I ARRIVE HOME from work later than usual and know Noah will already be asleep. I’m a little disappointed I can’t ask him how his first lesson with Mitch went. I’m even more disappointed—and annoyed with myself—for being bummed that I missed seeing the giant brute today. Don’t get me wrong, the guy has issues, and I’m totally not into him. But I can still enjoy the view, the same way I’d enjoy looking at a pretty waterfall, or a great book cover.
But when I made my schedule a month ago, I’d forgotten about Noah’s birthday. Huge sister fail. I’d been trying for weeks to find someone who could switch days with me, and this was my chance. Sara didn’t mind working for me next week if I covered for her today. Now I just need to find something special to do for Noah’s birthday. Maybe I’ll finally use those D.C. Eagles season tickets my Dad got.
When I open the front door, Ronda is standing in the entryway, her arms crossed, her right foot tapping on the laminate flooring, and her stare drilling into me.
“Why do I feel like I’m about to be grounded?” I ask, screeching to a halt the moment the door closes behind me.
“You never mentioned that Mitch ‘The Machine’ Anderson was the guy working with Noah.”
“I didn’t know it was a big deal?”
“Mhmm. Mitch is awfully young and awfully handsome.”
“Ronda, Ronda” I say in an innocent tone. “I mean, he seems a little young for you… but get it, girl.”
She narrows her eyes. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”
Sighing, I slide off my sneakers and walk past her down the hallway and into the kitchen. She trails right behind me, arms still crossed, I’m sure. I open the fridge and pull out a container of leftover chinese takeout.
“When I told you you needed to go on a date, I didn’t mean with a roguish professional athlete whose temper could rival the god of the underworld.”
I pop the Chinese into the microwave to warm it up then turn to look at Ronda. I was right, her arms are still crossed. “Hades?” I laugh. “I’m not dating him, Ronda, I don’t even like the guy. I’ll admit… he’s easy on the eyes,” I offer, opening the silverware drawer and taking out a fork. “But I’m not interested in him. He never even smiles!”
Ronda’s eyebrow quirks. She looks unconvinced.
I roll my eyes. “He has time at the moment to help Noah. That’s it.” I shrug just as the microwave beeps, giving me an excuse to turn away from Ronda’s intense stare.
She heaves a heavy sigh as I remove my food from the microwave and stick my fork inside the container. “Alright, whatever you say. Just…” She pauses and I turn back to look at her. Her expression conveys her concern. “Just be careful with your heart, okay?”
Trying to lighten the mood, I tease, “What happened to Miss ‘when’s the last time you took a man to bed?’”
She smirks and steps forward to pat my shoulder. “You can’t take just anyone to bed, sweetheart.”
“So no hot, tattooed, muscular athletes? Just double checking the rules here.”
She laughs. “How about a nice, clean-skinned, boy-next-door type instead?”
“Boooooooring.”
She throws her hands up in defeat. “You’re impossible.”
“Don’t worry. I’m not into broody-angry guys.” I take a bite of rice and talk with my mouth full, too hungry to care. “But if you find any hot, muscular, nice guys, let me know. Preferably ones with tattoos.”
“I’m gonna head out. You behave yourself.” She waves me off, then walks down the hallway to let herself out the front door.
I yell, “Well-behaved women rarely make history, Ronda. Or get to ride off into the sunset with a hot, inked manly man!”
“I’m ignoring you!” she yells back, then I hear the click of the door.
Chuckling, I finish my Chinese leftovers then head upstairs, shower, throw on my rattiest tee shirt, and finally fall into bed.
Let’s face it, life is better horizontal.
The fact that the word horizontal instantly makes a fantasy of Mitch Anderson pop into my mind? Yeah, I’m probably going straight to the underworld for that.
As hard as I try, I can’t get Mitch out of my stupid head. Curiosity about his time with Noah today is eating away at me anyway, so I might as well just text him about it. It’s totally not a big deal. It’s like texting one of Noah’s teachers.
Except I don’t have his teacher’s cell phone numbers, and don’t picture any of his teachers horizontal. I’m contemplating sending him a message and lecturing myself for having a dirty mind, when my phone pings.
BIG MAN
Had to work today?
The tiny bubbles of satisfaction and giddiness that erupt inside of me are nothing short of mortifying. And here I was just convincing Ronda that Mitch isn’t my type, blah, blah. Yeah, she saw right through that. Mitch is everyone’s type. Except Ronda’s, apparently.
ANDIE
Yeah, sorry about that. Noah’s birthday is next week and I’d been trying to switch days with someone. How’d today go? Were you a bully? Do I need to come over there and pummel your ass?
Oh, the things I’d like to do to that man…
BIG MAN
It went fine.
Wow. That’s all I get? I should’ve known. A rock has better communication skills.
BIG MAN
What are you doing for his birthday?
My eyebrows shoot up to my hairline. I wasn’t expecting him to ask, or care.
ANDIE
There’s some lame team in town that my parents purchased season tickets for. Huge waste of money, if you ask me. But it’s Noah’s birthday, not mine. At least their ugliest player is suspended right now.
I snort with laughter then instantly sober and wonder if I went too far. Why do I always say too much?
BIG MAN
Funny.
ANDIE
*GIF of Ron Swanson giggling*
BIG MAN
I’ve seen those guys in the locker room, trust me, there are way uglier guys than me.
ANDIE
So who’s the handsomest one? I’ll keep an eye out.
Three bubbles appear and disappear several times before a response comes through.
BIG MAN
Colby Knight. #27.
I giggle, who is this and what has he done with the big man who barely speaks? Maybe he’s better at texting.
BIG MAN
But he’s a pretty boy.
I burrow deeper into the blankets on my bed, and bite my bottom lip as I think of how to respond.
ANDIE
Maybe I’m not into pretty boys.
BIG MAN
A pretty boy could never handle that mouth of yours.
My blush spreads from my face to my chest. What is happening right now… is Mitch… flirting? I glance at my bedroom door, which is closed, and I wonder if Ronda is going to pop inside my room any second and yell ‘gotcha!’
ANDIE
I’m a lot to handle.
BIG MAN
That’s an understatement.
I stare at the text, trying to read between the lines. I honestly can’t tell if he’s flirting, or if he’s genuinely irritated by my personality. Mitch starts typing again. Then stops. Then starts typing. Over and over again. I don’t know how many minutes tick by when another text finally comes through.
BIG MAN
What day is Noah’s birthday?
Once again he surprises me. Why does he even want to know?
ANDIE
Friday.
BIG MAN
Too bad you don’t know someone who could get you box seats for Friday’s game.
ANDIE
Are you offering…?
BIG MAN
Trying to get a favor from the ugliest player on the D.C. Eagles?
ANDIE
Oh… no. Of course not. I was totes talking about someone else in my earlier text.
BIG MAN
Really? I didn’t know anyone else was suspended.
ANDIE
Yeah… that one guy. He’s not very well known. I’d never refer to YOU as ugly! You’re a beaut, Big Man! Like a big, growly, hairy grizzly bear.
BIG MAN
Hairy?
ANDIE
Referring to the beard.
BIG MAN
What’s wrong with beards?
ANDIE
I LOVE beards. I’d grow one if I could.
I cringe. Why am I so weird?
BIG MAN
Please don’t.
ANDIE
Let me start over…
ANDIE
Mitch Anderson, largest, most beautiful bearded man in the NHL, would you ever find it in your big, strong heart to hook me up with great seats for Noah’s 12th birthday?
ANDIE
I’m not above groveling.
My cheeks feel sore and I realize I’ve been grinning at my phone like a fool this entire time. I open my mouth wide to stretch my facial muscles then try to scowl the way Mitch would. No more grinning.
BIG MAN
Only if I can tag along.
ANDIE
You want to come with us?
BIG MAN
Not really. But if I go with you, I can introduce Noah to the team. And if I was turning twelve, that would probably be the ultimate birthday.
ANDIE
Liar. You want to come with us.
BIG MAN
Do you want the tickets or not?
ANDIE
Yes.
BIG MAN
You’re racking up a lot of favors, you know.
ANDIE
How will I ever repay you?
I could offer him several ideas. Including, but not limited to unlimited abdominal massages. I just know he’s got a killer set of abs. The typing bubbles appear and disappear several times again. Maybe my comment was too blatantly flirtatious.
BIG MAN
No need to repay me. I’ll text you the details when I get the tickets from our GM.
My cheeks heat once more, this time from embarrassment. I spooked him with my whole repayment comment. Well, he’s still coming to the game with us, so I must not have freaked him out too much with my personality. I know I’m a lot, he’s not wrong that not just any guy could handle me.
ANDIE
Thank you, Mitch!
BIG MAN
No problem. Goodnight, Blondie.
ANDIE
Goodnight.
I drop Noah off at school the next morning and when I arrive back home, the front door is nearly barricaded with boxes.
“The gym equipment,” I say to myself in a half groan. It arrived earlier than I expected. Now my peaceful morning has unfortunately been interrupted. I’m suddenly regretting the energy and inspiration I had last week with revamping the town house and making an in-home gym.
When will I even have time to workout? Oh well. I can sleep when I’m dead.
It takes me half an hour just to get the boxes inside my door. They’re freaking heavy. And I’m currently out of shape from not strength training in the last nine months.
Sweat drips down my back by the time I’ve moved the boxes inside. And by inside, I mean right inside the door. I haven’t even pushed the boxes down the hallway and into the guest room yet.
I stare at the boxes for five straight minutes before deciding I’ll do the rest another day. Right now, I need caffeine. Then hopefully, I’ll have newfound energy to finish taking apart the bed in the guest room and clearing it out for the gym equipment. Glancing at the watch on my wrist, I calculate how many hours I have to clean this room out and do laundry before getting Noah from school and taking him to hockey practice. I turn in the slim hallway, which is awkward since there are boxes everywhere, and gaze at the photo of me and Noah with our parents. A wave of emotion and exhaustion hits me like a slap in the face.
I’m so busy that I don’t often have time to acknowledge the feelings swirling around inside me at the loss of them. These two amazing people I adored, who Noah adored. Who were the most amazing parents.
Mom never complained about Noah’s hockey schedule, and here I am completely overwhelmed most of the time.
“How’d you do it, Mom?” I ask the picture, her deep brown eyes staring back at me.
And I wish, so much, that she could answer me. That she could talk to me right now. Give me some of that epic, wise advice she always had.
I wish we could have coffee together, that I could ask her how she likes the pale yellow color we painted in her living room last week, or that I could just wrap my arms around her shoulders one last time.
But she’s just… gone.
Here I was, so looking forward to having a quiet day to myself today, but suddenly the quiet makes my thoughts feel too loud. I sniff and realize I’ve been crying, my shirt is damp from the tears streaming down my face. What a picture this must be, a sweaty woman standing in a hallway, barricaded with boxes, crying her eyes out.
Sighing, I place a kiss to my index finger then tap it against her forehead in the photo. I clear my throat and set my shoulders.
“This is your life now, Andie, live it, and live it well,” I say to myself, thinking that’s probably what my mom would say to me at this moment.
Walking into the kitchen, I pour my coffee inside a travel mug, and set out to build my stupid gym. Because I don’t give up and wallow in self-pity, and neither would Mom.
I’m going to thrive, and I’m going to be strong. For myself and for Noah.
I last one hour before I’m on the guest room floor sweaty, sore and crying again. The pieces of my new squat rack are strewn about the room along with weights and nuts and bolts. It’s chaos.
This home gym is now a reflection of my life. I’m laying on my back staring at the ceiling when I yell, “I give up, okay!? I can’t be you, Mom!”
I instantly feel guilty… and childish.
So I’m not a travel nurse anymore? Big deal. So I can’t go out whenever I want? Whatever. So I don’t even have time to date and I’m flirting with my little brother’s coach? Okay, that one’s borderline desperate.
But none of it matters when my parents are gone. I’d give up a million more freedoms if I could have them back… for Noah to have them back.
There’s no feeling more desperate, more gut-wrenching… than being completely and utterly overwhelmed in life, and having zero options to change the circumstances to make things easier… lighter. The fact is, this is heavy. This is hard. And I just have to learn to deal with it all gracefully.
When all I really want to do is lay here on the floor and cry and feel sorry for myself. I don’t want to be strong and resilient… I want to live out my days as the fun, carefree sister who travels all over the country doing the job she loves.
And yet, here I am… forced into being strong and resilient.
Slowly, I force myself into a sitting position and then stand up. I groan at the mess around me, turning and walking out of my bedroom—er, guestroom. Wait, it’s now the home gym. Okay, ‘home gym’ is a major exaggeration in its current state—then close the door firmly behind me.
When I’m back in the kitchen, my eyes go straight to the bright pink container labeled sassy jar. It sits there in its glittery bedazzled glory, mocking me. I want to smash it on the ground into a million little pieces and curse at it.
Yeah, I know… the irony is not lost on me.
With a deep breath, I think of three things I’m grateful for today: Ronda, audiobooks, and my gym equipment. (My feelings on that last are iffy).
I can do this. Me and Noah? We’ve got this. A few swear words and an unfinished home gym won’t stop us.
That evening at hockey practice, I sit alone. The perfect end to my day full of emotional breakdowns. We’re allowed one of those days every once in a while, right?
Tori smiled at me when she walked in, but Steph has avoided eye contact. I sit there, watching Noah—and Mitch—wishing I knew how to handle the Steph situation. And feeling melancholy and alone.
I’ve never wanted a hug so badly in my life.
The only thing that brings a smile to my face today, is watching the familiarity between Noah and Mitch tonight. It’s like they went from mean coach and annoying student, to big brother and little brother… in their own subdued, broody way. I never realized before how alike their personalities are. Maybe that’s why they butted heads at first. Or perhaps, they just really bonded during their one-on-one time.
But tonight, Mitch seems softer somehow, kinder. Like this coaching gig is teaching him just as much as it is the kids. Like he’s learning right along with them.
Mitch glances over at me and catches me staring. I’m too emotionally and physically exhausted to jerk my eyes away and pretend I wasn’t looking at him, so I pull a Mitch and nod my head once. He gives me a barely perceptible smirk back, something so small I wouldn’t have considered it a smile a few weeks ago. But the more I interact with Mitch, I notice the small things that most people wouldn’t.
It’s like my Mitch-related senses are heightened because I have to really look, really pay attention, to notice his reactions. The shine of his eyes when he’s teasing, the twitch of his mouth when he’s smiling, the clench of his jaw when he’s irritated—which happens frequently—yeah, Mitch ‘The Machine’ isn’t a robot at all. Everything besides his temper, and the sheer size of him, is just understated.
