Page 15 of The Groupie

“I needed a break from Chuck. I didn’t come home at Christmas, so he owed me.” It’s a partial truth. I did need a break from my ex. He was my ill-advised fling from the national snowboard team, now appointed as the Olympic team’s coach. I’ve been trying to explain to him that we were never supposed to be serious every time he tries to re-kindle, as he puts it, but I haven’t convinced him yet.

Not that he would do me any favors because no one went home for Christmas for more than two days. I used Mamma’s health as my excuse for this trip. I probably should have come home at Christmas, but I didn’t want to spend the extra money to fly at the most expensive time of year for a two-day visit. Though as I breathe in the homemade bread scent of the kitchen, albeit laced with a trace of cigarette smoke despite the air filter, I admit to myself that facetime is no substitute for being home in person.

She nods her head, immediately sympathetic. She only met Chuck once last winter when we had an event in Vermont, and that’s all it took for her to form her opinion. She’s a good judge of character.

“Too bad he’s your coach. It’s a real shame you have to answer to a dirtbag like that.”

“He’s not a dirtbag.” I don’t know why I’m defending him. “He’s mildly aggressive, is all.” I grin. “Who can blame the guy for wanting me.”

She laughs. So does Suzie. But Mamma’s laugh quickly devolves into a cough, and she reaches for her ever-present glass of water to wash it away. It takes a minute. Her eyes are bloodshot and watery when it’s all said and done. Suzie takes the pack of cigarettes from the kitchen table and, because she’s as tall as a willow tree, she reaches up and tosses the pack into the cabinet above the refrigerator.

Mamma scoffs. “You think that’ll stop me? I got a stepladder, you know.”

“Don’t you dare climb on a ladder. You’ll fall and hurt yourself, and then you’ll have to go to the hospital.” Suzie knows the hospital is what the old woman is determined to avoid at all costs. She squints her eyes and shakes her head.

“No good kids,” she grumbles. The familiar words make me smile.

“Speaking of boyfriends, how’s yours?” I ask Suzie. “I’d like to meet him while I’m in town.”

“His name is Ted. You’ll love him. He’s a perfect doll.” She beams, and I wonder if it’s another crush or for real this time. She was always the boy-crazy one. Not me. I could take them or leave them. Boys were fun, but I was serious—still am—about making cake and making a name, and living life to the absolute fullest on my own terms.

I didn’t spend all these years training, albeit having the time of my life, so I could settle down and become someone’s wife and have a bunch of kids. That’s not me. I never had a conventional family—or if I did, it was so long ago it doesn’t count—so I don’t feel any need to have one in the future. Why bother? I can barely handle the ties I have with the makeshift pseudo-family I have now.

“Ted?” The coincidence hits me. “That’s funny. I just met a guy named Ted last night.” What are the odds? Not remote. It absolutely has to be a coincidence.

“Maybe it was him. We went out for dinner, and I went home early. He said he was going home early, too, but you never know. Where did you meet him?”

“None of your business—besides, it doesn’t matter. It wasn’t him.” I’ll never see him or his gorgeous roommate Zak again. Whipping myself out of any kind of wistful thinking, I straighten and flinch with the spike in my ankle pain and prepare to grill Suzie because it’s what a big sister—foster or not—does. “Tell me about Ted.”

“He plays hockey for the Boston Brawlers—he’s a rookie and a hunk. I’m showing him Boston and a good time.”

“Hockey player? Really? You know better than to tangle with pro athletes.”

Suzie waves me off. “You’re so paranoid about men.”

“No, I’m not. I like men. In small doses. No need for entanglements. Especially not with the kind with egos and complicated lifestyles.”

“You know what else pro athletes have?” Suzie says. “Muscles. Ted has a killer body, and he’s not afraid to use it.”

“Stop it right there,” Mamma says, albeit tongue in cheek because she’s never been shy about sharing her impressive past exploits. We both laugh.

“I don’t need the details. It’s not good for my heart.” She flutters her hands, with her mouth twisted in mock pursed lips.

I laugh, but then it occurs to me that she and her heart aren’t getting any younger. “Wait—is there something wrong with your heart?” A stab of panic runs through me before I can stop it, and my heart races like she shot a starting gun.

“Nothing. Relax. Suzie’s right. You are paranoid.”

“Concerned.” I calm myself and purge the ghost of tragedy and pain past. Focus on the here and now. I can handle this. In fact, this is the opening I needed to ask my next question. “Have you called the doctor for an appointment? For your cough?”

“Don’t start that again. It’s just an irritation. Only happens when I smoke.”

“Have you cut back on smoking?”

“Some.” She eyes the overfilled antique ashtray next to where the pack of cigarettes was on the table. So do I.

“Tell me about the guy you spent the night with rather than coming straight home to mamma,” she says, calling me out on my night of release. The tough old lady is hard to fool.

I shrug, letting her change the subject because I don’t want to argue. I’ve missed her too much to waste the visit arguing. Besides, there’d be no point. Suzie and I will find a way to get her to the doctor, whether she wants to or not at some point in the next two weeks before I leave.