s mouth—too late. Tallulah and Rat lurched up together, Rat jerking around on her three good legs, and Tallulah clutching her throat.
“Fire?” burst out of her, frantic. “Kids? Fire? Tornado?!”
“Harlow.” I gave my daughter a hard look and apologized, coming closer. “Sweetheart, I’m sorry, no fire, no tornado. The kids are okay—”
“Oh my god.” Tallulah put her head in her hands, breathing hard. “Don’t wake up Mom like that.” She threw her braid over her shoulder, giving us a confused look. “What…?”
“Happy Mother’s Day,” Zach sang, climbing into her lap. “I didn’t wake you up like that, I’m the favorite.”
“Mother’s…? Oh. I forgot.” Tallulah wrapped him in a hug, glancing at the clock. “Aw, it’s ten. You let me sleep in.”
“I wanted to wake you up at five. Dad said no,” Harlow declared, crawling into bed too. “I asked again, and Dad said no, and I asked again, and Dad said no—”
Tallulah threw me a grateful smile and I smiled back, exhausted. “Happy Mother’s Day.”
She cooed over the breakfast tray, the bouquet of bright yellow flowers with her favorite Black-Eyed Susans, until I realized the kids had left the present at the edge of the bed, dangerously teetering. I hurried to scoop it up, passing it to Zach.
“Thank you so much, babies.” Tallulah yawned and tilted her head when Zach brought over the present. “Ooo, what’s this?”
Rat sat up on her haunches, inspecting the box too. With a bewildered chuckle, Tallulah opened it.
A meow echoed from inside and a tuxedo kitten popped his head out, blinking his huge green eyes at us, glancing around slowly at the small crowd gathered around it.
Tallulah’s lower lip wobbled, her eyes full of wonder. “Nick…”
Rat smacked the top of the kitten’s head like a whack-a-mole, sending it flopping into the box again.