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Christian

“ D ad?” The name is heavier than it used to be when I walk into my father’s one-level house built into the side of the Blue Ridge Mountains, the place where I grew up. The only changes are probably the solar panels on the roof to make it even more eco-friendly. The entire front of the house is made of windows, letting natural sunlight into the minimalistic interior that’s all about function over style. “Are you home?” I call out.

A moment later, he strides out of the library, one of the only rooms in the place without sunlight so as to not risk ruining the precious tomes inside. One of which is still in his hand. He looks…less intimidating now that I’m a few inches taller and wider than his lean frame. His once blond hair is now more white, but his eyes are still shrewd as they narrow at me.

“Christian? This is a surprise.”

“Sorry I didn’t give you a heads up. I wasn’t even sure whether I was actually coming by or not until I got on 23 North.”

“It’s fine. If you had told me you were coming, I would’ve cooked up something.” As usual, my dad has a way of turning everything into a complaint.

“You don’t have to cook for me. I’m not even sure how long I’m staying.” I had considered staying tonight, but that depends on how the conversation goes. If he’s in too foul of a mood, I’ll just drive back to Greensboro.

“Well, come have a seat at least,” he says, leading the way to the living room. He gestures for me to sit in one of the red plaid chairs facing the sliding glass doors leading to the backyard. There’s still no television to be found in this part of the house. “So, what brings you by?” my father asks when he sits in the identical chair on the other side of a wooden side table. “You haven’t come home to visit in…over a year.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I didn’t want to bother you.”

“But you decided to bother me today?” he asks with a single bushy white eyebrow arched.

“I, um, I guess I just wanted to tell you this in person instead of on the phone.”

“Okay?”

Gripping both chair arms as if bracing myself, I tell him the reason I’m here. “I have a son.”

“ You have a son?”

“Yes. His name is Finley, and he just turned five.” Releasing my grip on the chair arms, I reach into my jean pocket to remove my phone. I then pull up one of the many photos in my camera roll to show my father.

“Wow,” he says. After slipping on the reading glasses hanging around his neck, he takes the phone from my hand for a closer look. “Well, I can certainly see the resemblance.”

“Yeah, I guess he looks a lot like me, but I mostly just see his mom in his dark hair and eyes.”

Handing the phone back, he glares at me over the top of his glasses. “And who is his mother?”

“Maya. Maya Lawrence. Do you remember my friend Preston from the minor leagues? She’s his sister.”

“Why did you wait five years to man up and be the kid’s father?” he grumbles.

“Because I didn’t know about him until a few months ago!”

“Oh. Well, did she need money? Why wait so long to tell you that you have a son, that I have a grandson?”

“It’s…complicated. But no, she doesn’t want my money. I was angry at her when I first found out, for missing out on so much. But we didn’t end on great terms. There was a misunderstanding when she told me I got her pregnant. I didn’t think she was going to have him…”

“Well, it sounds like you’ve got your hands full.”

“I do. At least Preston and I are good now. He’s just been signed to play for the Bobcats. I’ve spent the summer up around D.C. to get to know Finley better. We threw him a birthday party at the Warhawks arena. It was great.”

“I bet it was, and yet you didn’t think to invite me.”

“Really, Dad? I can’t picture you at a five-year-old’s party in a hockey arena, especially one out of state when you hate leaving town.”

“He’s not just any five-year-old, though, is he? He’s my grandson.”

“Well, I’m sorry I didn’t invite you. We’re not exactly broadcasting to the world that he’s my son yet.” Again, I find myself apologizing to the prickly man because nothing I ever do is good enough for him. He thinks I’m still the same teenage fuck up who barely graduated high school because I spent all my time on the ice or with girls instead of studying. Nothing could be a bigger embarrassment for Dr. Michael Riley, the renowned philosophy professor.

“Why not tell the world? Are you ashamed of knocking up some poor girl and walking away from her?”

“Ashamed? No. I regret the time Maya and I have been apart. I wish I had known about Finley so that I could have helped her raise him. Maybe then she wouldn’t have had to give up on getting her degree and pursuing a career instead of being a single mom. At least Preston was there to help her. Her parents threw her out when she refused to marry me.”

“Marrying her is what you should’ve done as soon as you found out she was pregnant.”

Laughing even though his criticism is anything but funny, I stab my fingers through my hair, tugging on it as I tell him, “I would’ve married her in a heartbeat, but it’s not easy to get someone who doesn’t want you down the aisle. Maya broke up with me. She ended things, then I got signed with the Bobcats and moved…”

“I’m sure you gave her plenty of reasons for calling it quits. If you had been more mature and less selfish back then, maybe things would’ve been different with this girl.”

“Why do you do that? Why is everything my fault? Did I make a mistake in giving up too easily? Hell yes. But the rest was all her. I asked her to come live with me in Greensboro. I told her I would be there for her if she changed her mind. I even asked her to marry me. Unfortunately, she didn’t get those letters until the other day since they were forwarded to her parent’s house after she dropped out of college.”

“Letters? Son, you know you shouldn’t have trusted the postal service with something so important.”

“Well, since she wouldn’t take my call, return a text or voicemail, and didn’t want to see me face-to-face, the only other option I guess I could’ve tried was a sky writer.”

“Don’t be a smartass.”

Throwing my hands up in the air, I get to my feet and tell my father, “I give up. I don’t know what you want from me. I’ve tried to make you proud for twenty-six years and I’m just over it.”

“What are you talking about? Why wouldn’t I be proud of you?”

Pacing away with my hands on my hips, I say, “Oh, I don’t know, because you bitch about everything I do. I’m sorry hockey is the only thing I’ve ever been good at, that I’m not a genius like you.”

“You could’ve done better than risking your neck, literally, in hockey…”

Turning back to face him, I remind him, “I’m making millions of dollars a year doing what I love! I nearly won the championship this past season and am one of the best forwards in the goddamn league. I know that it’s not the career you would’ve picked for me, but tough shit. It’s what I chose. And you can bet your ass that I’m going to let my son choose what he wants to do with his life and not make him ever feel less than me for a second.”

“You got into hockey for the wrong reasons, for the fame, the parties, the endless revolving door of women. All I wanted is for you to do more, to realize that there’s more to life than a fucking sport that could cripple you.”

“Trust me, I’m well aware that there’s more to life than hockey, now more than ever, when it feels like I’m being split down the middle, choosing that fucking sport over my family.”

“Then walk away.”

“I can’t! If I walk away, then there goes my big fat payday. How can I support them if I’m unemployed?”

“You haven’t been saving most of the millions you earn?”

“Yes, Dad. I put fifty percent into those accounts with high interest rates or whatever, but it’s not enough to last forever.”

“You just don’t want to give up the spotlight.”

“I would give it up for them, but she isn’t ready to commit to me!” Yes, Maya finally slept with me. I thought it meant we were a couple again, but she didn’t magically agree to move to Greensboro after our night together, so who knows?

“It sounds like she doesn’t want her and her son to come second to a fucking sport.”

“Fine. Maybe you’re right and I’m about to screw this all up again. God, I don’t even know why I came here. I should’ve just sent you a text, ‘Congrats, you’re a grandfather. Not that it matters though, because I don’t want you near my son’.”

“You don’t want me near your son?” he asks, with the heaviness in his eyes that looks like genuine hurt as he gets to his feet.

“I’m not going to let you treat him the way you treated me. I won’t let you belittle him or make him feel like he’s not good enough to be your grandson.”

“He’s five-years-old, how could he not be good enough?”

“I wasn’t when I was five!”

“Bullshit,” he huffs.

“When I was in kindergarten, I remember you telling me that I was reading at an infant’s level and needed to catch up to the rest of the kids in my class.”

“I don’t remember saying that.”

“Well, I remember. I remember all the times you made me feel like an idiot, so I will not let you near my son if you’re just going to tear down his confidence. He’s smart and funny, and yes, he’s already great at hockey, but I didn’t have anything to do with that. And you know what?I If he told me he wanted to be a circus juggler when he grows up, then I would spend time with him every goddamn day helping him be the best damn juggler he can be.”

My chest is rising and falling like I’ve played an entire period without a break from the growing anger.

“Are you finished?” my father asks.

“For now.”

“Do you feel better getting all that off your chest?”

“A little.” I shrug and cross my arms over my chest as I turn toward the mountain view.

“I don’t know what you want me to say, Christian. Do you want me to beg you to let me see my grandson?” my father asks from behind me.

“No. I just need you to promise not to be a condescending asshole when you see him. That’s what I need.”

He slaps his palm over my shoulder. “Fatherhood looks good on you, son. I’m proud of you.”

When I spin around to face him, his hand falls away. “You’re proud of me for knocking up a woman over five years ago?”

“Not particularly, but I’m proud of the man you are now; taking responsibility, protecting your son, for finally realizing that there’s more to life than a popular sport with puck bunnies.”

I wait for more insults to come, but I guess he’s finished when he asks, “Are you hungry?”

For the life of me, I don’t know why the hell I say, “Yes,” but I do.

And so, I sit at the wooden table facing the kitchen and watch while my dad makes Teriyaki chicken, feeling like a weight has been lifted from my shoulders.

Despite how much I usually hate his opinions, hearing him tell me that he’s proud of the father I’ve become means the world to me.

It makes me think that I’m actually capable of filling the role.