He found one big difference from the childhood dinners he’d known with his old neighbors, the Sawatzkys. Mrs. O’Reilly was devoted to her family, and having a large one made that a time-consuming job. She was a calm and placid center to this lively group. However, she had certain rules, and one of those rules was to not talk hockey at the table.
The boys tried, but a look from their mother (honorary mother, in Bernie and Bert’s case) stopped them in their tracks.
Bridget, who was beside Mike, explained, “Only topics of general interest at the table.”
Mike looked at the people gathered around in the large dining room. Since Bridget’s dad had grilled him on the last playoffs as soon as they were introduced, he had to assume Bridget’s mother was the only non-hockey fan sitting there. He decided he liked this family rule. He was sick of talking about his poor performance in the last playoffs anyway.
“So, Mr. Reimer,” said Mrs. O’Reilly, passing around the first bowl.
“Mike, please,” he said, with a smile.
She nodded her head. “Mike, then. Where did you meet Bridget?”
“In the pool at the athletic club. I unwittingly took up some of the pool when she has her morning class.”
Mrs. O’Reilly smiled. “So you’re the one who provided the hockey tickets for the class. That was very nice of you. I’m sure the kids had a lovely time.”
“I hope so,” Mike said, noticing that Bridget was biting her lip.
“Are you new to Toronto?” Mrs. O’Reilly continued.
Mike could see Cormack across the table rolling his eyes. Mrs. O’Reilly was definitely not a hockey fan.
“Relatively new. I arrived here late last winter, but was away most of the summer. I’ve been back here only a couple of weeks.” Mike knew this wasn’t news to the rest of the people around the table.
Mrs. Reilly looked at him with concern. “That must be hard on your family.”
“No family here, ma’am.” Mike wondered if Mrs. O’Reilly was also assessing him as someone who wanted to spend time with her daughter. Bridget seemed to be well protected.
Meanwhile, her mother looked at him with concern. “Your parents?”
“My mother’s in Arizona. No siblings. My father isn’t in the picture.” Mike braced himself. This was a part of his past he didn’t like to delve into.
“Mom,” Bridget interrupted. “Mike plays for the Toronto Blaze. He’s a professional hockey player. He’s taken care of.”
“Well, I know as a hockey player they’re probably taking good care of you, but a friend of Bridget’s is always welcome. Or Cormack’s,” she added, smiling at Bernie and Bert.
* * *
BRIDGET DECIDED IT was time to divert the conversation before Mike thought the family was grilling him as a potential date.
“I saw Mike’s car at the club. Guess what he drives?” she threw out.
That immediately caught the attention of everyone but her mother.
“Ferrari!”
“Lambo!”
“Hummer!”
Bridget turned to Mike, letting him give the news.
He shrugged. “It’s a McLaren.”
He wasn’t surprised to find that the family knew what this meant. Bridget hadn’t picked up her car knowledge in a void, and he soon learned that her father was a mechanic, Cormack worked for him, Patrick sold cars and Bernie and Bert shared in this family passion, too.
“What year?” Patrick asked.
“What’s the top speed?” Cormack wanted to know.
Bernie asked the color. Mike enjoyed talking about his car, and was happy to answer questions.
“Did you drive it?” Bernie asked Bridget.
There was a pause. Mike shuddered at the thought of his dream car being driven by the woman who’d whipped him over here as if driving for NASCAR.
“I’m the only one who drives it.” Mike explained, noticing Bridget eying him speculatively. He was relieved when the conversation moved on.
After an excellent meal of shepherd’s pie and homemade chocolate cake, everyone gathered their plates and took them into the kitchen. Mike went to follow, but Bridget grabbed his plate.
“I’ve got it. I have to help Mom clean up, then I can give you a lift back. You okay for a few minutes?”
“No problem. Are you sure I can’t help?”
“No, Mom would never allow it. I’ll be as quick as I can.” So Mike followed the other men into the family room.
* * *
IT DROVE BRIDGET nuts that her mother wouldn’t let the guys clean up, but she knew from years of arguing that her mother wasn’t going to change. Her mother had conventional ideas about the household division of labor. Bridget wasn’t home for meals that often anymore, but when she was, she always wound up in the kitchen. Bridget had to defer to her mother, but let Cormack try to make her do his housework and he’d be walking funny for a while. Her mother looked around the spotless kitchen. “Well, that should do it,” she said. “Why don’t you see if they need anything?”
Bridget sighed.
“’Cause they’re already full of food, and if they want anything else, they can get it, Mom. They’re more than capable of taking care of themselves.”
“Mike might be too polite to ask for something. He did seem a nice young man.”
“Okay, I’ll ask him, but I was about to drive him back. And we’re not dating, Mom. I don’t think he’ll be around again.” She couldn’t imagine this becoming a regular thing. Mike moved in much different circles: probably lots of dinners and benefits and gorgeous women to take to fancy events when he wasn’t playing hockey and traveling. She’d lived in Toronto her whole life and had spotted a hockey player only once or twice. They would merely be crossing paths in the pool from here on out.
* * *
IN THE FAMILY ROOM, she found the men watching a hockey game on TV. The Winnipeg Whiteouts were playing Minnesota. At least it wasn’t Quebec. That was Mike’s former team, the one he’d played so poorly against in the playoffs after being traded here to Toronto, and she was sure he didn’t really want to discuss it. She could see that they’d passed around some beers. Mike’s looked mostly untouched. He was also more absorbed in the game than the others, responding only to direct questions—which sometimes had to be repeated.
She perched on the arm of her father’s recliner.
“I don’t think he’s really with us, do you?” she whispered, indicating Mike.
Her dad nodded. “I can understand why he’s one of the ones who made it. He’s focused. Your brothers were never that serious about it.”
“Yeah, he was like that playing road ball, even. I thought I’d be able to get at least one past him, but...”
“He takes it seriously. So, where’d you find him again?” her father asked.
“He was the lane swimmer I told you about.”
Her dad looked at her. “That doesn’t explain how he ended up playing road ball with you.”