8. Kade

Chapter eight

Kade

T he invitation shocked me. One day, while cooling down after leading the juniors through a practice session, Ziggy invited me to dinner at his house with his family. I couldn't believe it. He wanted to pull me into the inner sanctum of his life in Whistleport.

"Are you sure about it?" I glanced at him before unlacing my skates.

He shrugged. "Yeah, why not? I mean, isn't meeting the parents sort of part of whatever it is we're doing? Mom's been yammering at me about meeting you. She wants to see the young man who has been filling so much of my spare time."

I swallowed hard. "And what's your dad have to say about this? Will he approve of my presence?"

"He'll come around… eventually."

Two evenings later, I rang the Knickerbockers' doorbell while tugging at the hem of my royal blue button-down shirt. I rubbed my sweaty palms on my jeans and waited.

The house was weathered clapboard with white paint peeling in places. The slightly rundown appearance only added to the historical character. Wind chimes tinkled softly as I heard footsteps on the other side of the door.

Somehow, I'd ended up right in the middle of Ziggy's world. It was different from the manicured lawns and ostentatious facades in my neighborhood at home. It felt more authentic. Still, what if I didn't fit in? What if Ziggy's family dismissed me as a rich kid trying to play at small-town life?

I pressed the doorbell one more time. A split-second later, the door swung open to reveal Olive, Ziggy's mom. She offered a warm smile and gestured for me to follow her inside. She had Ziggy's eyes, the same shade of green.

"You must be Kade!" She reached out with both hands to take hold of my right one. "Come on in, and don't bring the mosquitoes with you."

The house's entryway smelled of lemon furniture polish and a delicious savory aroma—pot roast? The mouth-watering scent relaxed me and reminded me of family dinners when I was a small child and both of my parents were home. Mom occasionally let the staff have the night off, and she cooked dinner.

As I followed Mrs. Knickerbocker through a hallway, I glanced at the photos on the walls. They amounted to a visual timeline of the growth of both Ziggy and his sister, Emma. He started as a gap-toothed little kid with wild hair and matured into the young man I knew.

One image in particular caught my eye. It was teenage Ziggy with long, skinny arms and legs hoisting a hockey trophy over his head.

We entered the living room. It had a certain lived-in charm, and two massive nautical maps of coastal Maine reminded me that Ziggy's dad made his living lobstering.

Bookshelves lined one wall. Immediately drawn to them, I spotted titles that ranged from Hemingway's For Whom the Bell Tolls to Advanced Hockey Strategies . One entire shelf held only poetry.

A large picture window filled most of the far wall. It had a postcard-perfect view of Whistleport Harbor with the lighthouse in the distance. Fading sunlight sent gold, purple, and orange rays across the sky. The beauty made my jaw drop. I wondered what it would be like to grow up with such a stunning view every morning.

Ziggy's father, Knick Knickerbocker, sat in an aging armchair, its leather cracked and faded in various places. Even from a sitting position, I saw that he was a sturdy man with broad shoulders. He'd spent much of his life hauling up lobster traps and steering a boat through ocean waves. He gripped the armrests of his chair as he sized me up with narrowed eyes.

"And here's the UNH hotshot."

"Dad." It was a combination of warning and request from Ziggy, who appeared behind me.

I cleared my throat and hoped my words would come out calm and focused. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Knickerbocker. Thank you so much for having me in your home."

The words sounded too formal, but they were the best I could offer given the circumstances. I reached out a hand to shake.

Knick grunted, but he shook my hand. His paw, callused and rough like sandpaper, had a grip that could crush gravel.

Next came an awkward silence. I shifted my weight from one foot to the other and listened to the hardwood floor creak. I looked around the room, hoping for a safe space for my gaze to land.

I found it in a collection of framed photographs on the fireplace mantel. One in particular caught my eye. It had to be Knick as a younger man with his arm wrapped around his boy, Ziggy. Together, they raised a massive lobster, smiling from ear to ear.

Olive noticed the direction of my gaze. "That was Ziggy's first big catch. He was nine years old. He insisted on helping on the boat that summer."

"Ayuh," added Knick, "nearly fell in the deep trying to haul that monster aboard."

Ziggy groaned.

I turned toward him. "I'd love to hear that whole story sometime."

"Oh, we've got plenty of stories." Olive's eyes twinkled. "I can tell you about this one time when Ziggy decided he wanted to—"

"Hey, is anybody hungry?" With quick thinking, Ziggy interrupted the tale, and his cheeks flushed pink. "Surely, dinner is almost ready. Is it, Mom?"

She laughed. It was a gentle, almost musical sound. "Okay, I know when you're shushing me. Why don't you boys sit and chat while I check on the roast? I have to make sure the potatoes are done."

I sat on the couch when she left the room. It was comfy and cozy, practically wrapping itself around me. Ziggy sat close enough that our thighs lightly touched. I wanted to reach out and wrap an arm around him, but I knew it was far too early to do that in front of Knick.

He leaned forward with his eyes fixed on me. I braced for another dagger aimed in my direction. "Kade, Ziggy tells me that you are an impressive hockey player. He said you're in the record books at UNH."

His light, conversational tone surprised me. "Yes, Sir. I hold the record for the most assists by a first-year student. I don't usually bring it up because I try to remain humble.

"Don't we all?" Knick chuckled. "And that's assists? Not goals?"

"Well, uh, Coach always says hockey is a team sport." I fidgeted with the hem of my shirt, grateful for a topic I knew well. "I guess I've learned that sometimes setting up a shot can be as cool as taking it myself.

"Hm," he grunted and then nodded. "I suppose I understand that little nugget of wisdom."

Ziggy lightly bumped his knee against mine. I glanced at him, and he flashed a smile. Perhaps I'd passed the first test of the evening.

He jumped in with a comment. "Kade's a big help with the juniors, too. Rory says he's got a knack for coaching."

"He does?" Knick raised an eyebrow. "The kids in our little town are a motley bunch. Don't you think? I'm sure their skills are far from what you're used to seeing on the ice."

Breathing deeply, I ran my next comment through my head before saying it out loud. "Honestly, Mr. Knickerbocker?" I started, then swallowed hard. "It's been pretty amazing. These kids... they love the game so much. Sometimes, playing on the team at UNH can feel a little like a job. But here? I don't know; it's just different. Really cool. I'm glad Rory suggested I help out."

Knick opened his mouth to respond, but Olive's call from the dining room interrupted.

"Dinner's ready! Don't let it get cold!"

Participating in the meal was a little like walking through a minefield of long silences and loaded questions. The dining room itself was cozy, with walls decorated by shelves full of seafaring knickknacks and old framed photographs of lobster boats.

The table was solid oak and had its share of nicks and scratches gathered through the years. I suspected it was a valued relic representing Knickerbockers of the past.

Knick cut through my quiet reflections. "Pass the potatoes, will you?" When I handed him the bowl, he questioned my experience with the food. "Bet you're not used to simple meat and potatoes, eh? What's the Langston family have for dinner? Champagne and caviar?"

My cheeks burned with embarrassment. His assumption hurt. It reduced my years of hard work to be myself down to a stereotype. I could explain that my family did have champagne and caviar, but lonely dinners in front of a TV and eating restaurant leftovers out of plain glass containers were more common.

I did my best not to be confrontational. "Actually, sir, my mom can make a mean meatloaf. It's my favorite." I thought back to the perfect family dinners I had as a child. The memories were bittersweet.

Sensing a conversation going south, Olive jumped in. "Meatloaf… that sounds lovely. If you can get it, you'll have to share her recipe."

Somehow, I found myself stepping on another mine. Knick had another question. His voice was deceptively casual, "What exactly are your intentions with my son?"

I choked on my mouthful of pot roast. Ziggy's fork clattered against his plate. "Dad!" he hissed.

"What?" Knick shrugged. "It's a fair question. You two have been spending an awful lot of time together."

Emma, Ziggy's younger sister, jumped into the conversation to save her brother. "He's been helping with Zig's poetry, too, right?"

"Is that true?" Knick arched his right eyebrow. "Still don't understand how star hockey players have time for fancy words like that. Never heard any poetry in my high school locker room."

Determined not to let the comment go unchallenged, I gathered my thoughts. This was an opportunity to have Ziggy's family see me as something more complicated than a random rich kid or rival player.

"Mr. Knickerbocker, there's a lot of poetry in hockey… in any sport. There's the rhythm of the game and the ebb and flow of players moving up and down the ice. I suspect it's not so different from the tides you navigate every day."

Knick picked at a tooth with a toothpick, and then he looked up. He stared across the table at me. "Suppose you could have a point."

Later, while Ziggy and I helped Olive clear the table, he bumped his shoulder against mine and whispered directly into my ear. "You're doing great. Don't worry. Dad, well… he can be protective of his little kingdom."

Ziggy ran a sinkful of soapy water, and Olive cornered me. "Kade, honey, tell me the real story about your family. What do your parents do?"

I grabbed a dish towel and hesitated in answering the question. How could I explain the complex web of my family's life in one sentence or even two? I did my best. "My dad's in finance. Mom does a lot of charity work." The words were inadequate, but I hoped they might be enough.

"It sounds exciting."

After breathing deeply, I took a risk. "It generates a lot of pressure." I knew that once I started, more would tumble out. "They expect me to be perfect and uphold the family name like a shining beacon for all who see it. Sometimes, I feel like I'm drowning. It's never quite enough, no matter what I do."

Knick appeared in the doorway from the dining room, and I tensed. "A lot of pressure?" His voice was gruff, but I didn't detect any malice. "I can tell you there's plenty of it when you're trying to keep a business afloat during times that the ocean's rough and the catch is down."

I turned to face him. It was hard to understand why, but it felt like a crucial moment, perhaps the most important of the evening. I decided to stand up for myself.

"I... um, I know it's not the same as what you do, sir," I stammered, feeling my face heat up. "But sometimes, it's just... it's a lot, you know? Like, every day I wake up wondering if I'm gonna mess up somehow or let someone down." I paused, realizing I was rambling. "I mean, I guess everyone feels that way sometimes, right? Whether it's lobsters or, uh, boring meetings or whatever. It's all... pressure, I guess."

Knick suddenly approached his son, whose hands had plunged deep into soapy water. He wrapped an arm around his shoulders. "Ziggy, you brought a wise man home. I appreciate that."

With the dishes washed and put away, we all retired to the back porch. Distant laughter from late-night beachcombers drifted up to us. Ziggy sat close enough to me that our knees touched. His presence comforted and grounded me.

Knick broke the silence. "I thought I had the whole world figured out when I was 20, like Kade and Ziggy here. I thought my life had specific plans for me, and all I had to do was follow them." He chuckled softly. "Now, looking back, I realize that life had a few curveballs to throw."

"It will do that, sir." I thought about the carefully laid plans I had just a year earlier when I began planning my first semester away at college. That last thing I would have guessed was that I'd land in a little town like Whistleport for the next summer and would kiss a man for the very first time.

The rest of our conversation was relatively inconsequential. Knick patiently explained the difference between Maine lobsters and Canadian lobsters and why the Maine variety was inevitably better and tastier. Olive invited me to watch fireworks on the 4th of July with the family, and with an elbow nudge from Ziggy, I tentatively agreed.

When I finally excused myself and thanked everyone for a fine evening, Ziggy offered to walk the first two blocks toward my apartment. While we strolled, a fine mist rolled in off the harbor. In the light of streetlamps, it lent an almost mystical air to the town.

Ziggy gripped my elbow. "Thanks for coming. It meant a lot to have you meet Mom and Dad."

"And Emma."

Ziggy laughed. "Yeah, I guess little sis is important, too."

Reaching for his hand, I gripped it firmly. Touching him was still exhilarating. "Thank you for the invite. Your family… wow, such personalities."

"That's one way to put it. Are you being kind?"

I chuckled. "No, I liked them… all of them."

I listened to the rhythmic sound of waves rolling in while we strolled along the final block. The town was mostly quiet.

When we reached the point where Ziggy would turn around, he stopped. "Kade… I know this wasn't easy."

"It wasn't too hard either. Mostly, it reminded me how real and… alive people can be."

"You fit in better than you think."

We stood for a moment longer until I threw caution to the wind. I wrapped Ziggy in a hug and shared a quick kiss.

When he pulled back, he chuckled. Indignation rose up inside me. "What's funny?"

"I was just thinking Dottie Perkins probably has a telescope trained on us right now. Her place is more than a quarter mile away, but I wouldn't put it past her."

"If only our biggest problems were the Dottie Perkins of the world."

We shared one more kiss, and then, with a small smile and a wave, Ziggy turned to head back to his house.

I was alone for the rest of the walk but didn't feel lonely. Replaying the entire dinner in my mind, I relished the sweetness of Olive's homemade apple pie lingering on my tongue.

I'd embarked on an entirely new path for my life. It was impossible to know where it would all lead, but I was eager to find out and excited to travel down the road to a new destination.