Page 10 of The Winging It Holiday Special

He didn’t have time to second-guess it, though, because Gabe continued: “I’ll text him after the game.” Then, pointedly, “You’d better finish that. We’re wasting nap time.”

“You’re not supposed to captain me at home,” Dante grumbled. But Gabe was right, and Dante had gotten what he wanted, so what was the problem?

The problem was that something was up with Gabe, and Dante had a feeling he knew what it was.

6. (Actual) Thanksgiving

TECHNICALLY THEIRgame in Raleigh was a Saturday matinee and also a slug match. Both teams played like they’d overindulged in turkey sandwiches and were suffering the effects of tryptophan. The highlight of the game came when one of Raleigh’s defensemen tried to sweep the puck out of the crease and accidentally scored an own-goal that ricocheted in off Dante’s ass.

Or maybe it was the fluky thirty-six seconds when three players had a broken stick at the same time.

In any case, Dante’s butt got the only goal, so at least they came away with the points. The media finished up with them around four, and by quarter to five, their cab was pulling up to Dante’s parents’ new place.

“It’s cute,” Gabe said as they walked up the composite driveway.

He was right. Dante had attempted to buy his parents a big house as a grand gesture—why shouldn’t he; they’d sacrificed enough for him to get where he was—but they didn’t want his money. They were comfortable in this middle-class neighborhood full of older homes with character. Theirs was a brick one-and-a-half-story with a full basement, which Dante thought was too many stairs for them, but his mom insisted that the second-floor laundry made it perfectly acceptable… and also that he should stop talking about her like she had one foot in the grave.

Then she pointed out he’d probably retire before she did, which was just rude.

“Dante?” Gabe prompted. He’d gotten halfway up the walkway.

Whoops.

“Everything okay?”

Dante shook it off. Maybe Gabe wasn’t the only one who was a little apprehensive about change. “Yeah.”

But whatever. His parents had good taste. Everything would be fine. Why was he doubting that now?

He didn’t have time to think about it once his dad answered the door. It was all hugs and taking of coats, the smell of roast turkey, and laughing at Gabe’s constipated face when Dante’s mom told him to leave his shoes on.

Then they were through to the living room, which was a brighter and more cheerful blue than the pictures Dante had seen and which currently hosted four people who were probably family now whether they liked it or not.

All three adults stood up when they entered, and Dante’s dad introduced Rina, Charlotte, Lucy, and their son Bryan, who was seven and had very definite priorities.

“Is it true you scored a goal with your butt?”

Dante laughed. “You mean you didn’t have the game on?” he asked his father over his shoulder. “I’m offended.”

“We turned it off after the second period,” his mom told him. “Sorry, honey.”

“Brutal but fair.” Gabe gestured toward the pile of LEGO at the side of the couch. “What are you building?”

That was his night sorted, Dante figured.

Dante made a few minutes of pleasant small talk. Lucy was a humor writer with a blistering wit, Charlotte had just defended her PhD in chemistry, and Rina worked as a dog trainer. Dante had about three hundred questions he urgently needed to ask about how to convince Gabe they should get a puppy, but thenhe remembered Mario and thought better of it. She could be an only fur child.

Eventually, he gravitated to the kitchen. It was easy to fall into a rhythm with his mom, even though this was a new house and he shouldn’t know where anything was. His mom always set her kitchen up the same way. They didn’t talk much, just snips of phrases—“Hand me the—” “Oh, the potatoes…!”

He was just thinking the near-silent companionable closeness was nice when his mom said, “Gabe’s quiet today. Is everything all right?” and he realized it was a trap.

She was standing between him and the doorway to the living room. No escape.

Moms, man.

What could he tell her? “He’s working through some stuff,” he hedged. Vague but true. “You know how he gets.”

A little quiet, withdrawn. Gabe liked time to work through stuff on his own before he let Dante in on it. It used to drive him crazy.

---