Page 132 of Friendzone Hockey
Like the shining example of adulthood that I am, I storm directly toward the kitchen, letting the two-way door slam loudly as I pass through it, full-on tantrum mode engaged. I’m not dealing with Stacey and his entourage. I head up the stairs to the small apartment he refuses to leave, even though he can afford a much better place. He’s too practical for his own good.
I don’t knock because I never knock, but maybe I should have. I hear voices. “Dad?”
There’s a murmured curse in Dad’s harsh voice and some shuffling. “We’re in here, Dashie! Ah, just a second.”
We?
Dirk and Dad come out of Dad’s bedroom, carrying his dresser. Dirk’s in a T-shirt that looks familiar, though I can’t recall when I’ve seen it before. Sweat beads just under the band of his hat.
Dad’s round biceps contract tightly from the weight of the dresser. All his tattoos are on show in that tank top.
“What’re you two doing?”
“Oh, Dirk here was helping me move the dresser. Got a guy from Marketplace coming here to buy it.”
“Um, why?”
“Getting a new one.”
Wow, I’ve seriously fallen into the upside-down. Dad rarely gets a new one of anything.
“You kept saying this thing was so old. Finally took your advice. Need something?”
I was gonna just talk with Dad, but I guess Dirk can hear too. I make myself comfortable on the couch. “Syd and I broke up—I broke things off, for the record.”
“Oh, Dashie, I’m sorry,” Dad says.
“I’m fine. Mostly. Break ups suck, but he was so damn mature about it.”
If that were Stacey and I, it would have been a fight. A big one. Yelling, throwing shit, the works. A smile breaks out across my lips. I would have been the one yelling and throwing stuff. Stacey would be chasing me around the house.
They exchange a look and put the dresser down. Each takes a seat on either side of me, and Dad opens his arms for me. He … huh. He smells different. Familiar but different.
“Wanna tell us why you’re smiling about breaking off your engagement?” Dad says.
“I ah, I broke it off because I’m in love with Stacey. Don’t know where to go from here, though. Nothing about this is normal. But I’ve never felt better.”
“I’m gonna be so for real with you, bro,” Dirk says. “I’m gonna lock you two in a room if you don’t get your shit together.”
“Dirk,” Dad scolds.
“You don’t have to hear ‘em. Seven years of this crap.”
“You give shitty pep talks,” I complain, but he’s entitled after putting up with me for so long.
Dad gives him a withering glare on my behalf. Dirk huffs, throwing his hands in the air, stands and storms toward the fridge. There’s the hiss of a bottle opening. What is with him? Dirk has a low barometer for bullshit, but he’s not usually this performative.
“Dirk’s not saying it with the grace he usually does, but I agree with his sentiment—get your ass down there and talk to him.”
Dirk relaxes against the counter, sipping his beer. He’s silent but less tetchy.
“Well, this has been a waste of my time. Thanks for nothin’, you two. I want a pair of dads like Jack has. You don’t have anyone to rein you in, Pops.”
Dirk spits out his beer, doubling over with laughter. Didn’t know I was so funny.
“Yeah, Trav,” Dirk says. “You need a man to rein you in.”
Come to think of it, Dad hasn’t dated anyone seriously in a long fucking time. Not that I know much about his dating life.
