Page 101 of Penalty Shot

“Just be yourself, Elise. There isn’t a person in the world who wouldn’t feel better because you’re there.”

It’s true. She’s basically a walking, talking, loving beam of sunlight.

I’m going to marry this woman, Mom. I wish you met her. I wish you met my future wife.

When I’m near this home on Hunt Street, I can’t help but feel like my mother is over my shoulder, listening intently. Although she’s gone, I’m close to her when I’m here.

On this street where she taught me to bike.

Beside the garden where she first told me of her diagnosis.

Looking at a window that used to frame our Christmas tree.

Outside the door of a house she turned into a home.

Elise is amazing, Mom. I’ll do anything for the honor to share a life with her. Anything.

The words don’t come out of my mouth, but they occupy my entire being, filtering through my blood and storing the promise as a fact lodged in my brain. My heart always knew.

“Then that’s exactly what I’ll do,” Elise declares. “Be myself and be here for you. I love that you showed me your home. I can totally see you grow up here.”

I still can’t talk so she simply leans back and relaxes. Watching her so content and happy soothes me.

We stay till the tightness of my body loosens. It gives way to the care and protectiveness I want to give Elise and it opens me up tohercare and protectiveness in return. That’s how I feel around Elise. Safe and loved.

We leave the familiar street to get to the newer part of town in time for dinner. With the increase in population, “town” is a bit of a misnomer for the Steveston I grew up in.

Fancy new condos by the waterfront sprung up in the last five years. My dad owns a two-bedroom unit on top of a coffee shop serving fancy muffins with names like lemongrass-cranberry-protein-blast or some such shit.

It’s walking distance to the only office he’s ever known and closer to his frequent walks by the trail. It’s a life of comfort, order, and predictability but with zero remnants of the one he shared with my mother.

Staying with him makes me feel the loss acutely because in James Haughland Sr.’s new residence, we didn’t lose Margaret Haughland, he erased her.

Which is why I can’t bear to be in his place for more than the time it takes to finish dinner.

Dad opens the door before I knock. My father is a tall, fit man. More wiry than I am but with the same blue eyes and light lashes. Mom used to say he was like if Robert Redford rocked eyeglasses.

It takes a gravelly throat clearing to get me going.

“Hi, Dad.”

“Hi, Randall,” he responds. Dad gives my girlfriend a half smile. “You must be Elise. Please come in.”

We step into the threshold, which leads to a living area featuring a stunning view of the Steveston docks. The vertical masts of sail boats poke up like white needles past the commercial dock brimming with people and plants, pets and flowers. The bustle of touristy shops and restaurants is charming. When I visit Dad, eighty percent of the time I look out the window and people watch.

“Thank you for having us,” Elise says.

Dad shakes her hand before shaking mine. Everything about the greeting is stiff and awkward.

I’m embarrassed by the impression Dad must be making on my girlfriend. Compared to the way Geraldine welcomes everyone to her home, my father’s coldness stings.

“Come in. Can I get you a drink? Corinne and Jim are stuck in traffic, and Charles won’t make it after all. He’s got an important case convening this week, so he sends his apologies.”

“I’ll take a beer,” I say because fuck I need one right now. I keep my eyes outside, hoping to distract Elise with the pretty view.

“Elise? What would you—” I begin to ask but am interrupted by the swoosh of her skirt and the sound of her voice. She’s spun away from me and followed Dad to the kitchen.

“Water for me please. It’s hot out there. Randall mentioned something about you walking every day. It’s a lovely trail. How long is it?”