Page 38 of Delay of Game
“Hey, Mom,” Nate called.
“Ah, Nathaniel! Come in, come in. Work to be done.”
“Like always,” Nate said, unable to keep the wry tone from his voice. If she picked up on it, she ignored it, the same way she always ignored everything he said that she didn’t like.
It was nice to settle back into helping her, even though it was a tight fit in the kitchen. Mom was a big woman too, almost six feet tall even in her house slippers, and the kitchen wasn’t built for two people their size. It was a dance as intricate as anything on the ice, knowing where not to be at the appropriate time.
“Where’s Dad?”
“He ran out to the beer distributor. He should be back soon.”
“I could’ve picked it up for you—”
“Nonsense! Nonsense, we’re perfectly capable of affording a few cases of beer for your friends.”
There was no use arguing, so he didn’t.
“How’re the boys?” Mom asked a little later. “You never update me anymore.”
“Sorry, Mom. I’ve just been really busy.” It wasn’t entirely a lie, even if the reasons he was busy weren’t any reasons he could talk to her about.
Despite his hesitance she peppered him with questions about everyone on the team: Mom not only had the entire roster memorized, she remembered their spouses and girlfriends, their favorite foods, the things they were interested in, and in some cases, their stats. Nate tried to limit the information he gave her. Leah Singer meant well, but when she was interested in some aspect of your life, she could be alot.
“And Zachary? Is he seeing anyone?”
“No, Mom,” Nate said, looking down at the onions he was slicing for the salad. He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand and hoped his face wasn’t too red.
“It’s so strange,” Mom mused, as she ladled some of the dips into bowls, “he’s such a handsome, charming young man, you wouldn’t think he’d have any problems finding someone.”
Nate, who couldn’t trust himself to say anything, didn’t. And then he didn’t have to, because the front door opened again and Zach said, “Hello?”
“Zachary!” Mom exclaimed, delighted. “You’re early.”
“I thought I’d come by and help set up,” Zach said, with the brilliant smile that always won Nate’s parents over, from the first day he’d shown up on their doorstep with a bouquet of flowers. He looked more at ease today than he had back then, overdressed and fidgety.
“That’ssokind of you,” Mom said, beaming. “Come in, come in. Have a snack while you work.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Singer,” Zach said, helping himself to some of the carrot sticks and ranch dip she shoved at him. The quickest way to her heart was to let her feed you, and Zach had figured that out early.
“You totally didn’t have to do this,” Nate said, as they were setting up the card table and chairs in the living room.
“I know,” Zach said, grinning sideways at him. “But I know how much work it is, and I’m gonna be here later anyway, so I figured, why not. Don’t tell me you aren’t happy to see me.”
That would have been a lie, so Nate just shrugged, and went to one of the junk drawers to search for a shim to steady the wobbly leg of the card table.
“You know,” Zach said, a little later, while they were ferrying the food out from the kitchen, “Gags texted me earlier.”
“Really? About what?”
“He was kind of freaking out about the party.”
“Huh? Why? It’s just my parents.”
“Well, yeah, but it’s one of his first big things as a member of the team. He wanted to make a good impression and I guess he was kind of worrying he wouldn’t.”
“What’d you tell him?”
“Just that your parents are kinda intense, but super nice. All he has to worry about is being himself. And not to wear dress shoes,” Zach said, with an impish smile, like he too was remembering his first time showing up on Nate’s parents’ doorsteps in shoes that pinched his toes all night.