My mom’s dancing around the kitchen listening to Christmas carols when I walk in.
“Really letting Thanksgiving have its moment, huh?” I ask, pouring a generous helping of coffee into a mug.
“Tell me a Thanksgiving song to listen to, and I’ll put in on,” she tells me.
I take a seat at the counter, studying the reddish mixture in the bowl next to the stove. “Um, what’s that?”
“I’m making cranberry French toast.”
“Interesting.” I sip. “I thought we were just having a normal breakfast?”
“I decided to get creative. Here, grate the potatoes.” She hands me three peeled potatoes and a grater.
“Where are the potatoes supposed to go?”
She rolls her eyes, then pulls a tray out from one of the bottom cabinets. Passes it to me.
“How was Evan’s last night?” she asks.
“Uh, fine. I invited him to come with us later, to get the tree.”
“Great. How’s he doing?”
“Good, I think. You can ask him yourself.”
She nods, then grabs a baguette and starts slicing it. For the maroon mixture, I guess.
“I took a look at my schedule for the next few weeks. I think I can make it to another one of your games the second week of December.”
“You don’t need to do that, Mom. I know how busy you are.”
“I want to, honey. I would go to every single one, if I could.”
And there might not be that many more. She doesn’t say it, but we both know it’s a strong possibility.
“Okay, well, if you can make it, I’d love to see you.”
“Does a certain redhead attend these games?”
I glance up, almost grating my finger in the process. “What are you talking about?”
“It seemed like there was something going on there, when we ran into Harlow on campus.”
My focus returns to the potatoes.
“We don’t have to talk about, if you don’t want to.”
“She’s like his daughter. She’s Landon’s best friend.” I spit the two sentences out, making my distaste clear. Not that my mom doesn’t already know I feel about the Garrisons. She understands it better than anyone else could comprehend.
“Most of life is messy, Conor.”
“It would never work out between us.”
“How do you know?” my mom asks.
“I just…do. And I can’t believe you’re encouraging it.”
She raises one eyebrow at me. “How is any of what happened her fault?”
“It’s not. But she’s this…connection to them. A constant reminder. I’m not going to ask her to choose, and she probably wouldn’t pick me even if I did. It’s better to just keep things the way they are.”
“And how’s that?”
“Just, uh, casual.”
“You’ve never taken her on a date?”
I shift awkwardly on my stool. My mom and I are close. I share most of my life with her. But aside from her giving me a safe sex talk, we’ve never really discussed girls. There’s never been a girl to discuss.
“We went bowling once. With friends.”
“How romantic.”
“Mom.”
She laughs, then turns serious. “Do you want more than casual?”
“I…don’t know. It wasn’t supposed to—I wasn’t expecting it to become anything. I should be totally focused on hockey.”
“There’s more to life than hockey, honey. And neither you nor I can predict the future. But if this is your final season, if things don’t end up the way you’re hoping? You might wish you’d spent your senior year a little differently.”
It’s basically the exact opposite of the advice Hunter gave me: focus on hockey and the girls will be there later.
I fall somewhere in the middle of my mom and Hunter, I guess. There are still things under my control. We’re not even halfway through the season. I have chances left, and nothing has been decided for certain. This isn’t the time to back off and get distracted, to shift my attention elsewhere. But what my mom seems to get and Hunter doesn’t is that Harlow isn’t just another girl to me. She won’t be easily replaceable, if I prioritize hockey and lose her.
“I went over there last night,” I admit.
“To the Garrisons’?” My mom’s voice is high and surprised. She knows exactly how long it’s been since my last visit—she was the one who picked me up.
“Yeah. I…I wanted to see her. I didn’t talk to anyone else. Well, Allison opened the door. But that was it.”
“How was it?”
“Weird. Not only being back there, but seeing her there. Knowing she’s staying in that house…” I shake my head, finishing the final potato and then going over to the sink to wash the sticky starch off my hands.
My mom sighs as I sit back down.
“I’ll say this once, and then we can go back to not talking about it, unless you decide otherwise.”
I nod.
“Your father has a lot of regrets, Conor. But I have some too. I was young and scared when I found out I was pregnant with you. Your dad and I were in a bad place, I found out about Allison, and I…I was hurt. But I was an adult. I was supposed to be one, at least. And it’s the most selfish thing I’ve ever done, letting my pride get in the way of you knowing your father. Letting my feelings toward him impact yours. Hugh chose Allison over me. He didn’t choose Landon over you. He tried—for years—to be a part of your life. He invited you on trips and tried to buy gifts for you and…he just wanted to spend time around you. But for a long time that meant I had to spend time around him. Or coordinate plans with your school or your daycare that made my life more difficult. Then you got old enough to have a say and I was…relieved. A petty part of me was so relieved that you chose me over him. That you wanted nothing to do with him. But I should have been devastated by that, not celebrating. Hugh made mistakes, but he’s not a bad man. He’s your father, and he wanted to be your father. If you want no relationship with him, that’s your decision to make. To keep making. But if that changes, if you decide that is something you want, that’s a choice I’d support. Okay?”
“Okay.”
“Good. Can you turn the music up?”
I shake my head but get up to adjust the speaker. It feels way too early to be listening to carols chiming, but watching my mom sing and dance around is worth it.
And way more enjoyable than talking about my non-existent relationship with my father.
