WHILE MY MOM bustles around the party, topping up drinks and chatting with people, I sit beside Hazel in the living room. My mom bought this house a few months after she left, and I’ve been here twice. No, three times. I spent most of my visits practicing slapshots in the driveway, ignoring her.
“Hazel,” my mom says, taking the seat beside her. “What do you do?”
Her hand slips into mine, anchoring me. “I’m a physio for the team.”
They talk about Hazel’s work and her yoga practice, and my mom gives me a warm look when Hazel shows her the earrings I bought.
“How are you liking the Vancouver team, Rory?” my mom asks, and the room seems to quiet down.
“Good.” I send her a quick glance. “Streicher’s on the team, so it’s nice to play with someone I know.” I shift, aware that everyone in the room is listening to our conversation. “And I like playing for Ward.”
My mom nods, humming. “Didn’t you have his poster on your wall?”
Hazel smiles up at me, and I try to smile back, but my face feels rigid. “Yeah.”
She hums again, and we fall quiet. She looks at her hands in her lap before glancing over at me. “Jamie and his mom are doing well?”
I nod. “Yep.”
“He and my sister are engaged,” Hazel adds, and my mom lights up.
“I saw he was engaged but I didn’t know she’s your sister.” My mom’s gaze flicks between us, hesitating like she wants to say more. “Congratulations to them.”
Hazel runs her thumb over the back of my hand, and a few knots inside me untie. I don’t know how I’d do this without her.
“Jamie’s a surly grump,” Hazel tells my mom, “but I couldn’t ask for a better brother-in-law.”
My mom chuckles. “He was always quiet and serious. Nothing like Rory. I guess that’s why they were good for each other.”
I don’t know what to say. Everything we talk about is from the past, but I don’t want to talk about hockey. She hates hockey.
This is awkward. I open my mouth to ask if she still makes jewelry, but the doorbell rings, and she jumps up like she was waiting for an out. She opens the door and more of her friends pile in.
“I’m so glad we could make it,” her friend says, hugging my mom. “When you called yesterday—”
“Oh, yes, yes.” My mom cuts her off, eyes darting over to me and Hazel. “So good to see you.”
Her friend sees me and gasps, hands on her mouth and eyes wide. “Is this Rory?”
I give her a tight smile. “Hi.”
“My god,” she breathes. “He’s Rick’s twin!”
So fast I barely catch it, my mom winces, and my heart sinks.
“I need to, uh,” I start, getting to my feet, not meeting Hazel’s searching gaze. “I’m going to grab some water. Be right back.”
I sense Hazel’s eyes on me the entire way to the kitchen. At the kitchen sink, I pour a glass from the tap, down it, and pour another, staring out the window into the back yard.
What am I doing here? I’m just ripping open old wounds. The way she reacted when her friend said I looked like my dad was everything I needed to know.
This was a huge fucking mistake. I don’t know what I thought was going to happen, showing up. Did I think suddenly we were going to be different people? That we could start fresh or something?
Pathetic, Rick would say.
I think back to the day she left, when she asked if I wanted to go with her. Everything would be different if I had said yes. I’d know my own mom. I wouldn’t play hockey, though.
“Rory.” My mom steps into the kitchen wearing a strange expression.
The kitchen feels too small with just the two of us, but at the same time, my gaze clings to her, taking her in. My mom. My heart hurts, looking at her. Even though she’s right in front of me, I miss her.
I wish we could start fresh. I just don’t know how.
She gestures over her shoulder, shaking her head. “I’m sorry about what Erica said. About you looking like your dad.”
I take a drink of water, just for something to do with my hands. “Everyone says it.”
“I always thought you looked more like me.”
Silence stretches between us. I can smell her perfume—the same one she used to wear when I was a kid.
“How’s your dad?”
“Uh.” I rub the back of my neck, thinking about our call yesterday. “He’s good.”
“Is he in town for the holiday?”
I shake my head. “Back in Toronto. He’s not much of a Christmas guy.”
She nods like she remembers before her expression changes. “He used to be, when you were really little. He loved doing all the Christmas stuff with you.”
I make a face. That doesn’t sound like him.
“Honestly, Rory, he was.” She sighs. “Your dad loves you. I hope you know that. He shows it the only way he knows how.”
My dad loves hockey. He loves being the best and anyone connected to him being the best, but I shove that all away.
“I should get back—” I start.
“Are you happy?”
The question stabs me in the heart, and I don’t know why. She waits, watching my face. “Yeah. I am. Hazel’s…” I trail off, looking to the living room, where we can hear everyone talking and laughing. “Hazel’s amazing.”
My mom’s worried expression melts into a smile full of affection. “She’s lovely. You seem perfect for each other.”
I just nod. I want to tell her how I’ve liked Hazel since high school and how we did this whole faking it thing to piss off her ex, and how I’m in love with her and have no idea what to do or when to tell her.
Instead, I stare at the water glass on the counter and nod again. “I hope so.”
It’s quiet again in the kitchen, and I take a step to go back to the living room.
“I have a gift for you,” she says quickly behind me.
My eyebrows go up as she hustles into the living room and returns holding a small gift box. “It’s not much, but—” She hands it to me, flustered. “Well, just open it.”
I pull the lid off and push the tissue paper aside. It’s a knit sweater, a navy blue with flecks of gray in the wool, just like Hartley’s eyes. When I hold it up, it looks like the right size.
“Did you make this?”
Like she’s embarrassed, she nods, and my chest strains. Why is she making sweaters if she left? Why is she inviting me over for Christmas parties with her friends and meeting my girlfriend and asking about my dad?
“I made it last year. I wanted to give it to you then, but I lost my nerve.”
I can feel the baffled expression on my face. “Last year?”
She winces. “I figured you already have everything you need and you wouldn’t want it—”
This sweet ache in my chest, I think it’s that worthy feeling Hazel talked about in yoga that one time. I set the box on the counter and hug my mom as hard as I can. Her warm, cinnamon scent wraps around us, and she hugs me back.
“Thank you,” I tell her in a strange, thick voice. “I love it.”
We pull apart, and she doesn’t meet my eyes. “I wanted you to be warm enough. You’re always traveling with the team to cold places.”
The corner of my mouth tips up. Such a mom thing to say.
Back in the living room, I take my seat beside Hazel and slip my hand into hers.
“Everything okay?” she whispers, and I nod. She leans harder against me. “I’m not going anywhere,” she adds, and I can breathe again.
