Page 59 of The Sweet Spot

“But no one hates Sally Field.” She looked at the stove, contemplating something. “I would still like to meet them.”

Now, I scratched my forehead. I couldn’t sugarcoat anymore, not that I thought I had. “If you really want to meet them, I need you to be prepared. He’s not going to like anything. He won’t like your food, the way you dress, the color of your hair, and so on. If he thinks you support a cause—like climate change—he’s going to attack and try to debunk it. If you show any kind of weakness, he will pounce. He’s the biggest asshole to ever live. And my mom goes along with it, mostly because I think she shares his views and also because she’d rather do that than argue with him. Why do you think my sister went to school out East and now lives in Toronto? Or why I played Juniors out East? I wanted away from them. My poor brother was the only one sucked into their vortex, mostly because he’s their favorite.”

She grimaced. “They can’t be allthatbad.”

Her biggest fault was that she always tried to find good in people, and I was pretty sure there was nothing goodabout my dad, and the last thing I wanted was for him to cut her to pieces.

I took her hand and gently squeezed it. “They really are, and I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

“I’m a big girl. I think I can handle it. I went to culinary school, and you have to develop a thick skin pretty fast.”

But she hadn’t met Peter Warde.

“Just think about it, okay? You can meet them another time.”

“I will.”

I had a feeling she was going to insist on meeting them.

I had one more task on my to-do list. I had to tell my parents about Wolseley, and I planned to keep that conversation under five minutes. My escape hatch was that I was going into practice even though we had no practice planned. I called them from the car so there would be no chance of Wolseley overhearing anything.

Mom answered the phone.

“Hey, Mom,” I said.

“Oh, Brandon. We were just talking about you this morning. We plan to get on the road tomorrow and be there by Monday.”

“That’s good. How are you and Dad?”

“We are good. Just finishing things up around the house. We thought Brooke might want to come home for the holidays and join us on the trip, but she said she couldn’t get away from work.”

Mom still hadn’t figured out that my little sister wanted nothing to do with her or Dad. She hadn’t been back to Regina inalmost two years. If that didn’t say it, what possibly could? Brooke and I caught up when I was last out there for a game. I had half a day to spend with her, and she looked good. She’d gone to the University of Toronto on a soccer scholarship that paid some of her way. I insisted on paying the rest. The last thing I wanted was for my little sister to be saddled with debt. She’d graduated last spring with her masters and had stayed in Toronto to work as a sports psychologist.

“That’s too bad. So, about your trip. I thought I’d mention it now so there is no surprise when you get here. I’m seeing someone, and you’ll probably meet her.”

“Oh,” Mom said, her voice pitching up. “Who is she? How did you meet her?”

“Her name is Wolseley, and she’s the personal chef I hired.” I purposely did not give my mother her last name. I didn’t want her to google Wolseley and see the scandal with her restaurant.

“Sometimes that’s how things happen. You spend time with someone, and you fall in love. I look forward to meeting her.”

I cleared my throat. Now for the hard part. “There are a few more things I want to tell you. Wolseley has pink hair.”

“Oh,” Mom said, her voice lowering.

“She’s a vegetarian, so I would appreciate it if you both don’t start in on lectures about that. She’s also very sweet.” That was my code word to Mom that Wolseley wasn’t confrontational.

“All right,” Mom said tentatively.

I sucked in a breath and exhaled slowly. “I need to know that you both won’t start anything. Well, specifically Dad. I don’t want him to challenge her beliefs, I don’t want him to pontificate, and I don’t want him to give her attitude. She really is one of a kind, and I don’t need her to be scared off.”

“You know your father, Brandon,” Mom said as if that was an acceptable excuse for his shitty behavior.

“I do. I know him very well, and that’s why I’m making thiscall. Because if neither of you thinks he can behave, then maybe you should stay home.”

That hit her where it hurt. “I’ll talk to him. But I can’t make promises.”

“Put him on the phone.”