Page 35 of Winter Break Up

“I’m fine, Mercer.” A pointed, bushy gray eyebrow tells me not to push this line of questioning.

“I just want to make sure you’re okay, that you don’t need me to come home more? Hey, I could set up for someone to come by a couple days a week.”

Grandpa sits down at the kitchen table and starts to unfold the newspaper he had sitting there. “And I’d say hell no to that. Does that pie look salvageable? Cut us some slices.”

Walking over to the oven, still hazy with smoke, I take the pie to the cutting board. It doesn’t look half bad, and even if my grandpa is rough around the edges, he’s always cooked like a high-maintenance chef. I plate the slices and pour us two glasses of milk, just like he used to do for me when I was a little kid.

We eat silently at first, Grandpa humming as he reads certain articles. The window is still open, filling the kitchen with cold air. My grandpa’s old ranch isn’t necessarily run down, but it’s old and worn in, like the man himself. The floors are creaky, the carpets ancient. My bedroom always has a musty smell in the summer, and the tiles in each bathroom have been grouted one time too many.

It’s his happy place, I know that, but it doesn’t mean I don’t want to take care of him when I eventually sign my pro deal. He’ll fight me tooth and nail, I know that much.

“What do you want me to make for Christmas? Bangers and mash?” Grandpa is half Irish and, therefore, thinks we need to have traditional feasts on holidays, even though he’s never traveled there.

Maybe that’s where I should take him when I sign my deal.

“Sure. I mean, you don’t have to cook if it’s too much.” Trying to broach this again is risky, but I won’t be one of those kids who avoids having this talk just to make us comfortable.

“Stop doing that,” he warns.

I hold up my hands. “I’m just saying I don’t need to go back to school right away. Maybe I could delay a semester or fly home more often throughout the weeks when I don’t have games. If it’s too much, we can look for a place that will assist you. I could try to join a minor league team closer to this area—”

“I didn’t raise you to be an idiot.” He frowns. “So stop being one now.”

“Grandpa, don’t be like that, I—”

He cuts me off. “If and when the time comes that I need you to put me in a home, I’ll tell you. Got it? I’m not a big enough prideful fool to hobble around this house without help if I need it. But don’t you think, not in a million years, that I’d want you to give up everything you’ve worked for, something you’re so talented at, to come home and wipe my ass.”

Leave it to Grandpa to turn an emotional moment into some crass joke.

“You promise?” Emotion clogs my throat. “I can’t imagine losing you now.”

That’s what this comes down to.

Grandpa clears his throat like he’s imagining it, too. “Don’t worry, kid. I’m a mean old bastard, and nothing is taking me anytime soon. And even if … hell, you’re a strong man, Mercer. I raised you to be, and you’ve exceeded all my expectations. You’re going to live a life that a lot of people didn’t think was possible for you, and I’m damn proud.”

When he reaches a hand across the table, I grab it and squeeze.

“Now, tell me what’s going on in your head. Because I’ve never heard you decide to voluntarily give up the future you’ve always dreamed of, so this can’t just be about my elderly ass.” He skewers me with a look that says he sees right through me.

I fork off another piece of pie, and besides the slightly burnt taste, it’s fantastic.

“I don’t know. I’m anxious about this season. Looking forward to being done with college. Sad to leave at the same time. Nervous as hell that I won’t get signed, or that my knee will go to shit again. But if I am, I’m nervous I won’t perform. Or that my life will blow up due to the publicity. Then there is the fact that I won’t get back to Queenwood a lot, and I won’t see the people who matter to me.”

“One of those people happen to be Emily Palmer?” Grandpa raises an eyebrow.

“Are you psychic or something?” I accuse, my fork clattering to my plate.

He shrugs. “I just seen a lot of things in this life. Namely, you being in love with that girl since you knew what the word meant. I can practically smell it on you since you came home.”

“Ew, Grandpa.” That sounds gross.

“All I’m saying is that you’ve been stuck on that girl for a long, long time and playing professional soccer doesn’t have to change that. You just gotta be brave enough to make it work. As for the rest of it, I’ll tell you to stop being an idiot again. You’re going to kick ass this season, and every professional scout is going to see it. Mercer, you know who you are and where you come from. You won’t forget it.”

A tiny sliver of hope and confidence fills my heart. If Grandpa sees that in me, then I can believe in it. He’s never steered me wrong.

“Maybe we’ll add some peppermint schnapps to our shopping list for Christmas. We need to unwind, both of us. A viewing of a nineteen forties Christmas movie and some liquor, that’s what we need.” Grandpa snaps his fingers.

“Sounds like the perfect holiday to me.” I laugh.

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