Page 15 of Let It Be Me
Mischa looks at me like Momma does when I’m overdoing it. “Fine but just make sure you’re taking your days off seriously.”
“I promise Mom,” I tease and quickly duck out of the studio as she throws a pen at me.
My laughter fades as the summer sun bounces off the downtown buildings, adding to the late-June heat, while Iwalk down the street to my car. The downtown area is bustling with groups of friends headed to brunch and family’s strolling the area with their little ones to the splash pad that’s a street over. A twinge of jealousy at the friend groups and families hits because I wonder if I’ll ever have that.
My parents were the best example of love. Combine them with Momma and Pops and I saw first-hand how their friendship and love was impenetrable. I grew up around love and people in love. I grew up wanting that. And despite my parents being gone, I still want that. But, again, it leaves me wondering if I’ll ever have that.
I shake off the jealousy and sorrow when I get to my car and my phone buzzes with some rental listings from my realtor. He’s someone I went to high school with who is the only one I trust when finding me a new place. In this case, a second place located in Cincinnati based on the amount of events that Sarah has lined up for me.
Sam: A few lofts have been put up for rent. You’ll find one-bedroom and two-bedroom units. I wasn’t sure what style you wanted so both are included.
Me: Thanks. I’ll take a look later today.
My drive home takes about ten minutes. Sasha and Pixie rush me when I walk through demanding a second meal, despite them getting fed a little over an hour ago. They say the way through a man’s heart is his stomach, but that also applies to women no matter the species. I bypass the kitchen, much to their loud protests, and head to my bathroom to get ready for the barbecue. I think about the new future and the way my career should head. At twenty-three I feel neither successful nor unsuccessful. I just feel settled. Like I’ve already plateaued. And it’s not a good feeling for ahockey player who has yet to reach his peak. I know I have more to give than what I’m currently giving. And I’m hoping with this change on the professional side, that settled feeling will disappear.
An hour later and I’m dressed in olive green cargo shorts, a white graphic tee and some worn Nikes, ready to head out the door. I feed the girls, because I’m a sucker, I scoop my keys out of the bowl and make the walk to my car.
“Momma? Pops?”I ask when I walk into the house through the garage.
“Kitchen, honey,” Momma calls out.
I hang my keys on the hook by the door to the garage and walk in the direction I heard her call out from. Momma is at the kitchen island scooping out what looks like cookie dough and my mouth starts watering. A bowl slides to the left and it’s a cup of cookie dough.
“Thanks, Momma.” I say gratefully with a kiss on her cheek and lean next to her against the counter. I tower over her at 6’3” with her petite 5’4” but the height difference is even worse when I’m in my skates.
My diet is strict during the regular season but the off-season, while it’s still strict, I let go of a small part of that control. Cookie dough is my number one weakness and Momma always sets a bowl off to the side for me when she bakes a batch.
Momma has her hair in box braids with gold cuffs placed throughout as beads on the end of her hair clack as she rolls out dough balls and places them on the baking sheet. With the summer heat and today’s guests, she’s in a long dress that comes down to her hot pink painted toenails.Where I turn red as a lobster if I’m out in the sun for too long, that’s not what can be said for Momma. Her rich bronze complexion from her time already spent out by the pool emphasizes the garden of tattooed flowers on her left arm. I guess you could say I got the love of ink from both Momma and Pops as most of their tattoos are older than I am.
“What’s new?” She asks without looking up from her scooping out the dough.
I pop my finger out of my mouth and chew the dough before answering her. “Sam sent me some rental listings for Cincinnati.”
That gets her attention and she looks at me with alarm. “What do you mean?”
“Sarah, my publicist, has me lined up for events to attend there. Some of them don’t end until late and instead of driving back home tired, it’d be better to stay somewhere familiar instead of wasting money on a hotel room so much.”
Unconsciously, the accident scarred me. I have a perfect driving record, take my car in for regular maintenance, I don’t speed too bad, if I talk on the phone it’s with Bluetooth, and I never drive if I’m too tired. That was the number one thought running through my head when the apartment listings were coming through.
“Doesn’t she know you live here?”
“Mm-hmm. I see her strategy but until it starts working, I have the right to reserve judgment.”
The more I think about these events, the more I doubt they’ll actually work. Sports fans are notoriously loyal to their teams. So having an athlete from Columbus infiltrate their space in Cincinnati is cause for worry. I hang out in the kitchen keeping Momma company and finish my cookiedough before heading outside to join Pops by the grill. The smell of charcoal greets me when I step into the backyard.
“Hey, Pops,” I greet as I walk up next to him.
He swings his arm around my shoulder and presses a chaste kiss to the side of my head. Pops has done that since before my mom and dad passed away. Once they became my legal guardians, he promised to keep showing the affection he always showed me. Like I said, I thrive on routine and Pops showing me this affection is part of that routine. Some would say he’s the bald version of Denzel Washington. Only with a lot of tattoos covering every inch of visible skin.
“How’s the off-season treating you? You have a new agent?”
“Publicist, but until I have a new agent she’ll be my temporary agent as well.” I say and bring a chair closer to the grill, lowering my body into it. My muscles are screaming a bit from the pilates class this morning. “I met her, my publicist, earlier this week.”
“A she?” Pops asks with mild curiosity and raised bushy eyebrows focused on me.
I guess you could say I had a lot of “girlfriends” in high school. If “girlfriend” is classified as making out under the football bleachers and copping a feel with a new girl every week, then sure. That surely didn’t let up in college but I was more intentional about my hookups so I know the reason Pops is giving me that look.
“Yep.” I pop thep. “She’s firmly off-limits, so you don’t need to worry about me screwing it up. But I almost doubted her ability until I saw her client roster.”
