Page 94 of Pucking Fate

“I can’t! If I walk away, then there goes my big fat payday. How can I support them if I’m unemployed?”

“You haven’t been saving most of the millions you earn?”

“Yes, Dad. I put fifty percent into those accounts with high interest rates or whatever, but it’s not enough to last forever.”

“You just don’t want to give up the spotlight.”

“I would give it up for them, but she isn’t ready to commit to me!” Yes, Maya finally slept with me. I thought it meant we were a couple again, but she didn’t magically agree to move to Greensboro after our night together, so who knows?

“It sounds like she doesn’t want her and her son to come second to a fucking sport.”

“Fine. Maybe you’re right and I’m about to screw this all up again. God, I don’t even know why I came here. I should’ve just sent you a text, ‘Congrats, you’re a grandfather. Not that it matters though, because I don’t want you near my son’.”

“You don’t want me near your son?” he asks, with the heaviness in his eyes that looks like genuine hurt as he gets to his feet.

“I’m not going to let you treat him the way you treated me. I won’t let you belittle him or make him feel like he’s not good enough to be your grandson.”

“He’s five-years-old, how could he not be good enough?”

“I wasn’t when I was five!”

“Bullshit,” he huffs.

“When I was in kindergarten, I remember you telling me that I was reading at an infant’s level and needed to catch up to the rest of the kids in my class.”

“I don’t remember saying that.”

“Well, I remember. I remember all the times you made me feel like an idiot, so I will not let you near my son if you’re just going to tear down his confidence. He’s smart and funny, and yes, he’s already great at hockey, but I didn’t have anything to do with that. And you know what?I If he told me he wanted to be a circus juggler when he grows up, then I would spend time with him every goddamn day helping him be the best damn juggler he can be.”

My chest is rising and falling like I’ve played an entire period without a break from the growing anger.

“Are you finished?” my father asks.

“For now.”

“Do you feel better getting all that off your chest?”

“A little.” I shrug and cross my arms over my chest as I turn toward the mountain view.

“I don’t know what you want me to say, Christian. Do you want me to beg you to let me see my grandson?” my father asks from behind me.

“No. I just need you to promise not to be a condescending assholewhen you see him. That’s what I need.”

He slaps his palm over my shoulder. “Fatherhood looks good on you, son. I’m proud of you.”

When I spin around to face him, his hand falls away. “You’re proud of me for knocking up a woman over five years ago?”

“Not particularly, but I’m proud of the man you are now; taking responsibility, protecting your son, for finally realizing that there’s more to life than a popular sport with puck bunnies.”

I wait for more insults to come, but I guess he’s finished when he asks, “Are you hungry?”

For the life of me, I don’t know why the hell I say, “Yes,” but I do.

And so, I sit at the wooden table facing the kitchen and watch while my dad makes Teriyaki chicken, feeling like a weight has been lifted from my shoulders.

Despite how much I usually hate his opinions, hearing him tell me that he’s proud of the father I’ve become means the world to me.

It makes me think that I’m actually capable of filling the role.

---