The small, two bedroom house sits between two that look identical to it sans the new paint job. The front porch has two large salt bags sitting beside the door, which I pick up and take inside. Theft is an issue, especially when the people around here can’t afford everything they need. I don’t want Mom to need thisone morning and not have it. She broke her arm last year when she slipped on the icy driveway because someone had taken the last of her salt. Not that she’d say a word. She always told me growing up if someone needed something bad enough to steal it, then they could have it.
Part of my goal in making it to the NHL is to buy my mom a better house. She wouldn’t like big or fancy, but something in a nicer neighborhood where I don’t constantly worry about her would be exactly what we both need. She’s done everything humanly possible to make sure my hockey dreams came true. There were many a night we had those little dollar packs of ramen noodles so I could afford to go to hockey camps. The least I can do is make sure she’s taken care of going forward. And if I don’t make the NHL? I’ll still make sure she has a house before I have one.
“Yo, Mom, where you at?” I call as I kick off my shoes.
“Bedroom,” comes her muffled reply.
I take the two bags of salt and put them in the hall closet before wondering into the kitchen. It smells delicious. Not sure what she’s got cooking, but I’ve worked up an appetite.
When Mom comes in, she looks tired. Her dark brown hair is pulled up in a loose ponytail and she’s got on sweats and a faded t-shirt with my old high school logo on it. She’s in her early forties and today she actually looks it. Normally Mom has on makeup and her hair done up even if she’s in sweats. She must really be exhausted if she didn’t bother with any of that.
“Are you working double shifts again?” I do my best to keep the accusation out of my tone, but her eyes narrow.
“Jonathan Wayne Hutchinson, don’t you take that tone with me.”
I bite my lip to keep from snarking, but it’s hard.
“You look tired.”
She shrugs. “I am tired, but such is life. How’s school?”
“Changing the subject doesn’t mean I’ll forget about you promising not to work so many doubles.”
“Honey, I am not your responsibility. You worry about you and I’ll worry about me.”
Stubborn. What is it with all the stubborn women in my life all of a sudden? First Daisy and now Mom.
“What’s for dinner?” Might as well just change the subject and sneak it back in later. Smells like she worked hard fixing whatever she’s cooking. I don’t want to ruin our supper with an old argument.
“Honey glazed salmon and baked root vegetables.”
“Honey?” My nose curls slightly. Who would put honey on a fish?
“What do I always say?”
“Try it before you declare it’s disgusting.”
She nods and pulls the tray of vegetables out of the oven. “It’s healthy and it’ll taste good. The small amount of honey I used for the glaze won’t disrupt your diet.”
Normally, her food is great, but I have my doubts about sweet salmon, even if it smells delicious.
“Do me a favor and grab some plates and silverware. I ran out of time and didn’t get to set the table.”
“We don’t need to do that. We can just dip out of the pans like we used to when we were hustling to make sure we were on time.”
She laughs, but I can see she’s relieved that she won’t have more to clean up. I skip the normal plates and grab paper plates instead.
“I can wash the plates.”
“Nah.” I hand her the plates and dig out some forks. “I’ll do the dishes tonight and you know how I hate it. Less for me to do this way.”
We don’t have a dishwasher. Mom said it was a waste of money since it only took a few minutes to clean up. Her few minutes almost always turned into half an hour or more. Her new house is going to have a dishwasher whether she uses it or not.
“Don’t you have a game tomorrow?”
I nod. “Yeah, but I can wash some dishes. Speaking of the game, are you coming?”
“I don’t know.”
