Page 54 of Breaking the Ice

Isabella shakes his hand, and then everyone glances around our tiny apartment. Boxes still litter most flat surfaces and there isn’t enough seating for four people anywhere.

My dad raises a brow. “Can we take you kids out for breakfast?”

Stifling a yawn, Isabella nods. “Breakfast sounds amazing. I’ll just find my coat, and…” Trailing off, she looks around, clearly at a loss for where anything is in our haphazard place.

“Here.” I scoop my hoodie off the back of the couch and hand it to her. “I know it’s big on you, but it’ll keep you warm.”

Her cheeks glow as she beams at me. I love the way her pale skin telegraphs her emotions, and I wrap my arm around her and drop a quick kiss on her lips.

My mom clears her throat, conveying her displeasure at physical displays of affection. She packs a lot of censure into one little noise, but she’s gotten good at that over the years. I step away from Isabella and sigh.

“Where would you recommend, Evan?” My dad asks.

I shrug. “Uh, most people go to Jackie’s when their parents are in town.”

Which isn’t something that happens with my family very often. My parents have attended maybe three home games in the time I’ve been at Harrison? My mom has made it clear that the accommodations aren’t up to her standards, and she’d rather I come home to Grand Rapids to see them when I can. It’s more convenient. For her, not me, obviously.

Honestly, I think she doesn’t care too much either way. If I’m in Lafayette, she can mostly forget that I exist. Every now and then, she forces me to show up at a family event, tow the line and act the part of dutiful son, but I’m not great at it. Not that I’m disrespectful or anything, but I’m not going into an approved career field of politics, medicine, or law—P.E. teacher doesn’t make the list of proud accomplishments. So mostly they trot me out when they need me, and then sweep me back under the rug when they’re done.

My dad likes hockey, though, and when we play in Michigan, he’ll always drive to see me play. He smiles and claps me on the shoulder. “Jackie’s sounds great.”

Jackie’s has an old-school Hollywood vibe, with dark booths and autographed pictures of starlets on the walls. My mom’s eyes widen when the hostess seats us and she perches on the edge of the bench like she can’t actually let it touch her clothing, but I’m too tired to care.

Since it’s a Monday morning—Isabella and I are skipping class, but oh well—Jackie’s is pretty empty. My parents are missing work to be here, which doesn’t happen often. They’ll probably remind me of that at some point. There are fancier places in Lafayette—more in line with Mom’s standard’s—but nothing that would be open now, and I’m not in the mood to jump through her hoops.

We sit in awkward silence, everyone scrutinizing the menu like it’s one of Mom’s legal briefs. Isabella grabs my hand under the table and squeezes my fingers, and the pressure in my chest lessens a fraction.

After we order, my mom clears her throat, then sends my dad a pointed look. Must be his cue to lead this conversation because he gives a nervous chuckle.

“So, ah, Evan, how did this come about?” He gestures between Isabella and I and takes a sip from his water glass.

“Um.” All the right words fly out of my head. I’m left with blank space, remembering nothing but the times I’ve not measured up. Caring more about partying than my grades, wanting to go to Harrison to play hockey instead of the University of Michigan like my sister, Beth.

Isabella jumps in, leaning forward with a wide grin on her face.

“We fell in love.” The words tumble out of her mouth like she’s on stage playing a role—and maybe she is. But I appreciate the save. “We’re in Elementary Math together. I asked him to study with me because he caught my attention the first day of class. And the more we got to know each other, well, we just knew it was meant to be.”

She makes doe eyes at me, and it’s all I can do not to laugh. She’s laying it on a little thick. My mom’s lips curl up, horrified, but that’s a common expression, and my dad props his chin on his hand, enthralled. Isabella’s won him over, for sure.

She continues, her voice earnest. “We know it was impetuous to get married in Vegas, but it just felt right.”

“Felt right?” My mom echoes, her voice shrill with sarcasm. “Are you sure, young lady, that it didn’t have anything to do with Evan’s bank account?”

Isabella turns to me, her forehead creased. “What’s she talking about, honeybunches?”

We haven’t discussed acceptable pet names. I probably wouldn’t have picked that one on my own, but if it gets on my mom’s nerves, I like it. “Well, snookums, remember when we bought that couch, and I mentioned that I come from money? I think she’s hinting that you’re a gold digger.”

Isabella wrinkles her nose at my mom. “That’s gross.”

“Yep.” I pop the P on the end of the word, as annoying as possible.

Whatever my mom is about to say is cut off by the arrival of our food. My mom gets her typical egg white omelet, I’m having eggs and bacon—protein during the season, and Isabella has a plate of golden-brown pancakes that my mom eyes with disdain, muttering something about carbs. Then the waitress sets a large platter of waffles in front of my dad. Weird that Mom doesn’t comment on his food choices.

Isabella nudges me. “Careful, those have walnuts.”

“Thanks, babe.” I smile at her, warmth blooming in my chest. Is this what it feels like to have someone take care of me? I kind of love it. “I’ll be sure to avoid them.”

My mom’s gaze narrows. “Why would it be a problem, Evan?”