Page 14 of Faking the Face Off

OLLIE

My mom always said that the kitchen is the true heart of the home, and I’m happy to report that she was not wrong. In fact, my kitchen hums with life tonight, the kind that comes with simmering sauce and the crackle of garlic as it hits the pan. The air is heavy with the scent of tomatoes and oregano, warm and inviting, like the kind of place you’d want to linger while trying to sneak in a taste test or two.

I stir the pot, tasting as I go, adding a pinch of salt, a shake of pepper. In the background, a record spins on the old stereo in the living room, crooning soft jazz that scratches faintly at the edges. The music pairs strangely well with the faint wail of an ambulance speeding past outside, sirens fading as it rushes toward the hospital a few blocks away. It’s a soundtrack I’m used to by now, part of the rhythm of living here, like the creak of the old floorboards or the hum of the fridge.

The door creaks open, and my roommate Dixon strolls in, his hoodie half-zipped, hair sticking up like he’s been napping. “Tell me that’s for me,” he says, his grin wide enough to make me roll my eyes.

“It’s for both of us,” I reply, tossing him a plate, which he catches. “Help yourself.”

The sound of a rooster crowing plays, signaling a text. It’s my father’s personal tone, one that causes even Dixon to raise an eyebrow as his eyes land on my phone resting on the counter.

“What does he want?” he asks, jerking his head in its direction.

“We’ll see,” I say with dread in my voice as I cross the room. My dad was not around for my formative years. While my mom is still here in River City, he took off and left us when I was still in elementary school. He left my mother alone to raise four kids, while also trying to start a business with her friend. Total candidate for Father of the Year.

It wasn’t a big surprise that once I started playing hockey and got some attention that put my name out there, of course he suddenly reappeared in our lives. Mostly mine, but out of respect for the fact he is my blood relative I wanted to give him a chance. I want to do this, to see if I can find some good deep down inside of him. My mother and sisters drew their own lines in the sand when it came to reconnecting with him, so it’s just me now trying to repair our wound.

Glancing at the screen, today’s message seems harmless. But then again, he always is until he isn’t.

How’s my boy doing?

Good. Getting ready to go out of town soon. You?

Saw that, good luck, son. I was looking at the stats for the game. Chicago is picked to win.

I fight the urge to punch the phone. Here we go.

Yep. Let me guess. You placed a bet?

Don’t be mad. If they win, I make money. Chicago is a great team, too.

Yeah, I know. It’s the team he wanted me to be on, but I wasn’t picked. His favorite AHL team that, in his mind, would lead to me one day moving up to the NHL. I want to scream that he needs to get his own dream, but that won’t help our relationship, will it?

This is my dad. He likes to bet against my team and only shows up to ask me for things when he needs them. He’s never called to say hi or see how I’m doing, but he’ll call me, like clockwork, every six to seven months and ask for a loan. Loans that are never paid back, and neither one of us brings up again. It’s exhausting and it’s my fault for letting him back in.

Okay, well good luck. Good night.

Ollie, if I get to Chicago can I get a ticket for the game?

Dixon turns to me as he shoves his last forkful in his mouth. “You gonna eat, bro?”

I look at my full plate and sigh as I put the phone down. “He wants a ticket.”

“In Chicago?” As I nod, he shakes his head. “No. Tell him you can’t.”

“He could show up anyway.”

“Deal with it then.” Dixon holds out his hand. “I’ll type it out if you want.”

Dixon has been around long enough to know how this scenario goes and how it makes me feel. Low. I stay quiet for a moment before picking my phone up again and tapping a reply, and then I put my phone down and turn it off.

“So?” Dixon asks.

“I…told him I’d see what I could do.”

“And you turned your phone off, too. Very brave.” Dixon snickers.

“It’s my dad,” I say. “I don’t know how to handle this.”

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