Page 12 of Don't Look Down
“I know better than to say anything else. Y'all are so superstitious, and I’ll never pretend to understand it, but I will respect it.” She mimes zipping her lips shut, and I chuckle at her antics. I appreciate that she understands me. Superstitions are real.
“Hey, Annie, Spence, you both want your usuals?” Grace asks as she walks up to our table. Mom and I answer affirmatively. She always gets chicken parmesan, while I opt for chicken cacciatore with a side of vegetables.
Within minutes, we have glasses of ice water, a basket of bread, and fresh minestrone soup. Yum.
I dig into the vegetable-rich soup immediately. I’m salivating over the scent of fresh-baked bread. Bread, well, carbs in general, are one of my favorite things, but I sadly won’t be eating much today. Just a piece to satisfy my craving. Carbs are fuel for game days.
My self-control and willpower are strong, and I don't overeat or stray too far from my nutritionist’s recommendations. I’m able to follow a fairly strict diet, even during the off-season. Otherwise, conditioning during pre-season would be a bitch. My cravings are indulged in moderation.
“Talk to me, son. How are you? How was this series? The flights?” She side-eyes me, showing she knows they didn’t go well, as she butters a slice of bread. “Tell me all of the things.”
“The flights were pure trash as usual, but this morning’s flight was the worst. Turbulence was a bitch. Leigh talked me down from a panic attack, and I almost threw up. Worst flight in a while.” The truth spills out of me. My eyes shift to my soup and I rub the back of my neck. It’s a bit embarrassing looking back at my reactions this morning. My feet shuffle around under the table. If not for Leigh… I cut that thought off at the knees.
She grimaces and reaches across the table to squeeze my hand. “Oh, honey. I know that was a nightmare, huh?”
“You have no idea. But Leigh was a big help.” She murmurs an acknowledging sound while alternating between bites of soup and bread.
“I’m glad you have him.”
“Me too. The series was pretty rough at first, as you saw,” I continue. “That overtime loss was so disheartening, but we rallied and pulled through with three wins. As a team, we mostly mesh really well. There’s still a little something missing, but we’re much better off than last season.”
Grace removes our soup bowls and tops off our water glasses while we chat some more about the team dynamics. I’m doing most of the talking, which isn’t necessarily in character for me, but it also isn’t abnormal since the conversation is about my favorite subject. I tell her I’ve heard some rumors of some trades possibly taking place by the deadline, but nothing firm.
Grace brings out our entrees, and the savory scent of garlic fills the air, making saliva pool in my mouth once again. It smells too delicious for me to wait for the food to cool. I immediately cut into my chicken. With a quick blow to prevent scalding my tongue too terribly, I take a bite and can barely contain the groan of satisfaction that aches to leave me. Flavors explode inmy mouth. The chicken is juicy and tender. Vegetables cooked perfectly. Delicious.
Luigi’s is always on point.
Mom digs in a little more cautiously than I did. Our conversation is replaced with contented sighs and the clinking of silverware on our plates.
We’re midway through with our meals when Mom sets down her fork and levels me with a penetrating gaze. The look. Oh God. Those laser eyes that somehow see every little thing about me. It’s still intimidating as hell, even though I’m a grown man who towers over her petite frame.
“Okay, my mother’s intuition is screaming at me. I can see there’s something on your mind. What’s going on in that head of yours? I’ve been patient long enough, but I need you to spill now.”
A short, startled laugh bubbles out of me and my eyes close. My muscles tense in reaction to feeling so exposed. I look down at my plate like I might actually have any hope of hiding from her. I can’t. Why I’m surprised by her question is baffling. This woman always manages to see right through me like I’m as transparent as glass to her.
My shoulders slump in defeat. She bested me with zero effort. I’ve already folded and she didn’t even have to pry.
Opening my eyes, I look up at her with a resigned smile. “I don’t know how you do that, woman. Christ.”
She throws her elbow onto the table, props her chin on her fist, and smiles innocently. “It’s a mom thing. Now stop procrastinating and spill.”
Rolling my eyes, I haltingly begin. “Ugh, okay, I guess. Well…I have this friend…He’s an online friend, but I consider him a close friend, nonetheless.” We make eye contact for a moment, and she nods encouragingly for me to continue. “He’s ahugehockey fan, but for some reason, I can’t bring myself to tell himwho I am. He knows my name is Landon, but not that I’mtheLandon Spencer of the Florida Bull Sharks. Who just so happens to be his favorite team. And, uh-oh, we can't forget, not only are we his favorite team, I’m one of his favorite players.”
Mom sits up a bit straighter. The playfulness leaves her expression and focus takes its place. “Okay, then. Let’s untangle all this.” she gestures at me. I am in fact a mess that must be untangled, so I don’t take any offense. “How long have you boys been talking?”
Leaning forward in my seat, I shove my plate away to make space for my elbows. “Since right around the beginning of the season. Maybe three to four months now.”
“Hmm, that’s quite a bit of time, Landon, for me to just be finding out about your new friend, but I’ll let it slide. In that time, has he given you any reason to believe he’d be the type of person who’d take advantage of you and your professional athlete status?” She takes a small bite of her chicken parm while eyeing me speculatively.
“No, he seems like a super genuine guy. And you know I’m a pretty good judge of character. We matched up on a game one night, and we just clicked right away. I’ve never met anyone like him, where I felt such an immediate connection. He’s queer and he told me straight up that he wouldn’t tolerate any homophobia or other bullshit from me or anyone. And I can respect that. He’s a nurse, like you. He’s a caring individual by nature and very down to earth.”
“Well, from what little you’ve told me about him, he seems like a special person. I think he’d treat you like any other normal guy and not like a hockey star. Regardless of whether you’re on his favorite team or not.”
Mom grabs her water and takes a sip, watching me closely. I grab my water to give my hands something to do, and take asip of my own to break our stare-down. She has more to say. It’s coming. Silently, I wait for her to continue.
“Now here’s the important question I need you to think about. What are you actually scared of?”
Speechless. I don't answer her right away. I can’t. Looking up at the ceiling I rub my chin while taking time to consider her question.