The father-daughter problem
MY NEW MOTHER-IN-LAW COMES TO SEE ME A FEW DAYS AFTER the Briar
women win the Frozen Four and bring the trophy back to our college after three years in other hands. She calls ahead, so I’m not surprised when I find her on my doorstep.
“Hey, come in,” I say, hanging up her coat for her. “Want something to drink? Coffee? Water? A shit ton of liquor to make up for these past three days?”
Hannah laughs. “Let’s start with the water and save the shots for after.” She looks around as I lead her deeper into the house toward the kitchen. “It’s cleaner than I thought,” she says with a grin. “I was expecting a
bachelor pad.”
“Nah, we’re not total barbarians.” I pause, offering a sheepish look. “Shane’s mom sends a cleaning lady twice a month.”
That gets me another laugh. In the kitchen, she sits at the table while I drift toward the fridge to grab some water.
“Is Gigi moving in? She said she hadn’t decided yet.”
I glance over my shoulder. “I think she’ll just unofficially crash here until the semester is over. And then we’ll find a place together in Hastings.” Shane and Beckett are still giving me serious grief about that. When I first got back from Vegas and told them I’d married Gigi, they were both highly amused. Ragged me about it for hours. Shane spent a full day referring to me as Mr. Graham. Beckett gave me honeymoon tips and some
Viagra pills.
It was all fun and games until they realized this wasn’t just a lark or a marriage-on-paper-only sort of situation. Eventually I’d be moving out. We won’t be living here together for senior year. Since then, they’ve been a bit subdued.
When I pass Hannah the water bottle, I notice her eyes drop to the silver band on the ring finger of my left hand. Gigi and I grabbed the rings this morning from a small jewelry shop on Main Street. It still startles me every time I look down and see it there.
I don’t even remember which one of us suggested we tie the knot. I think it might have been me? I just remember walking hand in hand down the Strip that first night in Vegas and thinking there’s nobody else I want to hold hands with for the rest of my life. And for some inexplicable reason, Gigi agreed.
“Married,” her mom says with an amused look. “Married,” I confirm.
It’s pretty funny when you think about it. We haven’t even been together a year.
“I know you think we’re crazy,” I say, shrugging.
“Actually, no. I don’t. I know my daughter. She doesn’t enter into things lightly. And I think I’m starting to know you too. You’re not impulsive.”
“No,” I agree.
I’m the opposite, in fact. Calculated. Perpetually skeptical of people who jump first and think later.
“Look,” I say roughly, after a short silence falls, “you don’t have to pretend you’re on board with this or that you even support it. I give you permission to react like your husband. Go full silent treatment on us.”
“Hey, he’s trying.”
She’s not wrong—for the past three days, Garrett has texted, called, and left multiple voicemails for Gigi, asking to talk. But his daughter is stubborn. She’s the one refusing to accept the olive branch.
“He hurt her,” I say quietly.
“I know. He regrets it. You two just caught him by surprise. Garrett doesn’t like surprises. And no, I’m not secretly upset.”
“Really?”
She reaches across the table and takes both my hands in hers. “I know you lost your mother at a young age,” she starts.
I shift in my chair, discomfort tensing my shoulders because I don’t know how much Gigi told her parents about my background. I didn’t ask her to keep it a secret, what my dad did, but the idea of her parents knowing is still unsettling.
“It’s not an easy thing growing up without a mother.” I shrug. “I had foster moms.”
She searches my face. “Were they good to you?”
I give an abrupt shake of the head. My throat tightens.
“That’s what I figured.” She squeezes my hands. “And that’s why I came over. I wanted you to know that I’m here for you. I mean it, Luke. I have no doubt you’ll be in our lives for a long time to come, and I’m not at all bothered by that.”
A thought tickles the back of mind. About my own mother. If she were alive and I brought home some girl I married, I wonder how she would react. If she’d be wise enough to recognize that Gigi actually isn’t “some girl” but my entire life.
But I’ll never know. And that bleak notion scrapes at something inside me. I blink. Blink again. The moisture in my eyes doesn’t dissipate. It just wells up, distorting my vision.
“Hey,” Hannah says gently. “It’s okay.”
I twist my head to avoid her gaze. I feel raw and exposed.
So she gets out of her chair and crouches in front of mine. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought up your mother.”
“No, it’s okay.” My voice breaks. I drag my forearm across my face, wiping my eyes with my sleeve.
Before I can stop her, Gigi’s mom pulls me in for a tight hug and now I’m crying in her arms like a little kid.
This is so fucking embarrassing.
She reaches up and smooths a lock of hair away from my forehead, unfazed by my tears. “All I was trying to say is, you’re family now. I know
I’m not your real mom, but I think I did pretty well with my own kids.” “You did,” I say thickly.
“So if you ever need anything, I’m a call or text away. I’ll always be here for you.”
I suddenly hear the front door opening. Shane and Beckett’s voices. I quickly scrub my eyes, while Hannah gets up and sits back in her seat. She takes a sip of her water, then sets the bottle down and sighs.
“So. Now how are we going to solve the father-daughter problem?”
That is easier said than done. A week passes and Gigi still refuses to speak to her father. Garrett’s gotten so desperate he even called me and asked me to intervene on his behalf. I said I’d try. Because one, he’s my idol. And two, he’s now my father-in-law.
But…she’s my wife.
Wife.
It still feels surreal to say that. My whole life, nothing has ever felt entirely right aside from hockey. When I’m out there on the ice, chasing a puck, slapping a shot at net, that’s when I’ve always felt most like myself. A sense of belonging, like I was exactly where I was supposed to be.
I’ve only felt that way one other time in my life. When I said, “I do,” to Gigi in the courthouse.
We’ve chosen each other. And she’s right—I don’t expect it to be easy. Life never is. But she’s the one I want to face all the adversity with. She’s my partner, and no matter what happens, we’ll always have each other’s backs.
So I need to have her back now, even though I recognize that her father regrets every word he said in the locker room that day.
But man, those words cut her deep. She’s tried to please him her entire life, and he goes and tells her he’s disappointed in her? No, that he’s never been more disappointed in her?
It’s going to take a long time for her to forget that. Garrett knows, and that’s why he’s at the point of desperation where he’s turning to me. I know it must kill him. It’s obvious he disapproves of our marriage.
Oddly enough, someone who doesn’t disapprove—other than my mother-in-law—is my new brother-in-law. Wyatt texted me from the airport the morning he left Vegas.
WYATT:
Hurt my sister and I’ll hurt you. You feel me, Bill?
ME:
Bill?
WYATT:
Brother-in-law. Tried to write BIL but autocorrect didn’t like it. So you’re Bill now. Don’t hurt her and we’ll be good.
ME:
I won’t, and cool.
WYATT:
Welcome to the family. I figure we need to make an effort to get along. Now that we’re stuck with you forever.
ME:
Thanks, Bill.
Wyatt isn’t flying to Boston to watch me play in the Frozen Four tomorrow night, but Hannah and Garrett are coming. Garrett’s probably hoping Gigi will have no choice but to acknowledge his existence if they’re sitting together.
In another upset, Arizona beat out Notre Dame in their matchup two days ago, so we’re playing them in the National Championship. I don’t love it. I’m worried about playing with Michael Klein again. We didn’t face Arizona this season, so who knows how he’ll behave during play.
The entire team, including Jensen and the coaching staff, go out for dinner that night. Those of us who aren’t minors are even allowed to order one pint of beer—and only one—as Jensen so graciously informs us. Then he adds that anyone who takes him up on the offer needs to drink three glasses of water to combat the unwise choice. Still, more than a few of us order that pint.
News of my nuptials has traveled through the roster, and I notice Colson eyeing my wedding band on several different occasions during dinner. The one time our eyes meet, he mutters something under his breath and turns away in disgust. Next to him, Jordan Trager glares at me in solidarity. I reach for my pint glass in resignation.
We’ve just returned to the hotel and are striding into the lobby when my father-in-law texts to say he’s at the bar and do I have a minute.
“I’ll meet you upstairs,” I tell Shane, who nods and heads up to our room.
Some guys from the opposing team are milling in the lobby wearing their hockey jackets. Eyes widen and guys murmur in excitement when they catch sight of Garrett Graham striding across the lobby from the bar.
“Hey,” he says when he reaches me. He must feel the stares because he rubs the back of his neck and grimaces. “I was going to suggest we grab a drink at the bar, but what do you say we go elsewhere?”
I nod. “Good idea.”
We leave the hotel and give the street a quick scan. There’s a bookstore at the end of the block with an adjacent coffee shop, so we walk toward it.
“I have no right asking you for favors,” Garrett starts ruefully. “I know I haven’t been very welcoming to you. When you came home with Stan for the holidays. When you showed interest in my camp. I probably could’ve been…less dickish.”
I shrug. “All good. I don’t hold grudges.”
“I usually don’t either. But I will say”—he offers a pointed frown—“I don’t love that you didn’t ask for my blessing before you married her.”
I tip my head at him, curious. “Would you have given it?” “No.”
A snort slips out. “Then, better ask forgiveness than permission, right? Because I would’ve married her either way. I—” My jaw drops. “Holy shit.”
“What is it—”
But I’m already venturing toward the partition between the café and bookstore. I stop near a table of nonfiction books in front of the easel that caught my attention. Displayed on it is a large poster print depicting a barren white landscape bisected by a rushing river. Block letters read:
HORIZONS: THE YUKON TERRITORY
Holy. Shit.
“What are you doing?” Garrett comes up beside me.
I scan the interior of the store until I see it—the small line formed beside another easel holding the same poster. At the front of the line is a table with stacks of CDs sitting on one side and a pile of headshots on the other. Behind the table sits an elderly man in a red plaid shirt and corn husk– yellow suspenders. Rounding out his outfit are an old-timey cap and black- rimmed frames.
“Dude, that’s Dan Grebbs,” I tell Gigi’s dad. “Who?”
“The nature sounds guy your daughter is obsessed with. Come on, we need to get in line.”
He’s dumbfounded. “Why?”
“Because Gigi loves him, and I want to get her a signed photo. I’d get the CD too, but she probably already has this track downloaded.”
Ignoring his bemused face, I get in line, which is surprisingly long considering this is an eighty-year-old man who records nature sounds with his own equipment. Dude doesn’t even add instrumental to it, but I guess that’s part of his charm.
Garrett sighs and says, “I’ll go grab the coffee.”
The line moves slowly, so I’m still standing there when he returns with two Styrofoam cups. He hands me one.
“Black okay?” “Great, thanks.”
He’s staring at me again. “What?” I mutter.
“Nothing,” he says, but he keeps staring.
The line edges closer. Now I can hear what Grebbs is saying to the woman in front of him. She’s in her fifties, which seems like the appropriate age to be waiting for an autograph from this man.
“…for a lad in his late twenties still craving excitement, the Yukon was desolate. Suffocating even, despite the vast openness all around me. But once I let my mind clear, once I embraced the rush of the Klondike and the brisk kiss of the air drifting toward me from Tombstone Mountain, I was changed.”
“That is…incredible. Thank you for the work you do, Mr. Grebbs. I truly mean that.”
“It’s an honor to bring you these experiences, my dear.” He hands her a CD and headshot.
The couple after her doesn’t linger, just gets their shit signed and leaves, and soon I’m in front of Gigi’s aural idol, feeling out of place and, frankly, stupid.
But Garrett nudges me, and I step forward. “Uh. Hi. Mr. Grebbs. Huge fan.”
From the corner of my eye, I see Garrett pressing his lips together to stop a laugh.
“Well, really, it’s my wife who’s the fan. She has all your… soundscapes.”
Garrett coughs into his hand.
“Seriously, she listens to you religiously. In the car, on her runs, when she’s meditating.”
“How wonderful.” Dan Grebbs has kind eyes. There’s something as soothing about him as his sounds.
And I will never, ever tell Gigi I just thought of his sounds as soothing.
She will use that against me forever.
“What is your wife’s name, young man?” “Gigi.” I spell it for him.
He picks up a black felt-tipped marker and bends over, studiously inscribing what looks like an essay down the entire side of his headshot. He’s wearing the plaid-and-suspenders combo in the photo. I’m pretty sure it’s the same one.
He hands it to me. “So thoughtful of you to do this for your wife.” “Thank you.”
We step away to make room for the next fan. I roll up the headshot because I don’t want to fold it. Garrett continues to watch me.
“Quit looking at me like that,” I grumble. “I know it’s stupid.” He just sighs, shaking his head to himself. “You really love her.” “Till the day I die,” I say simply.
His fingers curl tight around his coffee cup. “Is she going to avoid me forever?” he asks miserably.
“I hope not. But you know her—she’s stubborn.” I shrug at him. “And she’s spent her whole life trying to please you.”
Guilt flashes in his eyes.
I’m quick to reassure him. “You didn’t put the pressure on her, I get that. She puts it on herself and she’s aware of that. But that doesn’t change the fact that all she’s ever wanted to do is make you proud.”
“I am proud. And not just because she’s good at hockey. Look, I said things in anger. But it wasn’t actually anger. It was fear.” He closes his eyes briefly. “Because I knew in that moment that I lost her. She doesn’t belong to me anymore.”
My head jerks in surprise.
“I don’t mean belonging like property,” he says gruffly. “No, I know what you mean.”
“She’s my little girl. You’ll understand what that means one day, if you two ever have kids. If you have a daughter.”
He keeps talking as we make our way down the block toward the hotel. “I wish she’d just let me explain things.”
“She will. Eventually.”
He gives a wry laugh. “That’s not very encouraging.”
“If you want your own personal cheerleader, I ain’t your man.” “I figured.”
“I will talk to her again on your behalf, though. I don’t think anything good comes out of you two not talking—”
“Luke Ryder?”
A man wearing glasses and a sports coat appears in our path. Instantly, my guard shoots up ten feet.
“Yes?” I say warily.
A hungry gleam lights his eyes and suddenly he reaches into his pocket for a mini recorder that he shoves in my face.
“Do you have any comment about your father’s upcoming parole hearing?”
