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“You went home for the summer, didn’t you? Are you still at your childhood home?”
“No. Too much commuting. I moved back to my condo. Needed to focus.”
“I see. How is that going?” Her voice was almost as monotone as Mizzoni’s, and I wondered if it was some kind of strategy to get you to talk. Maybe they were trying to get me to tell them things that might shock them, that might earn me a variation in vocal octave.
“Yeah. Good.”
“So you’re calling me at ten o’clock at night to reassure me that things are going well. Are you trying to reassure yourself, maybe?”
“Things are good.”
“Hockey players generally don’t reach out to me when things are actually good.”
“Right. Well.” I took a breath told her the bare bones of my summer. Clara. Katie. Being home.
“That’s a lot. Let’s start at the beginning. Tell me what happened with the woman next door. Your high school crush.”
Clara’s face moved to the center of my mind. It always hovered nearby, on the far reaches of my consciousness where I did my best to keep it. But now it was here, and my heart cramped a bit as I thought about her. About Katie.
“Nothing happened really. We spent a little time together. And that was it.”
“Did you develop a relationship with her, Sylvester?”
“We’re neighbors. That is a relationship.”
The doctor said nothing, and I heard in the silence that she wasn’t interested in my bullshit.
“Yes. We...dated, I guess. For a while.”
“And has that concluded?”
“Yeah. It has.”
“Who ended it?”
“I did.”
“Tell me why.”
I squeezed my eyes shut. “It was affecting my game. You saw the exhibition match. I blew it. This was supposed to be the last year on my contract, and I might not be ready to retire after all. I need to stay in the game.” Since the idea of the MBA was out at this point.
“Your behavior was her fault? Clara’s?”
“I was distracted.”
“I see.”
“I thought she wasn’t there, and I was looking around for her when I should have been focusing. My mind was a mess.”
“I understand. And what happened before that game?”
“What do you mean? We warmed up. Like usual.”
“Outside of hockey, Sylvester. Things were going well at home? With your family? With Clara?”
“No,” I admitted, realizing I was about to tell her everything. “Things were shit.” And then I did it. I opened the floodgates and talked. I told her about Dad. About my family not believing I could handle the news and still play hockey. I told her about the fucking MBA, about the project I’d tanked until Clara had helped me with it. And then about seeing Jason, and having to give up the whole program now that I was outed.
I talked so long I wasn’t sure if she was even still on the line, but once the words started, they wouldn’t stop coming.
