6. KAVI

6

KAVI

The rest of the week, my pillow is traumatized by the number of times I rage-cry into it. As for my phone, it's getting a heavy workout with the number of calls I'm getting. Most are from Tyler. Some are from unknown numbers, which I suspect are also Tyler.

Thankfully the Blades are traveling to other cities for away games, so I know there's no chance of him showing up at my doorstep… yet. My dad doesn't give any of his players time away from their games.

Unfortunately, not answering Tyler's calls means Julia rings me up instead. So do the other hockey girlfriends and wives, as if they are competing to see who will get through first and secretly talking about it in a separate group chat at the same time. I ignore them all, too afraid to learn whether they knew Tyler was cheating on me this whole time or not.

Eventually, my apartment gets deliveries of flowers, chocolate, and jewelry. A man shows up outside my window singing You're Beautiful Just The Way You Are, a country pop song that's recently popular on the radio. Before the second verse starts, I shut the window and go back to my pillow.

My plan is to abandon humanity and exist in the sloppiest, most comfortable of clothes until I rot on the floor, but unfortunately my mother's birthday is next week, and she's flying to Vancouver to support my dad as the Blades play the Wings again.

(Support is from afar since she's not actually going to the game but waiting on standby for it to end.)

Weeks ago, I'd promised I would come along so she wouldn't spend the trip alone by herself on her birthday. And that's why I find myself sitting on a café patio in Vancouver with a donut on my plate, instead of being miserable and wailing alone in Seattle.

"Are you sure about canceling the wedding?" my mother asks.

I stab a fork into my donut, because if I use my hands to eat it, there will be a jelly massacre as I imagine this doughy ball of loveliness to be the less firm, doughy balls of my ex-fiancé.

"I'm not saying don't do it," she says. "But wait for your emotions to cool before making a final decision, Kavleen."

What will change? He claimed we were in an open relationship! Does she really think I should take him back after that?

Maybe.

Over the years, my parents have basically adopted Tyler. They've called him their son as much as their future-son-in-law. He's been around my family since high school, training with my dad in the garage after eating my mom's pasta dinners. We were his cheerleaders as he transformed from gangly blonde marionette to hockey superstar with a six-pack. The day he and I officially started dating, my parents cried.

I'm so glad someone like you is dating Kavleen, Tyler. You're already part of our family.

My lungs cramp as consequences cram into the already crowded space of my brain.

Is my mom more worried about losing him than him betraying me?

My donut is pummeled until jelly puddles on the plate.

Click. Clack

That's the sound of my mother's needles. She's stress-knitting across from me. The gray hair near her face bounces and defies gravity, moving as a wave around her ears. Every so often, a strand sticks to her brown lipstick, and when it does, my mom drops everything and tries to pull all her loose strands back into a soft, cute little bun, fully knowing they'll come back out right away because of her layered cut.

"Kavleen—" She sighs.

"Do you ever hate hockey?" I blurt out.

She gasps.

"Sorry. Blasphemy." Glancing around, I check to see if we've been caught, but no one has turned around. That's because they don't know who we are. Of course, my mother is my dad's invisible extension just as much as I am Tyler's invisible extension. Or, I was. Am not anymore.

My mother puts her needles down. "Without hockey, we wouldn't have everything we do."

The house. The cars. The vacation home.

"And your dad?—"

"Loves it," I finish. "More than anything."

"It's his life's work."

My mother goes back to knitting, grimacing. Her knuckles are showing. Noticing them, a fresh surge of guilt fills me.

"We shouldn't talk about this," I decide. "It's your birthday. This day is all about you, not me. What should we do after lunch?"

"We could take the long way back to the hotel?"

"Or we spoil you." I lean forward. "There's a Hammam Spa nearby. The kind you've always wanted to try out. I checked and they've got room for both of us in the afternoon. My treat?"

My mom's eyes brighten. She's nodding yes when her phone rings. It's my dad calling from the arena to check in on her birthday. When she picks up, they reminisce about how it's so weird they're getting old, remembering their foolish dreamer days back in India. Dad says something to make her laugh. I'm smiling. It's in these moments that our family feels perfect. Seriously, if I could time-loop and bottle the simplicity of life in this second, I would.

Mom mentions the spa, and the way she is answering, I know Dad is questioning her. Something about whether she'll be ready in time for the dinner he's arranged with important people from the league tonight. The start of the Blades season has been rocky, and other than needing to win tonight's game against the Wings, he needs his wife later on his arm for networking.

"They only need a reason, Karen," are the muffled words I overhear. "To replace me. I've got to work twice as hard for half as much."

My mother's name is Kirendeep, but to fit in with the crowd that my dad is around, she's become Karen. It's Karen and Perry now instead of Kirendeep and Pritpal.

Her hand roves across the tablecloth, not settling until knitting needles are firmly grasped again. "Of course, I understand. We won't go to the spa, sweetheart."

I deflate like my donut. Instead of jelly, something hotter spills out. She was so excited about the spa, but now that my dad's plans interfere, her own happiness is shelved. As if his wants are needs, and they matter way more than her wants. He gets to come first no matter what because he works this job.

Even though, in the early days long gone, I remember forgotten pancake batter on a frazzled cheek as Mom drove herself ragged to keep our middle-class house running. She worked, cooked, and cleaned. Her voice was as loud as his.

Now my parents have cleaners, and food delivered to their doorstep.

Everything has changed, and I can't remember the last time I heard my mom raise her voice. Why can't I remember it? When was her last No ?

Do the Nos run out? Under what conditions? When you are a wife to someone whose notoriety has eclipsed their origins? When you aren't working any longer? When you owe everything to someone else?

My ribs feel tight. I practice my Nos in my head, a bit desperately. Anything to stop this feeling where my lungs can't get enough air.

No, Tyler, I don't want you to talk about my fat lips ever.

No, Tyler, we aren't in an open relationship.

No, I don't want to forget about this and move on. No, the wedding can't just happen.

… No, I don't know what to do next. Or what happens now… No, I've not got a clue or a plan…

"Your dad wants to talk to you."

I blink at the phone she's holding out. Slowly, I take it. "Hey, Dad."

"Take his calls, Kavleen. I need my captain focused."

My jaw drops.

"That's not my fault," I squeak out. "You don't know what he's done?—"

"He's told me."

I suck in a shocked breath. "And you still want me to answer his calls?"

Surely, my dad doesn't know about the other woman, and how Tyler's been saying our relationship was open. Not to mention the fat lips on my dick trash-talking. A wave of bubbling nausea hits me. NO WAY.

"Everyone deserves a chance to explain," the gruff voice of my dad advises me. "Just hear him out, that's all I'm saying."

My hand seeks the butter knife on the table. I won't do anything, but it feels nice to hold as if I could fling it around. "You're taking his side!"

"I'm not. Stop that kind of talk."

My dad's patience has thinned. His tone is now terse. "What I am doing is breaking history as the first South Asian man coaching at this level. I'm paving the path for others who look like me. That's my burden, Kavleen. And right now, one of my top players isn't on his game because he's calling his fiancée twenty times a day."

"I—"

"Do it for me. I'm not asking you to forgive him, but pick up your phone, at least."

"But—"

"I have to go. Don't let me down. I know you'll do the right thing."

He hangs up. I'm left staring at my mom, open-mouthed.

The butter knife drops back on the plate as I practice slow, deep breaths.

"I can't believe it," I mumble.

Click. Clack . Click. Clack. Click. Clack.

My mom's aggressively knitting again, but with the saddest, most sympathetic expression on her face. "I'm sorry. I know this is really hard, but don't forget," she says. "We're the lucky ones, Kavleen. Who else gets to sit at a restaurant of their choosing with all the free time in the world? Sure, your father is so busy, but I get this." She holds up her knitting needles. "My hobbies. Isn't that what you want? Time and space for your photography? I know Tyler isn't perfect, but he's been supportive, right? Now he needs guidance to get back on the right path. Men make stupid mistakes all the time."

My photography…

A sudden thought hits me.

I don't know where my camera is.

That's a lie. I do.

I left it behind in Dmitri Lokhov's hotel suite when I ran out on him. This whole time I've been heartbroken, angry, weeping, and so distracted that I didn't realize he's got my backpack.

If he hasn't already thrown it away…

Fuck.

I need to get my camera back!