Page 10 of The Tryout

The worst part is that Pops isn’t exactly wrong. I spent a lot of my childhood looking up to him, to the work he was doing to ensure his clients were well-compensated and protected by their contracts. Even during my sports management degree, my favorite classes were the ones about contract negotiations and organized labor.

Truly, I know I could go to law school…and I probably wouldn’t hate it.

But still, I can’t help but think – what if I’ve still got hockey left in me? Why would I leave that on the table and walk away?

“I just…I just need to know whether this door is open or closed, you know? I think I could cope either way, but the uncertainty…that I can’t live with.”

He nods, and I think once again how lucky I am to have this.

“You got any plans today?”

“I’ll probably jump on the ice for a bit, maybe a quick jog. Want to be fresh for tomorrow.”

My summer has been split between the ice and the gym, putting my body to the test. If I’m going to have to try out, I’m going to do it in the best shape of my life.

“What about you? You said dinner?”

“Yeah, we thought we could go down to Golden Turtles, grab some Pho?”

Mm. Our place in Huntington Beach is pretty close to Little Saigon, and I’ll definitely miss the flavors while I’m in Iowa. At least if I have to come back home and study for the LSAT, it’ll be with some Vietnamese food in my stomach.

“Yes, please.”

“Other than that, just a client coffee at 11.”

“Is it that place in Laguna you were talking about?”

For the first half of my life, Dad stayed home with me. With Pops building his client list, they needed someone who could focus on me full time, especially once I started in on hockey. He was the one making breakfast and packing my backpack and managing the school drop off line.

And, along the way, he was keeping up with a series of nicer and nicer houses – the cooking, the cleaning, the decorating. Then, about ten years ago, he posted a few pictures of this place on social media. The response was immediate, and before long he had his own business doing interior design work around Southern California. I can hardly blame anyone for wanting a slice of the comfortable home he’s always given me and Pops.

“Yeah. Gonna try one more time to convince them that brushed metal isn’t going to get them into Architectural Digest.”

I snort. His style may be modern, but he very much favors natural materials.

“And if you can’t convince them?”

He raises an eyebrow, as if to say You doubt me?

“Never mind. I’m sorry I ever questioned you.” Pops may be a lawyer, but I know who wins ninety percent of the arguments in our house.

With a chuckle he gets up, pressing a kiss to my hair.

“See you tonight?”

And with that, I start my last day in California – hopefully for a while.

That night, we pile into Dad’s Cayenne for the trip into Garden Grove.

“So, are you doing brushed nickel by the sea?” I ask, certain I already know the answer. The snort from the passenger seat tells me Pops does, too.

“The fuck I am. I simply reminded them that they’ve got a lot more need for me than I have for them. They came around.”

I bet they did.

“You all packed up?” Pops asks, looking into the back seat.

I take a deep breath, trying to make sure I don’t turn our last night into a fight.