Page 100 of I Blame the Club

“Give Mrs. Montez my love!”

I peel out of the residence parking lot like a man possessed for the second time today, cranking the tunes all the way to where my family awaits. The open road doesn’t soothe the ache in my chest like I thought it would, but I don’t ease off the gas pedal until I pull onto the patchy driveway of my family home.

The Montez household sits on the edge of a different small town, and truth be told, it's nothing to write home about. The shutters need replacing, the bungalow needs a new coat of paint, and I’m pretty sure there are more weeds than flowers growing in our garden, but at the end of the day, it’s home.

“Carlos, can you get the door?” My mom’s shriek has my face breaking into a smile before I make it up the stairs.

“What are you talking about? No one has knocked.”

She scoffs, “Don’t ask questions, just do as I say.”

“Woman, questions are the only thing you leave me with most days.” The bickering continues as I draw near, the volume increasing with every verbal spar thrown in the ring.

“Don’t you remember the last time I told you to do something and you refused? We ended up eating chicken curry without the chicken because someone decided we already had some at home.”

“That only happened because someone complained we were spending too much on groceries.”

I clear my throat, not bothering to knock, “Your one and only son has returned!”

A gasp sounds from inside, “Nico?!”

The sound of running feet draws near and I brace myself for impact. The door swings open to reveal both of my parents standing on the other side, their wide smiles as familiar as my own.

“What are you doing home, my boy?” Tilting her head, my mom’s beaming smile slips into a concerned frown, “Where is Wesley?”

This is what happens when you are best friends with someone for over a decade. You become attached at the hip to the point where your parents can tell something is wrong simply by showing up unchaperoned.

I give her a weak smile, “He needed to stay and help out with the team.”

My dad squints in my direction, “But you didn’t have to stay?”

“Well, no, I ah…” My voice cracks and I have to snap my mouth shut to keep from sobbing.

“Oh, mi amor.” Wrapping her small arms around me, my mom pulls me into the house and flicks a finger at my father.

“Make yourself useful and go warm up some cookies.”

Breathing in the comforting scent of my childhood, I look at my mom with a wry smile.

“Since when do you make cookies?’

My dad grunts, heading for the kitchen, “Lucia's been trying new recipes all month. I’ve been eating shit for three weeks.”

“Your father does not appreciate my culinary skills.” She huffs and leads me into the living room. As the biggest room in the house, you would think our family would maximize the space like most people do.

Nope. Not the Montez family.

We like clutter, so half of the living room is covered with bits and pieces from every monumental life stage I've ever had. It’s sweet, seeing the emphasis my parents put on every occasion but it really doesn’t leave a lot of room for sitting space.

Shifting a pile of newspaper clippings from the couch, she gets me settled before making space for herself. A Taber University article floats to the ground, the smiling faces of last year’s lacrosse team staring back at me.

I sigh, bending to pick it up and placing it back on its respective pile. The shot was taken after the Tigers won last year’s championship tournament, back when Cody was captain and Wes and I were just a couple of rookies. Wes has his arms around me in the picture, his face breaking into a wide grin as he lifts my laughing ass in the air.

A wave of nostalgia hits me as I look at our smiling faces. I wish I could go back to when the only question in my life was figuring out which stranger to take home for the weekend.

Back before Maurice O’Brien entered my life.

My mom takes my chin in her hands, forcing my gaze to meet hers, “Tell me what’s wrong.”

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