Chapter 3 #3
I laugh. "Why does anyone end up anywhere, Mal?
Life. Circumstances. My dad drove big rigs for a logging company and got transferred up there, and Mom went with him.
Dad was an abusive asshole, apparently, so Mom left him.
She never had enough money to go anywhere, so we just stayed, even after Dad got a job down in Oregon.
" I shrug. “He left when I was…four? Five?”
"Oh. Okay."
"Mom was a waitress at a diner. She worked twelve-hour shifts seven days a week. Smoked two packs a day, drank herself to sleep every night, and had terrible taste in men, a feature she passed on to me, unfortunately."
"Was she mean?"
"Oh, god no. Mom was sweet as sugar, she was just …
tired. Exhausted by life. She drank to get to sleep and forget the shit hand she'd been dealt.
She was always very loving with me." I smile a little, remembering her.
"I was obsessed with pancakes when I was little.
She'd make big batches of batter and keep it in the fridge, and she'd make me piles of silver dollar pancakes every morning.
She wanted so badly to make up for the fact that my father was a fuckstick and we lived where we did, so she worked her ass off and saved and scraped so she could put me into figure skating lessons. "
Mal snickers. "A fuckstick, huh?"
"I honestly don't remember much about him. Vague memories of a big, bushy-bearded man being angry and violent. Lots of yelling at Mom. She gave back as good as she got, though. Never took it lying down and didn't take it for long."
"So absent men is a family tradition."
"Sadly, yes. I think it was true for Mom, too."
"Back to my father," Mal prompts.
"Well, you need more context. Like I said, Mom had terrible taste in men.
When I reached high school and got my own job, she didn't have to work as hard, and that's when she started dating, and they were uniformly awful.
Drunks, assholes, and losers, for the most part.
They never lasted long because she had no tolerance for bullshit, but just couldn't seem to pick a decent guy to save her life.
I dunno. I guess I just internalized that—those types of guys.
My first boyfriend was very much in the same vein as mom's boyfriends.
Big, dumb, and not great looking, but not ugly either.
Mikey wasn't a bad guy, honestly. He was just never going to leave that town, and I wanted more.
" I hesitate. "I got pregnant when I was eighteen. Two months before graduation."
Mal's head spins around so fast it's a miracle she didn't give herself whiplash. "What?"
"His parents insisted we get married, and honestly, it wouldn't have been the worst thing. He had a decent job lined up after graduation, working for the road commission." I swallow hard. "I, uh…I was five months pregnant, and we were smack in the middle of wedding planning when I miscarried."
Mal's look of shock explodes in sympathy. "Ohhh…Mom. God. I’m so sorry."
I smile at her and pat her knee under the blanket.
"Long, long time ago, honey. It was the hardest thing I could imagine, at the time.
Mikey too. He shut down, and I got angry.
Not at him, just…life. When I got pregnant, I was on track to win pretty much all the comps.
The Olympics were in sight. And then I got pregnant.
I found my way to accepting my new lot in life, that my dreams of getting out of Cold Creek and seeing the world were gone.
And then I lose the baby? Yeah, I was angry and our relationship didn't survive it. "
"That young, I guess that makes sense."
I laugh. "That young? I was older than you are, Mal."
"I know! That's what I mean. I can't even imagine."
“Good, I'm glad you can't. That's when I left Cold Creek. My friend from high school had moved to Nome after graduation, and when her roommate moved out unexpectedly, I moved in with her. Got a job at an office and found a coach. Got back into skating."
"And then?"
I shrug. "A series of things is what then. I dated a fisherman named Kyle. God, I was madly in love with him. He was gorgeous, Mal. Tall, with these big, sexy shoulders. Black hair that was always in his eyes, startling blue eyes."
Mal shifts uncomfortably. "You never talk about guys like that."
“Well, we’ve never had a conversation like this," I say. "I'm still a woman, Mal. I'm just your mom, first."
She frowns. thinks. "Mom first, woman second?"
I nod. “Yeah. I don't think you decide that; it’s just…it’s what being a mom is, a single mom especially. It becomes who you are. Everything else comes second."
"I think you can start being a woman first, now, Mom."
I smile at her, rest my head on her shoulder. "Easier said than done, but I appreciate the thought."
"So…what happened to Kyle?"
I swallow hard again. "An accident. Those deep-sea trawlers are dangerous. Leg got caught in a line, yanked him overboard, and he drowned before anyone could help."
"My god, Mom."
"Yeah, that sucked."
She looks at me with wide eyes. “That sucked? You were madly in love with him, he dies in a tragic accident, and…that sucked?"
I shrug. "I was a mess for a long time, if that's what you want to hear. Threw myself into skating more than ever because it was the only way I knew how to cope." I inhale, hold it, let it out. "Then there was Slade."
Mal snickers. "Slade? His name was actually Slade?"
I bark a laugh. "Oh, that's not even the best part." I pause for effect. "The best part is that his last name was, I shit you not, Slaughter. I saw the birth certificate."
Mal blinks at me and then bursts into laughter. "You dated a guy named Slade Slaughter?"
"Yup."
"Was he a GI Joe?"
"Worse.” I pause for effect. “He was a roughneck."
Her eyes widen. “Oh. Ohhhhh.” We have a small but noticeable population of roughnecks who spend their time on dry land in Tomlin Falls. They're…a unique bunch. They're good men, for the most part; they just definitely fit the term.
"Slade was a caricature," I say. "Built like an industrial freezer. Blonde ponytail, blonde beard which he also wore in a ponytail, or whatever you call it when it's a beard. He was a biker. Definitely a Lonergan's type."
Mal looks at me as if seeing me in a whole new light. "Mom, dude."
"What?"
"I just…I've never seen you with a man, so it's hard to picture it at all, let alone a guy like that."
"Oh, I was an old lady for a while."
She frowns. "Huh? An old lady? This was when you were, what? Early twenties?”
“It’s a biker term. Means I was the official girlfriend of a full-patch member of a motorcycle club.”
Her eyes go wider. "Seriously? You were in a biker gang.”
“Club, not gang, but yes.” I nod. "Had my own cut and everything." Before she can ask, I explain. "The leather vest with the club logo patch on the back."
She shakes her head, clutching her temples in both hands. "My brain is legit exploding right now."
"I drank hard, got in fights, rode on the back of Slade's bike, and hung out at Longergan's.
" I shrug. "He's how I ended up here in Tomlin Falls, as a matter of fact.
I met him at a dive bar on the highway an hour outside Nome.
I had a bad practice and drove out of the city to get some breathing room, and ended up there because I was hungry.
He was hot and I was lonely and he hit on me, so…
" I shrugged. "I spent so many hours on the back of that bike, Mal.
Slade was…he was complicated. He was a wild man in every sense of the word.
Hated to be indoors. Could barely stand being in a car.
I think something traumatic happened to him to make him that way, but he never told me what, if so.
We crisscrossed most of Alaska and much of Canada.
Days on end in the saddle. Shitty hotels and motels.
More than a few times, we'd put up this little pup tent he had, and we'd sleep by a fire just off the highway. "
She shakes her head again. "What the fuck, Mom? You were a badass biker chick?"
I laugh. "I dunno about badass, but yeah. I was a biker chick."
"Geez. I don't know what to do with this information." She looks at me. "I almost hesitate to ask what happened to him.”
I snort. "He got offered a job as a foreman on a rig down in the Gulf. He went, I stayed."
She frowns. "It sounds like kind of a fun life. Why'd you stay?"
I frown back, thoughtfully. "It was fun, most of the time.
But it's…a rough life. It's not for everyone.
And they were a real-deal MC that did stuff that I wasn't totally on board with.
But the real reason I stayed when Slade left was honestly Slade himself.
He was complicated, like I said. He could be so sweet, so loving, funny, and loyal.
He never cheated on me, and in that world, it's sort of acceptable to fuck around on your old lady, if your old lady is the kind to let you get away with it.
I wasn't, and he knew it, and he didn't. But he was a hard drinker, and he had a hell of a temper. It usually showed up as fistfights with the other guys, but occasionally, I’d catch a slap. "
She inhales sharply. "He hit you?"
"A few times, yeah. You gotta remember, I grew up seeing that.
Mom's boyfriends weren't always nice, like I said.
So it wasn't…abnormal, in my mind. It also wasn't a regular occurrence, so it was easier to excuse.” I shake my head.
"I'm different, now. It's never, ever, fucking ever okay, Mal.
Just so that's clear. A guy even physically intimidates you, you ghost his ass so fast his head spins. Hear me?"
Mal snickers, and it's a kind of wicked sound. "Mom, a guy will only ever even look at me crossways once. Trust."
I laugh. "Good. Glad that's clear." I go on, because I can't stop now. "So that's Slade."
"Do you still have the…what did you call it? Cut?"
I cock my head. "I think so?"
"Can I see it?"