Darkroom: A Moo U Hockey Romance

by Kate Willoughby

  After my mom left, Indi said, “Oh my God, Hudson. I feel like I’m staying at a resort. Did you see the shampoo and stuff?” She went into our en suite bathroom. “Your mom told me to take all of this home. Oh my God, this smells so good. Smell this lotion. It’s grapefruit and ginger.”

  “It does smell good.”

  “And the flowers! They’re gorgeous. Almost as gorgeous as this view. I can’t believe we can see Manhattan from our room!”

  There was a large vase of blooms on a small table by the window along with a charcuterie platter. I opened the wine and poured us each a glass.

  “Hudson, I’m trying really hard not to be overwhelmed, but…”

  “I know,” I said with a rueful smile. “It’s too much. I’m sorry.”

  “You have nothing to apologize for. Your dad was a professional athlete who worked hard and made a lot of money. This is the result. Now what do you say to…damn. Never mind.”

  “What?”

  “I was going to suggest we take the wine and the snacks and soak in the hot tub, but I didn’t bring a suit. Why didn’t you tell me to bring a bathing suit?”

  I scoffed. “Who needs a suit?”

  On Thanksgiving Thursday, Indi was extremely nervous. My two uncles were coming with their families, which meant a total of thirteen family members she had to meet. I told her she had nothing to worry about, but truthfully, I’d never brought a girl home for Thanksgiving before and everyone was bound to be curious.

  As a result, Indi took forever to get ready. She dithered about every aspect of her appearance until I almost ran out of patience. Eventually, she settled on a red sweater (not the yellow blouse with the tiny white flowers) and brown plaid skirt (not the black slacks or skinny jeans) over tights and high-heeled leather boots (not loafers or Uggs).

  “It’s not too casual?” she asked.

  “No. It’s perfect. Even though it’s catered, everyone’s going to dress fairly casual.”

  It didn’t take long for her to relax. My family was pretty down to earth, but the free-flowing champagne helped. Along with the bubbly, the caterers offered platters of appetizers—creamy Brie and apricot puffs, deviled eggs with applewood smoked bacon, along with mini leek, mushroom and Gruyere quiches.

  Indi said something to me under her breath.

  “What was that?”

  “I said everything is so good. And so fancy.”

  “It’s Thanksgiving, Forte-style,” I said. “We’ve used this company for the past several years and they’re top-notch. One of the servers told me they’ve catered for some real top-tier celebrities. Taylor Swift, Kevin Bacon…”

  “Wow.”

  “Save room for dinner and dessert,” I told her. “There’s a lot more where this came from.”

  A commotion took place at the front door as my dad finally arrived.

  “Sorry I’m late,” he said in his booming voice as he trudged up to where we were gathered on the second floor. “Mother Nature wasn’t cooperating in Minneapolis. I’m lucky I got here at all.”

  He brought his luggage upstairs and came back down about fifteen minutes later wearing a sport jacket and slacks. After someone put a drink in his hand, I brought Indi over to him.

  “Dad, this is Indi, my girlfriend.”

  He gave Indi a once over. “I didn’t know you had a girlfriend.”

  “Yes, you did, Dad. I told you about her.”

  My dad shrugged and shook her hand perfunctorily. “Glad you could come, Mindy.”

  “It’s Indi and I’m happy to have been invited. Your home is beautiful.”

  “Thanks. Sorry, but I have to talk to my brother about something.” And he walked away.

  “I don’t think he likes me,” Indi said, looking worried.

  “He just needs time to warm up to you. He’s always a little bristly at first.”

  But I only said that to make her feel better. My dad usually turned on the charm with women, but apparently, he still thought I needed to concentrate on hockey to the exclusion of all else and he wasn’t above being rude to Indi in order to get his point across to me.

  Dinner was more traditional, but still souped up. With truffles, of course. Black truffle butter turkey, green bean casserole with thyme and cremini mushrooms, herb and fennel dressing and several other gourmet sides.

  For Indi’s sake, I tried several times to introduce non-hockey topics, but the conversation always circled back to hockey. Everyone in the family was either a hockey player or a hockey fanatic.

  “Hudson, you sound a little stuffed up,” Uncle Rick said. My dad’s youngest brother played for the Rangers.

  “You’re not getting sick are you?” my mom asked.

  Conversation stopped. All eyes zeroed in on me.

  “Me? No. I’m fine. It’s allergies.”

  Which didn’t stop the horde from spouting off their suggestions, because God forbid I fall ill, not be able to play and thereby lose a chance to rack up points.

  “I swear by this organic tea,” one of my aunts said. “It’s made with ginger and gingko biloba. I’ll text you the brand.”

  “The best thing to do when you feel a cold coming on is to suck down that Airborne stuff like crazy.” This came from Uncle Matt.

  Uncle Rick scoffed. “That doesn’t work, but I’ll tell you what does. Close yourself in the bathroom and run the shower at maximum heat until the hot water runs out. Breathe the steam way down deep into your lungs and drink a half gallon of orange juice that day.”

  Uncle Rick had a reputation for kooky home remedies and I suspected his miracle cures were cousins of the many idiosyncratic superstitions hockey players were known for.

  “Thanks for the advice,” I said. “I’ll keep all that in mind.”

  “Except that sounds like it wastes a lot of water,” my little twelve-year-old cousin said. “You should save the water in pots and water your plants or cook pasta with it. Or you could put it in your washing machine and turn the dial directly to ‘agitate.’”

  “That’s a very smart idea, Megan,” I said. “The world needs more socially responsible problem solvers like you.”

  “What about me?” Megan’s little brother demanded. “I want to be needed.”

  As several members of the family reassured him about his own individual strengths, my organic tea swilling aunt asked Indi about her major and plans for the future.

  “I’m planning to apply to medical school,” she answered.

  “Indi’s going to be a surgeon so she can go abroad and repair cleft palates and cleft lips on children,” I said proudly.

  “Like Doctors Without Borders?” my mom asked.

  “Yes, like that,” Indi said. “I’m taking the MCAT at the end of January so right now it’s all about the studying.”

  My dad nodded. “Exactly. When you have important career goals, you need to keep your priorities straight. You need to study, study, study just like Hudson has to focus on hockey.”

  “Dom, don’t,” my mom said.

  “Don’t what? I’m just talking big picture. She needs to understand what’s what. Hudson has an amazing career ahead of him, if he keeps his nose to the grindstone. Even though he was drafted in the first round, that doesn’t guarantee him an NHL contract and no son of mine is going to molder in the farm league because he lost his head over a pretty face.”

  No one spoke. Uncle Rick poured himself another glass of wine. My mom was glaring at my dad.

  “Jesus, Dad,” I said. “First of all, Indi is so much more than a pretty face. She’s smart, she’s organized, she’s disciplined. She’s the kind of person who doesn’t just talk the talk, she walks the walk, and when she becomes an MD, there are going to be a lot of little kids whose lives will be changed because of her.”

  Indi’s hand found mine and I squeezed it.

  My dad sucked at his teeth, plainly unimpressed. “A regular Mother Theresa in the making. Except nuns take a vow of poverty and this young lady will be raking in the do
ugh as a plastic surgeon. That’s the specialty needed for cleft palates, right? Same as boob jobs, nose jobs, face lifts, Botox. You can’t swing a cat in New York without hitting someone who’s had work done.”

  “Stop it, Dad,” I said. “You’re the last person who should be criticizing someone for making a lot of money.”

  “You’re absolutely right, son. I’m a lucky man. The NHL was very, very good to me and, if you keep your head on straight, it’ll be good to you too.”

  30

  Indi

  “What the hell is wrong with you, Dad?” Hudson exclaimed, right at the dinner table. “You need to apologize to Indi right now.”

  His dad struck an indolent pose, leaning his elbow on the arm of his chair and cocking his head. “For what?”

  “For what?” Hudson ran his fingers through his hair in exasperation. “Where do I start? The Mother Theresa comment… Saying she was just a pretty face.”

  “That was a compliment,” his dad said.

  “For suggesting she was only becoming a doctor for the money.”

  “And for ruining Thanksgiving,” his mom said, which earned her a sidelong glance from her husband. “Honestly, I can’t believe you.”

  Around the table were a variety of expressions from amused, to aghast, to eager. As for me, I was shocked.

  Hudson had warned me there would be drama, but I’d thought he meant someone would drink a little too much and dredge up an old family issue or maybe pull a skeleton out of the closet. I’d thought I’d be a witness to the turmoil, not central to it.

  With a heavy sigh, his dad shrugged. “All right. I’m sorry. I crossed the line there a little bit. Indi, sweetheart, will you forgive me?”

  I mean, what choice did I have? I couldn’t exactly say no. But I couldn’t seem to voice a “yes” either. So I nodded once.

  “There. See?” his dad said. “Everything’s fine now.”

  I didn’t know the man well enough to know if he was truly sorry, but Hudson didn’t look like he bought it.

  “I want dessert!” one of the young cousins demanded, breaking the awkward silence.

  “By all means, let’s have dessert,” Marlene said with forced brightness.

  After all the guests had gone and the caterers were cleaning up, Marlene said she had a migraine and sought refuge in her bedroom. I didn’t blame her. The barrage of sweets settled things down for the most part, but the tension never completely disappeared.

  “I need to talk with my dad,” Hudson said. “Alone.”

  I shook my head. “I don’t think so.”

  “Indi, please. You thought what happened at the table was bad? That was my father being calm and calculated, which is obviously no walk in the park. Believe me, you do not want to be in there when he really gets going.”

  “So there’ll be yelling.”

  “Yes. And a lot of swearing.”

  I scoffed. “I’m not a fragile flower, Hudson. I’ve been yelled at before.”

  This was a complete lie. My parents were low key. The only time they ever raised their voices was at Slice when they needed to be heard over some racket in the restaurant. My aunts and uncles and cousins were cut from similar cloth. No one had ever shouted at me in anger, but I wasn’t about to let Hudson go beard the lion by himself.

  “Not like this.”

  “It won’t be as bad if we face him together.”

  To my surprise, he pulled me into his arms and hugged me tightly. “God, I love you, woman,” he said into my hair. “Please say you love me too.”

  “God, Hudson, I do love you. I’ve been in love with you from the very beginning.”

  I felt some of the tension leave his body but when he stepped back, his expression was still tense.

  “If you love me—”

  I balked. “Don’t you dare start a sentence like that.”

  He ignored me.

  “If you love me, you’ll let me tell you why you need to stay out here when I talk to him.”

  I crossed my arms. “Okay. I’m listening.”

  “I’m going to assume that we both hope our relationship will keep getting better and that maybe we can have a future together. Maybe marriage, maybe kids. Who knows? We’ll take it one step at a time. Am I doing okay so far?”

  “Yes. Yes to all of that.”

  “That means we’re going to have to deal with each other’s families and unfortunately, my dad has made one hell of a shitty first impression and if you go with me to talk to him…” Running his hands through his hair, he sighed heavily. “I’m afraid he’ll say or do something to make you hate him forever. Yes, he can be an asshole sometimes, but I swear he has a lot of good qualities too and I just…I just want there to be a chance you’ll come to appreciate them someday.”

  All this time I’d thought he was trying to protect me from more of his dad’s disapproval and while I appreciated and understood that, I wasn’t willing to let him do it. I had a few things I wanted to say to Dom myself, to show him I wasn’t a pushover and I wasn’t going to take any verbal abuse from him.

  But I’d been completely off base. Hudson was worried that the conflict tonight would escalate to the point of no return. That I would be so hurt, any relationship I might have had with his dad would be ruined forever. It was a testament to how much he cared about me and how much he cared about his dad and I had to respect that.

  Hudson asked me to wait upstairs in our room while he talked to Dom in the wine cellar. I thought about watching TV to distract myself but found myself Googling his dad instead. What I found wasn’t surprising—a lot of evidence that he could be an asshole on and off the ice, but as Hudson had sworn, a lot of evidence he had a heart too. He was quite the philanthropist, supporting a host of charities and foundations. He was outspoken about many issues that I felt strongly about too and, judging from the number of photographs and articles, it seemed as if the Grant A Wish Foundation had his number on speed dial.

  I liked to think of myself as a rational person who didn’t make rash decisions based on hurt feelings, so I eventually resolved to give Dom a second chance. It meant so much to Hudson that I get along with his dad, and if our situations were reversed and he was butting heads with my dad for some reason, I—

  The door to our room burst open.

  “Pack your stuff,” Hudson said. “We’re leaving.”

  Crap. His face was so red it looked as if he’d just finished playing a tough game of hockey.

  “We are?” I asked. It was over six hours back to Burlington. “We won’t get home until after two.”

  “I don’t care,” he said through gritted teeth. “As expected, Dad doubled down on his dickish behavior, so we’re leaving to prove a point. We both need some cooling off time and we’ll both be less likely to rehash shit if I’m at school.”

  Now I really wanted to know what had been said, but I knew Hudson wouldn’t tell me and I don’t know what was worse—not knowing or letting my imagination conjure up possibilities.

  31

  Indi

  Two weeks had passed since Thanksgiving and except for the Domholery—a term I’d invented that Hudson found hilariously spot-on—I had an amazing boyfriend who loved me and despite the amount of time we spent in bed, I was still maintaining my GPA. I also felt confident that I’d do pretty well on the MCAT practice test I’d scheduled tomorrow. Like the real MCAT, it was going to be a timed marathon of almost eight hours. The idea was to make the experience as close to the real thing as possible. Afterward, I’d be able to look at the results and see where my weaknesses were.

  Hudson and his dad still weren’t speaking, but he assured me the situation wasn’t permanent and that eventually they’d work things out. But that was the least of his problems.

  We’d since cleaned his ears out using the kit from the pharmacy, but he was still suffering from occasional tinnitus. I also noticed more and more often he had trouble hearing me when I whispered or spoke in low tones. These things, along with som
e troubling balance issues he’d mentioned, prompted me do a little online research. What I found was alarming.

  All his symptoms pointed toward otosclerosis, an abnormal growth of one of the bones in the ear, which could lead to varying degrees of hearing loss. There were a lot of careers in which moderate hearing loss wouldn’t pose much of a problem. Professional hockey wasn’t one of them. Every time I thought about Hudson having to quit hockey because of a medical condition, I felt sick inside. I told myself I was jumping to conclusions and that I should refrain from practicing medicine before I had a license.

  Besides, otosclerosis was a rare condition, and the chances Hudson had it were slim.

  And yet every time I saw him pull at his ear or had to repeat what I’d said because he hadn’t heard me, I wondered if I should say something.

  One night after a particularly bad performance on the ice, he was pissed with himself. AJ had gone to the Biscuit in the Basket with the rest of the team, but Hudson wasn’t in the mood. Thinking this might be a good time to broach the subject, I accompanied him to his apartment.

  “Jesus, did you see me out there? It’s like I have two left feet,” he swore. “I don’t know what to do. Why is this happening? It’s like I can’t even trust my own body. I wish I knew what the fuck was going on.”

  I took a deep breath and said in a deliberately quiet voice, “I might know.”

  “What was that?”

  “I said, I might know.”

  He stared at me. “Really?”

  I nodded. “Come sit down.”

  “I don’t like the sound of that.”

  I didn’t reply until he was next to me on the sofa. Deciding a direct approach was best, I said, “I think you have otosclerosis.”

  “Oto-what?”

  “Otosclerosis. It's a rare abnormal growth of bone in the inner ear and you have all the symptoms—difficulty hearing low sounds or whispers, like just now, occasional dizziness and balance problems, tinnitus.”