Page 14 of The Ex Puck Bunny
I want to make a good life for my daughter. No drama. I learned that lesson the hard way. Lots of laughter and smiles. The unicorns can stick around too.
When we’re done eating, the last thing I want to do is bus the table after working all day, but I help and do my best to involve Bunny, singing a clean-up song and letting her play with the soap bubbles.
We take an after-dinner walk around the neighborhood and then I have to get ready to head to the Ice Palace. Mom makes sure I don’t forget to bring Derek his dinner.
On my way over there, I think about the conversation Aleeyah and I had earlier—the kids growing up part. I refuse to give another neuron’s thought to dating, Grady, or hockey . . . or the strange sound coming from somewhere within the hidden recesses of my car.
I’ll just forget that he’s back in town and that the 4Runner I’ve had since high school desperately needs a tune-up.
Rather, I consider how involved my parents still are in our lives. They’re not smothering or overbearing. More like they realized how important family is, did their best not to raise truants, and then let go, hoping we’d turn out okay.
Derek was on track to become a troublemaker, but joined the military, met Deborah who is still deployed, and then retired to start their landscaping/hardscaping company called Grow Together. The idea is that when she gets out, they’ll have a nice little business established to ease her transition.
I was a total brat from age thirteen to eighteen when I left for college. Then, when I realized I needed to do my own laundry and umpteen other things, I was slapped in the face with all the sacrifices my parents made with their time and attention.
Yes, Derek and I were both obnoxious in our own ways but straightened out before it was too late. Thankfully, Mom and Dad were patient.
I was not. Like an idiot, I rushed into marriage and fell hardand fast for my brother’s best friend. That was a failure. Except for the baby part. I consider Bunny a win.
I wanted the husband part too. To be happily married like Mom and Dad or Aleeyah and Booker. My nose burns and my eyes fill with liquid. Better wipe away these stupid tears because I’m about to head into the arena to teach a private figure skating session and can’t risk them freezing on my face.
While Tammy warms up, I review the program her coach emailed me with what we need to focus on. To be clear, I never had figure skating star aspirations. Some girls do, but I get geeky about the technical aspects—the physics of ice, metal, and movement.
Then I catch someone out of the corner of my eye.
Grady has entered the building.
My insides are caught somewhere in the four stages of caramel creation.
Likely, he’s looking for Derek. My brother is in the warm room gobbling down his chili and cornbread. I only brought a single portion. Ha! None of Mom’s home cooking for Federer! I recall Grady eating dinner with us at least half the time. That changed a bit in high school, but my mother routinely fed three hungry boys, which might explain why we eat leftovers so often. She’s still cooking for half a hockey team. I never thought about it, but Derek didn’t mention ever having dinner at the Federer residence. Grady’s mom probably made the cheap mac-n-cheese with the watery sauce. My brother is a mac-n-cheese snob. Fine, I am too.
Grady approaches at a saunter and takes up more room than he should with his broad-shouldered frame. Granted, the aisle is wide, but he’s also taking up my attention which is not okay.
I’d try to camouflage with my surroundings, but I’m wearing a brightpink hat.
He waves and wears a Knights hoodie along with a smile that I’d like to wipe off his handsome face.
When we were younger, my brother was the burliest of the three—average height but somewhat stocky like our dad. Mom says Rice men are built of brick. Trey was pretty tall but lanky until college—not that I paid much attention except that we were both associated with the Lions.
Then there was Grady. He always had an athletic build and somehow got tanner than the rest of us during the summer when everyone spent as much time at the lake as possible. I only became aware of this when I went from wanting tube rides to sunning myself so I had the perfect glow for back to school—this was before Mom let me get spray tans.
Grady probably heard about Trey and me by now. If Derek didn’t tell him, Mrs. Gormely, the Cobbiton gossip, who’s all ears, would’ve gotten to him.
“How’s it going?” he asks.
I need a diversion. Cupping my hands around my mouth, I holler, “Tammy, finish that lap with some swizzles and we’ll get started.”
She smiles with relief because usually I tell her to do an extra trip around the rink while I review the practice plan.
He gazes at me as if awaiting a response to his question.
Fine. If I must. “To answer your question, as you can see, I’m busy.”
Grady says, “Busy? I saw there’s a new bakery in town. Busy Bee or something.”
“Yep. Cobbiton has a bakery,” I say flatly, not interested in small talk.
“Um, sorry about the other day.”
