Fake Dates & Ice Skates: Chapter 44

“We “But we “I’m sick of giving poor Miles Davis a break. He needs to man up and get his head in the game,” Jake shouts, squaring up to me. I’m sick of his shit. I tower over him and glare. “What you gonna do, Davis?”

“You know exactly what happened last time we did this, Callahan,” I bite out. “Step the He stares at me for a minute, resisting to back down. Most of the team are now gathered around us, ready for a fight to break out. Luckily for him, he steps back out of my face and turns back.

“Listen, we’ve got one more game before the finals,” Coach begins, standing at the door of the locker room. “There’s no point trying to blame each other. All you need to do is work together on doing better. Understood?”

“Yes, Coach,” we all say in unison.

A few more sly comments are thrown my way before I leave to go back home. Each game day with the team has become another opportunity for them to berate me. I’ve become an easy target after losing Carter. After he died, the whole team was disappointed in me but with Wren’s help I was able to turn that around. For the most part, other than Jake, everyone was fine with the way I was playing. We’ve played well through playoffs, and I was able to get a few goals in but then Wren and I broke up. I didn’t think it would affect my performance, but my mind has been so distant. It’s just become another thing that I can’t move on from. Another thing that I can’t stop thinking about.

I knew that if I tried to stop her from leaving, she would still go. I’m a distraction for her and the last thing I want is her future being jeopardised because of me. Even when she acted like she didn’t like me at the beginning, we were still hanging out nearly every day as part of the contract. We were tied together in a strange way that neither of us could pull away from as much as we tried to deny it. It was an instant connection for me but for her, she could pull away just as easily. She’s denying the part of herself that wants this. Us. And that is what hurts the most. Even when I try to not let her get into my head, she manages to weave her way in there and I can’t focus on the game.

*

Growing up, we both discovered our love for hockey early on. As soon as we got into a junior league it was all we could talk about. Our families supported us, but Carter’s older brother, Ethan wasn’t happy with the attention we were getting. He was bitter and let us know that every time we were on our way to the rink. Their parents always brushed it off as sibling rivalry but there were things going on in private that Carter asked me never to tell his parents.

I stayed on the hockey route my entire life and my parents have never told me I couldn’t do it or that I As much as I’m grateful for my parents, the one thing I do not like is birthdays in the Davis family. Every year, no matter whose birthday it is, we have to have some sort of a celebration. For as long as I can remember, birthdays have always been a sacred tradition within our family. There’s something about bad music and shitty birthday cake that turns my family upside down. We have stupid rituals like the cake flip where the birthday person has to flip their cake and catch it the right way around. We always do speeches and when the party has died down and it goes from neighbours to close family, we each have to say one thing that we love about the birthday person.

As a kid, When I get to my parents’ house, as expected, the lawn is littered with neighbours and distant family, half naked kids running up and down and babies passed out in strollers. One of my older cousins work the barbecue even though we’re powering through the last few weeks of winter. Kids run and scream on the front lawn, chasing each other with sticks. Old R&B songs blast from speakers through the windows as I walk through lawn, stupidly carrying a bouquet of flowers and a card. The first person to spot me is my mom’s sister, Whitney. She’s a few years younger than my mom but she has almost a hundred kids and has not aged a day since I was born. She’s a short, tanned woman with a sleeve of tattoos on her right arm, making her by far my coolest relative.

“Ay, Miles, you’re almost as tall as the doorframe,” she exclaims, squeezing me into a suffocating hug around my middle.

“It’s good to see you too, Auntie,” I say when I’m free. She squeezes my cheek with her thumb and forefinger, turning my face at ridiculous angles. “Do you know where my parents are?”

“Yes, they’re through there,” she sighs, pointing down towards the living room. “They’re speaking to an older couple; it looks kind of private.”

“An older couple?” I ask.

“Yes, I’ve seen them around here a few times. Your parents are speaking in Spanish if that rings a bell,” she explains before rushing past me to save one of her boys from burning themselves on the barbecue.

I don’t have to ask anything else because I know who they are. Carter’s parents are here. Before I was born, my parents became close friends with Elena and Mateo Reyes since they lived next door and Ethan is around the same age as Clara. Growing up around them, they taught me and my family how to speak Spanish and it’s become useful in so much of my everyday life. Even though they’re both fluent in English, Carter’s parents wouldn’t let me into their house unless I greeted them in Spanish.

Both of our families have been standoffish with each other since the accident. At first, my parents were over at their house nearly every day bringing food the same way all of Carter’s family was. It was hard in the beginning to talk about him but over time, they’ve become more open to talking about him and the memories that we made. My dad told me to give them a little time before I go over to see them because of how close me and Carter were so I’ve only recently been to see them on my own. I went a few weeks ago but the visit was short. Mr Reyes told me that it was too hard for them to see me even though it’s almost been nine months without Carter.

I move into the kitchen, a little away from the living room to keep my distance while they talk. What “Miles?” I hear a quiet voice breathe from behind me. I turn around to see Mrs Reyes, a tall woman with dark set eyes, and although she’s getting older, her skin is aging well. I try and swallow my chip as she looks at me, scanning my black jeans and hoodie. She inches closer towards me, her hands shaking a little as they come to rest on my arms.

“

“

“I’m doing okay.”

“Good. That’s good,” she replies, her eyes drifting away from me. “Are you still playing hockey?”

“

“That’s good,” she says again. “That’s good.” I wiggle out of her grip a little to place my hands on her arms, trying to steady her.

“

“You too, Miles,” he says walking towards us. He puts an arm around Tía Elena and mumbles something in Spanish to her. Her eyes don’t move as if she hasn’t even registered whatever he just whispered to her. “We better get going. It’s getting late.”

Mr Reyes nods at me and they walk out of the kitchen, leaving me confused. It isn’t getting late, the sun is still up, but I don’t say anything to stop them. I haven’t known how to act around them since Carter died and I don’t know when it’s going to get better for them. I can’t imagine what it must be like to lose your child.

My parents walk around the corner into the kitchen and when they see me, they act as if I’ve not seen them in years. I haven’t been around here since Christmas Eve, but we’ve spoken on the phone. Although the conversations were short, the communication has been better than it was a few months ago. They both embrace me in a hug at the same time, my dad practically crushing me.

“Happy birthday mom,” I declare, reaching over to pick up the flowers I got her. She looks down at them and then at me with a grateful smile.

“Aw, thank you, Miles,” she responds. My dad winks at me from behind her before sauntering off to contain the raging party behind us.

“It’s no problem. Are you having a good day so far?” I ask, shifting from one foot to the other.

“Oh, it’s been wonderful. I wasn’t expecting this many people to show up though,” she says with a huff. “It’s a lot better now that you’re here. I’m really glad you came.”

“I wouldn’t miss it,” I grit out. Clattering sounds behind us and my mom’s head shoots back on instinct. “You better go take care of that. I’ll be around if you need me.”

She holds the flowers up to me and mouths, ‘thank you’ before following the sounds that come from behind her. I stand in the kitchen for a while trying to psych myself up to engage with the rest of the party. I quickly down a glass of punch before setting off into the depths of the house.

*

She was constantly showered with compliments and given hundreds of presents which were mostly wine and flowers. The cake flip went well after years of practice and the speeches automatically made my mom cry. We all said something nice about her too – even me. I cheated a little and just said that I’m grateful to have her as a mom. Because I am. As much as what she did is still going to take time to heal, I’m ready to give myself that time and the space for healing.

Clara has taken the backyard to clean up and dad’s taken the front. I don’t know what mom has done but the living room is spotless again. I’ve been trying to clean up the hallways, picking up paper plates and Solo cups until I walk down the left corridor where the master bedroom is. The door to my parents’ door is cracked open a few inches and I spot my mom in there. She’s sat on the bed, still wearing her birthdays sash and crown as she looks through photos on the bed. I try and look without being seen, ready to walk past this private moment.

“Can you believe you were this small?” she says quietly, not looking up from the photo in her hand. “I can tell you’re there, Miles.”

God, I must actually breathe really loud. This is not the first time someone has been able to tell who I was without looking at me. I push down the memories of Wren and her ridiculous talent as I walk into the bedroom cautiously. I sit down on the king-sized bed, and I’m instantly reminded of waking up in here on Christmas morning.

The bedroom is filled with large boxes as if they’ve just moved in. It’s really just a lot of childhood memories like our baby clothes, birthday cards and some of our old toys. They’re both too afraid to keep them in the basement and they said it makes them feel closer to us when we’re away from home. I take up one of the photos and it’s of me and my dad, riding my first bike down our neighbourhood street. The memories look brighter and even better than I remembered them.

“I remember this day,” I murmur holding up a picture of the first hockey game I went to. I’m in a jersey five sizes too big for me, sat on my mom’s knee with hockey cap on her head.

“I do too. You couldn’t keep still the whole time but “Yeah.” A wave of comfortable silence settles over us as we look through the pictures. The memories seem so close yet so far away from where I am now. I’m turning twenty in a few months and a huge part of me still feels like a kid. A huge part of me still “I’m sorry Miles,” my mom says, snapping me out of my trance. She’s still looking down at the pictures, running her finger across one of them. “I ruined this bond between us last year because I couldn’t keep it a secret from you for any longer.”

“I know, mom but I didn’t make it easy for you either. I just thought you guys loved each other,” I whisper. She looks up at me and I can see the tears lining her eyes. It’s hard thinking you know someone your whole life o then realise some of it was a lie.

“I do love your dad and I love you and Clara more than anything. I made a mistake, but your dad and I found each other again. The most important thing is that we’re happy now.”

‘Are you though? Happy, I mean?’

‘More than anything. Thats all that matters.’

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

“I’m always right, my love,” she says and squeezes my face between her hands. “Did your team get into the finals?”

“Just about. The game is next weekend if you want to come?”

“I would love to,” she beams. “What about that girlfriend of yours? Will she be there?”

“Probably not. She’s not really my girlfriend anymore,” I say, a sharp pang jolting through my chest.

“Why not?” mom asks, her hand coming to rest over mine. “I know I was a little weird that day, but you guys seemed lovely together. She was really kind.”

“Yeah, she is. I just… I made a mistake, and I don’t think she’s ready to forgive me,” I admit.

“Well, what was the mistake?” I explain to her what happened at Palm Springs and to my surprise, she doesn’t judge me. Or us. “Well, take it from me, it’s not easy to be forgiven. Those kinds of things take time but all you can do is prove to her that you deserve another chance.”