Page 84 of Unrecognizable Player

“They’re still in finance, and it’d be an office job. But I could be close to hockey.”

“That’s great. Where?”

“The one I really want is in Vancouver.”

My heart sinks. “Canada, wow!”

“Yeah well, I probably won’t get it, and, even if I do, I probably shouldn’t take it.”

“Why not?” I frown.

“Because, a bank’s more stable. It’s more money. NHL teams get new management all the time, things move really fast.”

“But it could be good.”

“Maybe.” He shakes his head, like he’s trying to shake out the possibility. “Anyway, what about you?”

“What about me?”

“What are you gonna do?”

“What do you mean? I’m gonna finish college and go and get a job.”

“In an orchestra? Where you hate performing?” He frowns.

I shrug. “Maybe I’ll teach, I don’t know.”

“Maybe you could do something like what you do at the restaurant?”

I laugh. “That’s not gonna pay the bills. And you’re not the only one who wants to take care of their family.”

He rubs his chin, pursing his lips as if he’s not sure he should say what he wants to say. “It looked to me like your family has it pretty covered over there and like they just want you to be happy.”

I frown. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, they own a great restaurant that seems pretty busy. Your sister’s a bad ass businesswoman. Your little brother’s like some Poindexter always studying or whatever. I feel like you can stop worrying about them.”

Everything in me wants to tell him he’s wrong, but did he say a single thing that wasn’t true? Do my parents ever seem like they’re struggling? Was there ever any major issue about paying for college? For any of us?

“Maybe you can stop worrying about your family?” I try.

“No.” He gets up, shaking his head. “My dad needs me. The store’s struggling. The rent’s insane. My little sister only has me and Papa and my babushka. It’s my responsibility to take care of them. I’m my dad’s only son.”

“That seems like too much to put on your shoulders.”

“It’s not.”

I can tell by his tone he doesn’t want to talk, or argue, about it anymore.

“Okay.”

His face softens.

“I’ve got a bit of a headache, sorry, I didn’t mean to snap.”

“You didn’t, don’t worry. Why don’t you lie down and I’ll get you some pain killers. I could even get you some chicken soup on my way back from class later?”

He leaves me to get dressed, and when I come into the living room, he’s sitting on the couch, with the TV turned off and his phone face down on the table.

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