Page 31 of The Sweet Spot (Kodiaks Hockey #3)

Chapter Thirty-One

Wolseley

B randon and I went to the Kodiaks Christmas party for just a few hours. I could tell he was anxious about the visit with his parents. He tried hard to hang out, but I could see that lost look in his eyes like he was thinking about a million things. I put him out of his misery the minute I thought we’d stayed long enough, but I’d still had a great time and made more connections. I also got to hang out with my friends.

But like Brandon, the nerves about his parents crept up on me too.

His parents came in late Monday night, and I had already gone home. We both agreed it was probably best to meet them after they’d had a good night’s sleep and some breakfast. I offered to come and make it, but he assured me he could handle that. I’d already prepped some food for today, so when I showed up after lunch, I could get started on dinner.

Was I nervous? Hell yes! His dad seemed like a real jerk, but I had prepared myself. I’d met enough jerks in my time. One of my best instructors was a total asshole, and I’d made it out alive. Brandon’s dad would be a piece of cake. So around two o’clock, I headed over. Brandon’s parents were still adjusting to the two-hour time change, and I learned his dad liked to eat right at six o’clock, so if I wanted everything done, including dessert, I needed to get started by two thirty, and I guessed we’d eat at four, maybe five. Odd, but I was going with it.

I texted Brandon to let him know I was there. I was still Ubering everywhere, but transportation was so easy that I didn’t think I needed a car. I grabbed my two oversized bags of supplies and headed up to his condo. I got to his door and gently knocked before heading inside. Brandon met me at the door and took the two bags. When he moved to one side, I saw his father sitting on the sofa, watching one of the twenty-four-hour news networks. He looked up, staring at me with the same blue eyes as Brandon’s. He surveyed me and arched a brow. Clearly, he wasn’t impressed.

“Wolseley, this is Peter, my dad,” Brandon said, his voice tight. I didn’t want to know what I’d already missed.

“Hello,” he said and went back to the news.

Brandon and I exchanged looks, and he rolled his eyes. I stifled a giggle as we headed into the kitchen where Brandon’s mom was cleaning his already clean kitchen.

“Hey, Mom. This is Wolseley.”

She put down the cloth and smiled at me, the fake kind of smile you give someone when you’re pretty sure you aren’t going to like them. Ugh. I was striking out again.

She had light blue eyes and perfectly coifed shoulder-length blonde hair. She reminded me of a Stepford wife.

“Hello, dear,” she said.

“Wolseley, this is my mom, Susan.”

“Nice to meet you,” I said.

“Mom, how about you leave Wolseley in the kitchen, okay? ”

His voice was firm, and she seemed to get the hint. She put the cloth in the sink and skulked off to the living room to join Peter.

“Just do your thing. I’ll keep them busy,” Brandon said to me quietly.

Susan tried to help me multiple times, but I had it all under control. I thought to give her a task, but figured it was better to just get the job done. I’d compromised on the menu and made ham, something I’d never made before and hoped to never make again. I paired that with some creamy mashed potatoes, roasted green beans with almonds, carrots with a brown butter glaze, a salad, my homemade bread, and for dessert, assorted cookies I’d made that morning. Brandon loved my chocolate crinkle cookies.

I called Brandon over to slice the ham because I wasn’t cutting through flesh. He seemed relieved to be away from his parents. I’d made a brown sugar glaze and a honey mustard sauce for the ham since Delia told me that people liked something like that with their ham.

We all sat down to eat, and Susan insisted we say grace. I didn’t realize Brandon’s family was religious. My family wasn’t, not that it mattered because I would never dream of judging someone based on their religious beliefs. Once she was done and we said our amens, we dug in. Peter made sure to start every dish, to which Susan deferred. Strange, but I went with it.

“What is this?” Peter said, pointing to the sauces.

“Oh, that’s for your ham,” I said as pleasantly as possible. “One is honey mustard, and the other is a brown sugar glaze.”

He scowled. “I don’t want anything on my ham. Why all this fancy stuff?”

“Honey mustard isn’t fancy,” Brandon said.

Neither was a brown sugar glaze.

“I like my meat plain. The way people should eat it.”

I ignored it. There was no use getting upset, and thankfully, the conversation shifted to the Kodiaks. Maybe I shouldn’t have been so thankful, though.

“That losing streak you were on was terrible to watch,” Peter said. “Vaughn and Grant are pathetic. I can’t believe they didn’t get rid of Vaughn when he was fooling around with his teammate’s wife. You lost one of the best defensemen in the league because he couldn’t keep his hands to himself, screwing around with that whore.”

I tried not to be shocked. Part of me wondered if he knew about my connection to Jeremy, and that one of my best friends was dating him, but I couldn’t see Brandon telling his dad about that. I had a feeling they didn’t talk much at all.

“He paid the price for that mistake. And Jeremy is one of the best players on our team.”

“Problem is, if you don’t lead that room, you’re going to keep losing.”

The Kodiaks had just come off a winning streak, and Peter was still focusing on the past?

Susan took the opportunity to have a side conversation with me. I barely knew her, but I could tell the smile on her face wasn’t genuine. When you knew, you knew. She tilted her head a bit, her blue eyes blinking rapidly for a moment.

“Tell me ... your hair. What a unique color. Why did you pick that?”

I sensed a few backhanded insults in there, but I rolled with it. His parents seemed as conservative as they came, and there was nothing wrong with that. Who was I to judge their choices? We all had our own free will.

“It was fun.”

“So you like to stand out? ”

I kept a smile on my face. “No, I just like doing fun things. It’s part of who I am.”

“I imagine you get a lot of odd looks, no?”

Something about the tone of her voice struck me as condemning. Again, I wasn’t surprised. My father had been a history professor for decades, and he used that same teacherly tone when he was putting someone in their place, but Dad was always as kind as possible about it. Susan had a different approach.

“I suppose it depends on where I am and who I am hanging out with.”

I shouldn’t have said that. I cringed when her eyes narrowed just a touch. I’d poked the bear.

“I see,” she said and turned back to the conversation Brandon and Peter were having. Maybe she’d let my faux pas slip.

“What’s wrong with this gravy?” Peter asked.

I glanced over to see he had taken the mushroom gravy. “Oh, I made two gravies. One is a regular kind of gravy, and the other is a mushroom gravy. It’s for the potatoes.”

“I know what it’s for. Why are there two gravies?” Peter asked.

Brandon turned and shot a look at his mother. She didn’t return his gaze. I had no idea what that was about.

“Oh, the mushroom one is more for me. I’m a vegetarian.”

Peter rolled his eyes so dramatically that I thought they’d pop out the back of his head. “For crying out loud,” he said. “Susan or Brandon, get me another plate. I want this mess off of here.”

He was that offended with mushroom gravy? What had mushrooms ever done to him? I took that in while Brandon went to the kitchen to grab another plate for his dad. He slammed it down, and Peter melodramatically pushed his full plate of food off to the side. I was about to take it away, but Brandon held up his hand, and I stopped. He was going to leave it there to annoy his dad. Total boss move.

Not to be outdone, Susan said, “So you are a chef?” As if she couldn’t possibly believe that based on our Christmas meal.

“Yes. I had a restaurant back in Minneapolis.”

“It had to close?” she said with manufactured sadness. She liked to play up her fake everything. How did Brandon put up with this?

“Yes. Making it in the restaurant business is hard.”

“Why did it close?” Peter asked, biting into a chunk of ham.

“It had some issues.”

“What issues?” he asked. At least, he seemed interested in the answer, but probably for all the wrong reasons. I put a smile on my face and decided I’d own what happened. They’d find out eventually.

“I had a vegetarian restaurant, and my sous chef was using meat products in some of the dishes. I found out and fired him.”

“He probably did it so it wouldn’t taste like mushroom gravy,” Peter said, chuckling at his little joke.

“What he was doing got out,” I said, ignoring him. “And it pretty much ruined the business.”

“Oh, that’s too bad,” Susan said with a fake frown. Was nothing genuine about her? “I imagine it’s hard to run a vegetarian business. So niche .”

“Vegetarians make up about five percent of the population. We were busy every night until what happened came out.”

“I just can’t imagine not eating eggs, cheese, and milk,” she said, aghast.

“Vegetarians can eat those things. You’re thinking of a vegan.”

I really was trying hard. I kept smiling and being as kind as possible. I figured if I did that, they would eventually realize I was a good person deserving of their son. Right?

Wrong.

“My mistake,” Susan said. She looked over to Peter, who rolled his eyes again.

“At least this bread is good,” Peter said.

They weren’t going to break me, but I couldn’t imagine how Brandon grew up in this environment and came out relatively unscathed if you could call being insular as unscathed.

“How about we say something nice for a change?” Brandon said.

“The ham is good. A bit dry,” Susan said.

Brandon laughed sarcastically. “Try again, okay?”

“It really is a lovely meal for someone who doesn’t cook meat.”

“One more time, Mom. You’re almost there,” Brandon said, his voice rising just a little.

“Oh, Brandon. Stop. The food is fine. It’s just not what we would normally eat.”

He laughed outright now. “You don’t eat ham, potatoes, gravy, carrots, and salad?”

“Your father hates green beans, and you know that.”

“This meal isn’t about just him.”

I waved my hands in the air to make them stop. “It’s fine. It’s all good. Not everyone has to like my food.”

“Or your hair,” Peter muttered.

Brandon froze and turned his gaze from his mother to his father. Peter kept his head down, eating away, oblivious to Brandon’s murderous stare.

“Did you say something, Dad?”

Peter looked up and shrugged. “The hair is stupid. Attention-seeking.”

“Who cares? How does it affect your life?”

“This is a joke, right? This whole thing? You’re just trying to piss me and your mother off. Did you hire her to play your girlfriend for the weekend because there is no way this broad is your girlfriend? Does she even like men? I’m pretty sure she’s a?—”

“Stop,” Brandon said, his voice nearly a growl.

“This isn’t funny, Brandon,” Susan added. “You’re trying to ruin our Christmas.”

What? Did she just say that?

Nothing else stung as much as his parents thinking I was a prop. I could take all the other insults, but this was too far. I thought to get up and let them have it out so I wouldn’t have to listen to any more of the insults, but it was like watching a car crash, and I couldn’t move, even though I was the butt of the jokes.

“I’m pretty sure it’s the other way around,” he said. “It’s a family tradition for the both of you to ruin all my Christmases. Why would this year be any different? But let me make one thing very clear to both of you: I love her. She’s beautiful, smart, funny, and most importantly, she’s kind. The both of you could learn so much from her.”

He loved me?

“Not how to make gravy or a damn ham,” Peter said. “But if you want to keep dating a lesbian weirdo to upset your mother, go ahead.”

Brandon’s jaw tensed, and I could see him taking in a few deep breaths. When he spoke, it was calm, which frightened me even more.

“I want you both to apologize to Wolseley.”

“What kind of name is that anyway?” Peter said.

“Apologize to her now.”

Peter pffted. “Why? I was just saying it how it is.”

“You are going to say you’re sorry, or you’re leaving. ”

“Oh, Brandon, stop being ridiculous,” Susan said.

He slammed his fist on the table so hard that every plate rattled, and all three of us jumped. “Say you are fucking sorry, or get out of my home. You pick.”

“Your language, Brandon.”

He stood now, his hands balled into fists. “If you don’t say sorry, I will throw you both out of here this second.”

“Brandon, it’s okay,” I said.

He ignored me and stared down both his parents.

“I’m not saying sorry,” Peter said. “I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“You have five minutes to get out of here. If you don’t, I will drag you out.”

“Brandon, enough,” Susan said.

“I’m the one who has had enough. I am so fucking done with both of you. And you’re down to four minutes.”

I got up to reach out to him, but he pushed my hand away. I’d never seen him this angry, and it scared me a bit.

“You sit your ass down,” Peter said, his face red with rage.

“What did you always say, Dad? My house, my rules? Well, it’s my house, and I want you out!”

“You wouldn’t have any of this without me,” Peter shouted. “So don’t think you can tell me what to do.”

“I have it despite you. Why do you think I went out East? I was tired of being embarrassed by you. By having you slap me around when I didn’t meet your expectations. You are a sad excuse for a father. And you have three minutes to get out of my house!”

“Why don’t you take a walk and cool off?” Susan said. “I think you need a little time to calm yourself down.”

He leaned over the table as close as he could to her face. “And you were a sad excuse for a mother. You let him beat the shit out of me. ”

Peter leapt out of his seat and lunged for Brandon, but he saw it coming and stepped out of the way. Peter tripped on his chair and went down on his knees. Susan ran over to him to help him up. I was too stunned to do anything, and Brandon certainly wasn’t going to help either one.

“Two minutes.”

Susan gave her son a long, cold stare, then focused back on Peter. “I think we should go.”

“Go where on Christmas Eve?”

“We’ll find a hotel. I think we should leave and let Brandon have some time on his own.”

They gathered their jackets, and Susan grabbed her purse. Brandon watched them as they prepared to leave.

“You’re forgetting something,” he said. “Take all your things from the bedroom. I thought I made it clear you are leaving . That means not coming back.”

“You’re not serious,” Susan said. “It’s Christmas.”

He didn’t respond. Instead, he went to the spare room, pulled out their small luggage, and set them down on the floor. “If you left anything else here, I suggest you get it now.”

They snatched up their luggage and made for the door.

“I expect an apology from you,” Peter said.

“Don’t hold your breath.”

They stormed out, and I was still standing at the table, unable to do anything. I snapped out of my stupefaction and rejoined reality.

“Are you okay?” I managed to get out.

“I need a minute,” he said and disappeared down the hall to his bedroom. He shut the door, and I looked around the table, staring at plates with food still on them. The only thing I could think to do was clean up. I put away the leftovers—a lot of leftovers—did the dishes, cleaned up what needed to be cleaned, and then thought of going home. Almost an hour had passed. I figured he needed time to deal with what had happened. So much had been said, and I felt terrible as a mere spectator. Maybe I should have done more.

I walked to his bedroom door and gently knocked.

“Maybe I should go home? We can talk tomorrow.”

The door opened, and I could see all the pain etched on his face. “I’m sorry about tonight.”

“You warned me. It’s fine.”

“Maybe we should talk.”

Something in his voice had me on edge, and I was more scared of what was coming next.