Page 12 of Puck, Marry, Kill

“Doesn’t get much easier as you get older,” I confide. “Sometimes I flip a coin, and in that flash of a moment when it’s in the air, I can feel what I hope it lands on, and by the time it does land, I already know what I should do. Maybe we could put a quarter in your pocket?”

He giggles the little boy laugh I will miss when it turns to a deep rumble one day. “I don’t have pockets in my uniform, Mom.”

“Oh, right. Maybe behind your ear?”

“Noooo.”

“Ooh, I got it! In your sock? But then we have to decide, left or right?” I grab his feet, which are still covered in stinky, sweaty hockey socks, lifting them as I examine each one for insight on which might be the better piggy bank for a coin.

“That tickles,” Harley laughs, squirming to get his feet free from my grasp. “No coins in my socks either.”

“Huh, guess you’ll have to make the decisions on your own then.” I give him a pointed look and he starts to smile. “Good. Let’s practice ... chicken or beef for dinner?”

“Dino nuggets!”

“Long chicken nuggets,” I suggest, though it’s not a suggestion. We don’t even have dinosaur-shaped chicken nuggets in the freezer, but Ido have an entire bag of frozen chicken strips, a.k.a. long nuggets. If there’s one thing moms are good at, it’s reframing the unacceptable into the acceptable by any means necessary, and obviously chicken strips are disgusting while long nuggets are the best things ever.

“With honey mustard?” he asks hopefully. My son’s half hockey player, half debate champion.

“Deal.” I hold my fist out for a bump, but as Harley reaches out to bump me, I quickly switch to an open hand, wiggling my fingers. “Turkey feathers.”

He groans and rolls his eyes. “You’ve already done that one, Mom.”

I shrug, unbothered. “Still got a grin so I’m calling that a win for me, and the game was a win for you, no matter what the scoreboard said.” To be fair, the score was 4–1, with Harley’s team taking theL. But I’m focusing on the positives, staying in the sweet spots, and enjoying the good stuff the day has brought. “Go hop in the shower, and dinner will be ready by the time you’re out.”

“Okay!”

Just like that, my smiling, happy little boy is back. He’s just trapped in an ever-growing doubt-filled shell. In the few minutes it takes me to toss those long nuggets on a pan, a very questionable idea hits me. I should second- and maybe even third-guess myself, but I don’t. Like Harley needs to do, I trust my instincts.

Were you serious about helping Harley?

I half expect an instantaneous response as though Dominic was staring at his phone, waiting for me to text. When that doesn’t happen, I begin to stress clean the kitchen, taking out my doubts on crumbs that spilled out of the toaster this morning.

I’d all but written off Dominic’s offer to help my son. He hadn’t been all that responsive after my initial thank-you text, and I didn’t hear from him after that, so I decided it’d been 1) a polite, albeit meaningless, gesture or 2) a failed attempt at getting in my pants.Either had me moving on to one of the other dozen things on my always too-full to-do list.

But desperate times call for desperate measures, and I’ll make a fool out of myself anytime for my son. Still, I can’t believe I’m doing this. Texting Dominic Lee for hockey help? What world am I living in?

Ding.

Absolutely.

The single-word response is glaringly similar to his previous text, the bubble on the left side of the screen barely a blip.

Great! He could use some help. When are you available?

That sounds like I’m scheduling a haircut, but this isn’t too far off from that. It’s not like it’s a date or anything.

Tomorrow at 6pm?

Perfect. I’ll make us a reservation at the rink.

“If this is a joke, I’m never gonna forgive you,” Harley informs me as he throws his gear bag over his shoulder. It’s nearly as big as he is, so it makes him wobbly on his feet as he looks from me to the rink door with the hope he’s scared to have blooming in his eyes.

He knows disappointment. Unfortunately, he’s learned it firsthand ... from his father.

I’ve done my best to never say a single negative word about Tyler, but he is who he is, and he’s disappointed Harley enough on his own over the years to make our son not trust something good until it’s actually happening.

I send a silent prayer up to the sunshine-filled, blue sky,Please let Dominic be behind those rink doors. Please.