Nate

After Jesse leaves I sit at the table for a few minutes. That was… not how I expected.

I’d imagined all kinds of scenarios when I agreed to tutor a hockey player. Him leaning back in his chair and making paper airplanes, making jokes or wanting to put the TV on or playing on his phone, but that was not what I got, at all.

Yes, Jesse seemed to zone out once or twice, but it wasn’t through lack of trying. And we had an honest to god conversation where he allowed himself to be kind of vulnerable.

Him telling his mom he loves her wasn’t that much of a surprise. Harrison sucks up to our mom too and he’s still a dick. I’m pretty sure there are serial killers out there who love their moms.

I pick my books up and put the snacks away before heading up to my room. I have some studying of my own to do, but I find myself wanting to look more into nutrition. Not just so I can be a good tutor, because if I’ve agreed to do something, I want to do it well, but because I’m actually interested in how it works.

I end up in a protein synthesis rabbit hole and take a break when I hear my mom come home from her Pilates class.

When I go downstairs, she’s standing at the kitchen counter drinking a green juice from one of those overpriced juice stores.

“Hey honey, how did tutoring go?”

“Good, I now know how to refuel after a work-out,”

“oh?”

“Yeah, maybe you should put some protein powder in that or something.”

Mom rolls her eyes, “not you too, I get enough of this from your brother. Can you just stay as my sweet smart boy and I’ll get work-out advice from him?”

She gives me a hug and despite the fact she just did a work-out, smelling like Chanel perfume and cinnamon.

“It’s sweet you tutoring that boy,”

she says when she pulls away. “You know he’s on a scholarship?”

I prickle at the way my mom says ‘scholarship’ in the same sympathetic manner in which she talks about homeless people and families on welfare. She means well, but she’s so far removed from those real world problems she doesn’t even realise she’s doing it.

“Yeah, Harrison said.”

“Harry said he’s probably not going to make the NHL, so god knows what he’s going to do with his life. It’s sad, he’s a nice boy.”

I forget sometimes how much mom makes it her business to get to know everyone on Harrison’s team.

“How do you know he’s nice?”

I ask, trying not to sound too interested.

Mom shrugs. The paper straw of her juice cup is getting soggy and she makes a face when she tries to suck some green stuff up and nothing comes out.

“He’s polite, when I first met him he called me ma’am.”

She laughs and I feel myself smiling. “But he drinks too much.”

“I know, we saw him chugging beers at that party the other night.”

Mom shakes her head. “It’s a shame. I think he came to hockey late, or his parents couldn’t take him to all the junior games at first. And then he had that horrible injury last year. You know his father works in construction?”

She says it like it’s a familiar profession to us because dad owns a construction company.

“They’re from Philly,”

I say, to change the subject,

“Yeah! Don’t you just love his accent?”

I open the fridge to hide my face so she can’t see me blush. “I didn’t even notice he had one.”

“A little, it’s not too obvious, but it’s cute.”

She sighs. “He’s not handsome, but that chipped tooth is adorable on him.”

The fridge has cooled my face down enough for me to close it and chastise my mother for talking about college boys the way she is.

She giggles. “What? He’s twenty-one, I only noticed.”

I think she’s going to ask me if I agree and I turn my back and change the subject. She’s tried that whole ‘discussing hot men with her gay son’ thing and I never engage.

She tucks a strand of hair behind my ear and I wait for the doe-eyed lecture about how handsome I am and why don’t I have a boyfriend yet? Just once, I’d like to give her chapter and verse about how hard dating is when you’re my age and gay. Trying to get college-aged boys to have a relationship when there are so many hook-up apps out there is like trying to catch fish with your hands. But I’m glad she doesn’t say anything. I don’t feel like lecturing her right now.

I go to my room and try to study, but my mind is elsewhere.

I open the app and swipe through a few pictures of college students and hot bartenders in the area, but it only makes me depressed.

When Katie asks if I want a cookie dough and movie night, I jump on the chance to distract myself.

Mom lets me borrow her car to drive to Katie’s place. For all their money, they can be stingy with things like that. They only bought Harrison a car when he turned twenty-one and they said they’ll do the same for me. Harrison, ever resourceful, took summer jobs and bought himself a cheap and highly unreliable car when he turned seventeen, but I’m always too busy studying to take summer jobs, or volunteering my senior year like everyone else to get some extra curricular activities on my college resumé. So I’m stuck driving mom’s car for now.

It's a nice car, but a little ridiculous. Way too big for a woman who drives to brunch and Pilates by herself, or occasionally with one of her tiny friends.

There’s a designer air freshener dangling from the rear-view mirror and the glove compartment is full of candy. The whole car smells like her perfume collection and there’s a pair of Chanel ballet flats stuffed under the driver’s seat. I’m grateful at least it isn’t one of those pink VW bugs with eyelashes on the headlights.

Katie’s apartment block has a parking lot and I park mom’s SUV without having to worry about it getting stolen. There’s a grocery store on the ground floor of the concrete building and a coffee shop next door. The building is five minutes from the furthest campus and there are always students hanging around outside, smoking and talking.

Katie is waiting for me at her door with her shoes on.

“I just need to grab the snacks,” she says.

I think she’s going to go into the grocery store downstairs, but she leads me away, telling me cookie dough is a dollar cheaper at the grocery store up the street. When I ask her if she wants me to drive there, she gives me that look she hasn’t given me in a while that tells me I’m rich and out of touch and I need to do better.

I don’t want to be that person. I like to think I’ve learnt a lot since starting college.

Katie links her arm through mine as we walk and we fall into a natural step together.

As we head into the grocery store, we catch Jesse and his linemate Justin Clarke coming out with bags full of food and a six pack of beers. Of course.

Jesse spots me and his cheeks tint. He rubs the back of his neck as he says hi.

“Aren’t you going to introduce me?”

Katie says.

“You’ve already met.”

I remind her.

She looks straight at Jesse as she talks, “yes, but you were chugging beers last time.”

Jesse looks down at his feet.

“I don’t feel like we really got a proper introduction.”

I introduce her to Jesse and Justin and Jesse reaches out to shake her hand.

“That’s a strong grip you’ve got there.”

Jesse looks like someone just punched him. “Shit, sorry, did I hurt you?”

“No, I was just saying it’s strong.”

“Come on man,”

Justin slaps Jesse on the back, “let’s get back, the guys are waiting.”

Katie watches them leave with a look I don’t like on her face.

I duck into the store and pretend to be studying the labels of ramen packets when she comes to stand beside me in the isle.

“When he’s not chugging beers, he’s actually kind of hunky.”

I snort. “How old are you? Even my mom doesn’t say ‘hunky’.”

Katie pokes my cheek, “is that a blush I see there Jones?”

“Don’t call me that,”

I frown, “that’s Harrison’s nickname.”

She laughs.

“Did you hear how worried he was that he’d hurt me?”

“So?”

I move down to the freezer isle and start studying the tubs of ice cream and packets of cookie dough.

“I like people who surprise you, you know. People who aren’t who you think they are.”

“Like serial killers.”

She punches me in the arm. “Yes, like serial killers. Asshole.”

We buy the industrial-size cookie dough and two litres of coke and head back to Katie’s apartment where we watch Pretty in Pink and You’ve Got Mail for maybe the hundredth time.

I drive home at around midnight, telling myself I might be able to get a little studying in before bed, but by the time I park mom’s car up in the garage, I’m yawning my head off.

I’m about to head straight upstairs when I realise the TV is still on in the den and go in to check if mom fell asleep on the couch again.

I don’t expect to find her crying, and we’re both embarrassed when she sees me standing there.

“What’s wrong?”

She wipes her face and forces a smile.

“Nothing, I was watching a sad movie that’s all.”

When I look at the screen, all I see is a nature documentary.

“Oh, okay.”

“How was your night? Did you and Katie have a nice time?”

“Yeah.”

I see she doesn’t want to talk about it, so I go along with the charade.

“It was good, I’m just going to go up to bed.”

“Yeah, it’s late, you’ve probably got class tomorrow.”

“Yup, well, goodnight,”

I give her a quick one-armed hug and she squeezes me for a second before letting me go.

I’m uneasy as I lay down in bed, listening for her going up to her room. Wondering why she was crying and then lying about it.

Thoughts of that weird meeting with Jesse puncturing those thoughts. How Katie said he wasn’t how she expected him to be. He isn’t how I expected him to be either.