"I got them seats but there weren’t any close to me," she says softly.
Of course she did. She's been encouraging this reconciliation since they first reached out.
"You good?" she asks, searching my face.
I nod, taking her hand. "Let's go say hi."
My parents straighten as we approach. Mom's eyes are bright, like she's holding back tears. Dad shifts his weight from one foot to another, never comfortable with emotional situations.
"Nathan," Mom says, her voice wobbly. "That was... you were incredible out there."
I clear my throat. "Thanks for coming."
An awkward silence stretches between us. Then Dad steps forward, hand extended.
"Proud of you, son."
It's the most sincere he's ever sounded. I take his hand, but then he surprises me by pulling me into a stiff hug. It lasts only seconds, but it's more physical affection than he's shown me since I was a kid.
"Really glad you could make it," I say, meaning it.
"Wouldn't have missed it," Mom replies. She turns to Elena. "Thank you for helping with the tickets. And for..." she glances at me, "everything else."
Elena squeezes my hand. "It was my pleasure."
The initial awkwardness begins to fade as we talk about the game. Dad actually knows hockey—points out a defensive play I made in the second period that saved a sure goal. Mom listens, never really picking up all the hockey terminology.
"We've been watching all your games," she tells me. "Getting the hockey package was your father's idea."
Dad looks embarrassed. "Well, we wanted to keep up."
I swallow past the lump in my throat. "Thanks, Dad."
Elena smoothly fills the conversation gaps, asking about their flight, their hotel, if they've ever been to Chicago before. She's good at this—making people feel comfortable, drawing them out.
"And you two?" Mom ventures, looking between us. "You seem very happy together."
"We are," I say, pulling Elena closer to my side.
"She's good for you," Dad says gruffly. "We can see that, even just from watching the games. You're... steadier now."
“I wish it weren’t so late. How about you join Elana and me for brunch tomorrow before you fly out?”
"We'd love that," Mom says quickly, before Dad can respond. "If you're sure it's no trouble."
"Of course not," Elena assures them. “We’d love to see you again.
We make plans to meet at the restaurant at eleven the next morning. As we say goodbye, Mom hugs me, holding on a beat longer than necessary.
"I'm so proud of who you've become, Nathan," she whispers.
I hug her back, feeling something heal that I didn't realize was still broken.
Dad shakes my hand again, more comfortable with this form of contact. "Good game, son. Really good game."
They leave, and I stand watching them go, still processing the whole interaction.
"How did that go for you?" Elena asks, studying my face.
