Page 30 of Butterfly Effect

“Great. I’m back Thursday. Put it on your calendar.”

“Oooh, direct. I like your game.” He reaches into his pocket to retrieve his phone, but my patience wears thin. I snatch it from him.

“Here’s my number.”

His tongue clicks. “Nothing turns me on like a bold woman.”

That’ll do it. I’m definitely not attracted to him.

“Do you hear yourself? There.” I hit save on the created event and hand the phone back. “Thursday at 5 p.m.”

“It’s a date.”

“You wish. It’s an interview. I’ll have questions ready. You do the same.”

“Sounds good, Freckles. I’ll pick the place and text you.”

“You’re a terrible listener. Didn’t I say not to call me that?”

“False! Your boyfriend is agreatlistener.”

“Get away from me.” I scowl over my shoulder on my way out.

His hand cups one side of his mouth. “Miss you already, Freckles!”

I grumble and ignore his ridiculous behavior while mashing the elevator button.

And I’m supposed to keep from murdering him for the next four months? Lord, help me.

The crew socializes with the Winnipeg Blazers as we wait for the charter plane to arrive. I settle into a quiet corner of the lounge in prep for my pre-flight routine.

Dad’s picture pops up while the FaceTime call rings. It’s from four years ago, after the first NHL game I covered, his goofy, gaping smile pretending to use my held-out mic while we half-hug.

The top half of his head answers. “Balaaaaa.”

My heart twinges at the nickname my mother used. No matter how long it’s been since her passing, the word always comes out in her voice. Will it ever stop doing that?

“Daaaaaad,” I whine.

“What? Kai jhala?” Concern wrinkles his brow.

The wound of her absence deepens when he speaks to me in Marathi, too.

“Move the phone down.” I repeat myself when the screen skews. “Dad.”

He adjusts to show his body going lax and his head lolling to his chest.

“Dad! What are you doing?”

“You said ‘dead!’ I thought it was a command. I played dead.”

“Very funny.”

Dad snickers. “I thought so.”

“Can we stick to English, please?”

Mouth pulling into a frown, he tilts his head. “I miss the days when my little girl called me Baba.”

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