Page 58 of Unlovable Player

“I have no idea.”

“You have no idea what your parents listen to? What did they play in the house when you were growing up?”

“I don’t know. I went to boarding school.”

“Oh.” The way she says it, it sounds like she wants to follow up with, “I’m sorry,” the way you do when you hear someone died.

The sad song in the background only makes me feel more pathetic.

Lisa jumps up. “In that case, you’re going to be my new pet project.”

Austin groans.

“It’s not often I get a music virgin to mold.”

Austin flushes, but Lisa has her back turned, rifling through her vinyl collection. A new song starts to play and she bumps her hips to it before saying, “oh I love this one,” and turning the volume up.

“When Austin was a little kid he’d sing this all the time.”

“Austin sings?”

That wipes the smile off his face. “No.”

“He had a lovely voice.” She turns to me. “It’s a shame he’s too cool to sing anymore.”

I ruffle his hair and he drops his eyes.

“Okay, so if you like Fleetwood Mac, you’re gonna love this-”

Lisa plays me records for most of the night, telling me stories about Austin when he was a kid. Before we go to bed, she cracks open the old photo-albums, showing me pictures of Austin running around the backyard in this very house in a diaper. Playing in an inflatable pool, surrounded by similar-looking men I guess are his uncles with their wives. In the pictures, no one is posing, nothing is staged. Everything is just naturally happening. The men and women are drinking beer from cans or bottles and laughing. They’re wearing Devil’s hockey jerseys (Austin too), or big puffy coats as they pull the kids down a snowy hill in homemade sleds. They’re BBQing in comedic aprons. They’re smoking cigarettes and joking around, picking their wives up and playing hockey in the backyard.

I’ve never been so jealous in my life.

Lisa starts yawning and excuses herself to go to bed.

“There’s extra blankets and a sleeping bag in Austin’s room for you Seb.”

I thank her, and when she leaves, Austin and I sit for a moment surrounded by the albums with some song I don’t know playing on the record player.

“You don’t wantme to sleep on the floor do you?”

“Don’t be stupid. We can’t do anything while my ma’s home though, the walls are thin.”

“Okay.”

We change into old t-shirts and shorts and brush our teeth in the only bathroom. When we climb into Austin’s single bed, our bodies are close and I can feel his warmth under the comforter.

I want to touch him, but don’t know if he wants me to. Then he puts his arm around me and pulls me in close with a sigh. He rubs my back and I settle in.

“I really like your mom,” I whisper.

“I think she likes you too, she doesn’t show just anyone her record collection.”

I snort. “I’m honored, seriously. And those baby pictures-”

Austin groans. “If you ever mention those pictures to anyone on the team, I’ll kill you.”

“Noted.”

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