Page 51 of My Wife
When we were at the Fish Bowl, while she ate the potato pucks like they were the greatest thing on earth, she wouldn’t back down, suggesting the kid see a specialist for a care plan, an ASL tutor who also happens to be a great baker—Grandma Dolly—and that I start learning a few signs.
I went on defense, telling her to keep her nose out of my business. It’s an adorable button nose, but still.
That’s where my head is now during a home game against the Reno Rebels.
Her comment to Grandma Dolly that I’m stubborn shushes through my head while I play spin-o-rama, keeping the rubber away from the goal and daring the Rebels’ left forward to try to take a shot.
Jessica is the stubborn one, not knowing when to stop pushing, trying to get me to open up, and showering me with her unrelenting smile and sunshine.
Some people like the cold and clouds—I’m among the few.
Lew gets a five-hole on Beau, shooting the puck right between his legs. The fans of the opposing team go wild because now we’re tied. Knightsbooand if we’re not careful, they’ll throw dried corncobs at us.
Badaszek has us regroup, flashes a sharp side-eye in my direction, and sends Grady onto the ice, leaving me to dust the bench.
Gripping my stick and hanging my head to get it back in this game, Redd cuffs me on the shoulder. “Where you at, bro?”
“I do not negotiate with terrorists and this woman is threatening to blow up my life.”
His weight comes down on the bench next to me, inviting me to say more even though we both know I won’t. He’s here for me, but the problem is obvious. I’m thinking more about the kid and Jessica than I should.
My thoughts gather and scatter, leaving one solution. Make her quit.
Then what?
Forget about it all.
But I can’t.
Not when I return to the ice toward the end of the third. Not when we go into overtime. Not when I get a total top-shelf cheddar shot. Not when the arena erupts, chanting “Beast.”
However, the usual thrill doesn’t rip through me, affirming that all my hard work is paying off, reminding me to keep going … to push harder.
Perhaps Jessica and I aren’t that different after all.
After a shower, the guys are regrouping and I clock someone saying, “Ellis has been acting different since he got back.”
“No, he was squirrelly before he left,” Hayden says, gaze locking on mine.
Just like puck bunnies aren’t allowed in here, this is a no-gossip zone, so if someone is going to say something, they need to be able to say it to your face.
“Squirrelly, huh?” I ask.
Well, the kid sure can drive me nuts. When he was going to sleep last night, I found half a cookie under his pillow.
“What do kids like to eat?” I blurt.
It’s an out-of-character question for me to ask, however, not an entirely out-of-context inquiry since many of the guys have or are in the early stages of being in the family way.
“Do you mean kids, like baby goats?” Ted squints at me and tells a story about how when he was up in Maple Falls, Washington he met a goat named Edgar.
“Weren’t you a kid once?” Grady says.
“No, he came out of the womb bearded and surly,” Pierre quips.
I grunt.
“Ask the nutritionist what they eat,” Robo says smartly.
