Page 10 of Scoring Chance

4

TANNER

Des cleans up while I put the kids to bed. When I come back downstairs, he’s wiping frosting off the coffee table.

“I tried. There’s only so much I can do to clean up around here,” he says.

“It’ll never be immaculate like yours.” I shrug. There’s a general layer of dust and grime on the house. Shelves are crammed with toys and books and Legos and random junk. Clutter fills the house. I could never be one of those parents who are strict with their kids about cleaning up. I don’t have the stamina. “My motto is clean enough.”

“I brought an adult treat for us.” He nods to the paper bag on the recliner.

A few minutes later, we’re sitting on my roof drinking beers. This has always been a great place to think. Each time, I worry it’s going to collapse, but it keeps surprising me with its strength. I suppose we have that in common.

From up here, I get a nice view of my neighborhood, the mountains way off in the distance. It's nothing like Des’s view from his condo that is just breathtaking—worth every penny.

I’d love to go over there, but Des would have a heart attack if the kids were in his apartment. It's like an upscale hotel and my brood is definitely not Eloise.

"How’d the kids take it?" he asks.

"Fine. I really tried to sugarcoat it as much as possible."

"Okay, between us, how's it really going? Because, Tanner, I know when you're stressed. You may put on a good game, but I can tell, man.”

I rub my hair. The accountant in my head is screaming and pulling the panic alarm. The realities of my situation are quickly catching up with me.

"Do you need money?" he asks.

"It's not the money. It's...it's the insurance. My severance only covers two weeks, and then I'm kicked off the company's insurance plan by the end of the month. And, you know, luckily, there're no major medical things. But the kids—they still see a therapist. Davy is always having sports injuries he has to go see a doctor for. And if something really should go wrong, we won't be covered. I'm trying to sift through options. There’s COBRA, but it's so expensive."

I had a coworker who had to go on COBRA when he was in between jobs. He’d been laid off, and COBRA allowed him to stay on his company’s health care plan with a HUGE markup. I know why they call it COBRA. Because it’s a snake that will suck the life out of you.

"Lulu just started kindergarten and Lena just started high school, and now I have to deal with this," I say.

Des rubs my leg. I try not to seem so worried, but man, is it tough.

"You’ve handled worse surprises," he says with a loaded pause. It all happened so suddenly. For our anniversary, Katie and I went to Vermont for a weekend, just the two of us. We were biking in the woods, when Katie hit a tree root and got thrown off her bike, hitting her head on the ground.

She said she was fine and didn’t need to go to the hospital. Katie complained of dizziness the rest of the day, and when she lay down to take a nap, she didn’t wake up. It happened so fast, and left me with a mixture of grief and whiplash, like the universe was playing a con on me that I didn’t figure out until it was too late.

I was a complete mess for weeks. If it weren’t for my friends stepping up, helping with the funeral and spending time with the kids, I don’t know if we would’ve made it.

“No matter what, we've been there for each other,” I say.

“You were there for me when I was going through chemo. That’s what friends do.” A wistful smile takes over his face, creasing his freshly-shaved cheeks. “Do you remember high school?"

"Yes and no," I say. Some things feel like just yesterday, some things feel like a million years ago. I didn’t know I felt that old. I didn’t know time could pass so quietly, so cruelly, escaping like an Irish goodbye. “I went to South Rock for Lena’s freshman orientation, and it was just—I was speechless. I can't believe that we used to go here. It's so different. But then you spot these little corners in the school that are still the same. A stretch of hallway that hasn’t changed. The same creaky chairs in the auditorium.”

There was a time in my life when all I had to worry about was homework and hockey. Wild.

"You know, I remember when we were in high school, we probably all thought, 'We'll get married, we'll have kids,' and now, like, here I am—and my oldest is in high school." I laugh and gaze up at the night sky.

"I never thought that," Des says proudly. "Didn't want it then, didn't want it now."

"I never got why you were so against it."

"I'm not against it. It's not for me. There's fun in playing the field. I enjoy playing the field, and I don’t really see a need to stop, you know? Keep things fresh and interesting. And no offense, man, I see you and your kids—and your kids are so wonderful, and you're so wonderful with them. But that is not for me. That just seems exhausting. And a slog. And tiring. And dirty. I like just being able to come and go. I like having my freedom. But I can see how freedom is over-rated.”

Des's full lips crack a smile. Even with me, he knows how to charm.