Darkroom: A Moo U Hockey Romance

by Kate Willoughby

  In the end, I took her advice and blocked his number, but not for the reason she thought. I blocked him because it was the only way to stop myself from checking my phone to see if he’d tried to contact me. It was a pathetic fact of life that I still loved him and every part of my being wished we could erase what happened and go back to when he was the perfect boyfriend.

  I had planned to take that MCAT practice test today, but I’d hardly slept a wink the night before and it was pointless to waste an entire day when I knew my scores would not be a reliable predictor of my real ability.

  Instead, I decided to bang out one of the last photography assignments of the semester, called “Me and Myself.” We were to scan an old photo of ourselves and use Photoshop to insert our current selves into the picture. Judging from the examples Larkmont showed us, most people used childhood photos, which made sense. That’s where you’d find the greatest contrast between past and present, but all the photos from my childhood probably showed my birthmark.

  I was about to troll my mom’s Facebook photo album for pictures in which my back was turned or I was in profile with my good side facing the camera when I remembered Denise Snow, that woman from the park, mentioning a Facebook group for people with port-wine stains. She’d said the group had four thousand members. Four thousand. Not all of them had port-wine stains themselves, but still, that number had astounded me. Leah had been the first person I’d ever met who had a birthmark like mine.

  Curious, I typed “port-wine stain” into the Facebook search box and checked out the top result, “port-wine stain birthmark family,” and to my surprise the first post I saw was of Leah. Obviously, I’d found the right group. Their purpose was to provide support for people with PWS or who loved people with PWS. Without really thinking about it, I requested membership.

  A notification that I’d been admitted came only a minute later and a welcome post invited me to introduce myself, but I wasn’t sure I was going to stick around. For the time being, I’d just lurk.

  Most posts were by mothers like Denise who had children with port-wine birthmarks. They talked about treatments, related complications, worries and triumphs. Unfortunately, the posts by adults with birthmarks were few and far between, but then I saw something that caught my eye, a post that I hadn’t known I was looking for until I saw it.

  Hello, everyone. I’m Michaela and I’ve been hiding my PWS almost my whole life. Nobody except my close friends and family even knows I have one. And even THEY don’t see me often without my makeup.

  Because of the many hurtful things that happened to me, I won’t leave the house without makeup. I never go swimming. When people told me I was pretty, I’d think to myself, they can’t see the real me. They only see the fake me.

  But over the past year, I’ve come to know other people with birthmarks like mine, each one unique. A lot of them try to spread awareness about PWS. Because of them, I now have the courage to accept myself and be proud of my skin, especially that special part of me that is all my own.

  So here goes. Here I am, without makeup. Go me.

  A picture of the young white woman without makeup followed this heartfelt essay. Her name was Michaela Gibson and she was very pretty. Her birthmark covered a good portion of her chin, jaw and lower lip and her smile was tentative but confident.

  The hairs went up on my arms and legs as I read what she'd written a second time. Every single word of it resonated in me. It was as if she’d somehow watched a movie of my entire life and summarized it here.

  I spent another hour reading more posts written by adults who had birthmarks and it was as if I’d stepped through the wardrobe into Narnia. I’d never known there were so many other people like me. They were spread across the world, and the fact that they existed at all was a revelation. I’d always felt so alone. Unique, like Michaela had said, but not in a good way. But here were other outcasts who had all lived through their own versions of my life. It was like finding I had long lost brothers and sisters. This was the first time I felt like I belonged to a group.

  Then I realized, I didn’t really belong. Not yet anyway.

  Filled with apprehension but determined, I got out my phone and turned the camera on, put it in selfie mode and snapped a picture, making sure my whole birthmark was showing. Then, heart pounding, I uploaded it to the Facebook group and typed a reply to Michaela’s post:

  Hi, I’m Indi. Your post really inspired me. This is the first picture of me without makeup that has been taken in eight years. I hope you like it.

  Then, before I lost my nerve, I hit return.

  34

  Hudson

  On Sunday, I was surprised to get a call from Dr. Neufeld.

  “I talked with Bart Keller and he’s extremely concerned. We both are. This isn’t an emergency by any means, but I’ve already contacted a good friend of mine, Lisa Bourdon. She’s a well-respected ENT who’s been practicing medicine for ten years. She’s agreed to fit you in first thing Monday morning if you can make it.”

  Even though I was scared shitless, I said, “I’ll be there.”

  Once again demonstrating what a good friend he was, AJ skipped his first class and came with me to the appointment and even though him being there helped, I purposely skipped breakfast so that if I threw up from the anxiety, it would only be dry heaves.

  Thankfully, we didn’t have to wait long before a knock sounded on the door and Dr. Bourdon entered.

  She had long strawberry-blonde hair and kind eyes. She introduced herself to us both and shook our hands.

  Surprisingly, we didn’t discuss my symptoms at first. She asked me a few questions about my life and somehow got on the subject of pets. I told her about Deke and we spoke a few minutes about hamsters because her youngest child wanted a pet and she wasn’t sure she could handle the responsibility.

  As I explained what was involved in taking care of Deke, I found myself relaxing. By the time we got around to discussing what was going on with my body, I wasn’t even nervous anymore. She examined my ears and gave me a hearing test and while AJ and I waited to hear the results, I prepared myself for the worst.

  In a way, AJ took the news that I had otosclerosis harder than I had. The look on his face…it was as if the doctor had said I had six weeks to live, which was pretty ironic, considering he’d come along to be my rock. But he pulled it together as Dr. Bourdon explained exactly what might happen and what my options were for each scenario.

  Best case scenario, things didn’t get worse, my hearing stayed the way it was and the hearing aids she wanted me to get corrected my problem. However, it was more likely that my hearing would worsen over time and there was no way to know how much or how fast because everyone is different.

  “If it comes to it, there is a surgical option called a stapedectomy involving a tiny prosthetic that would allow the sound waves to bypass the abnormal bone and reach your inner ear. I’ve found it to be the most successful option should the hearing aids prove to be insufficient.”

  Afterward, we went to breakfast at the Skinny Pancake because, despite the bad news, I was starving.

  “I don’t understand how you’re not freaking out right now,” AJ said as we sat down with our food.

  “I am freaking out. I have no idea what this means for my hockey career. At this point, I may not even have a hockey career.”

  AJ shook his head. “Don’t say that. I’m sure that once you get those hearing aids, you’ll start playing like you used to. Hell, I’m thinking about how shitty I’d play if I couldn’t hear…” He coughed. “Dom’s not going to take it well, you know.”

  “No, he’s not,” I agreed. “But after the way he treated Indi at Thanksgiving, I don’t really give a shit how he takes it.”

  “Speaking of Indi…I haven’t seen her around the past couple days. Something go down with you two?” He popped a tater tot in this mouth, one eyebrow raised questioningly.

  I put a small piece of parsley aside for Deke. “We’re actually not s
peaking.”

  His fork stopped on the way to his mouth. “Shit. What did you do?”

  “What makes you think I’m the one who did something?”

  “Didn’t you?”

  “Well, yes, but that’s not the point.”

  “What did you do, genius?”

  I told him all about how Indi was the one who suggested I had otosclerosis and that I’d reacted badly, but I couldn’t be very specific without telling him about her birthmark and based on how long it took for her to tell me about it, I knew she wouldn’t appreciate me telling AJ about it.

  “Did you try the relationship reboot?”

  I shook my head. “Not yet. I’ve tried calling and texting, but I think she blocked me. My phone keeps saying my messages haven’t been delivered.

  “You’re going to have to go see her,” he said.

  “Thanks, Mr. Obvious. I know that.”

  “And if you don’t think the relationship reboot is enough, maybe your dad can tell you what will. Maybe he has a backup plan he hasn’t told you about yet.”

  Still in chickenshit mode, I decided maybe AJ was right. Maybe my dad would have some valuable advice for me. After all, he and my mother were, for the most part, happily married. They’d had speed bumps, of course, as all couples do, but they were still going strong. In fact, sometimes my dad went overboard in the romance department and my mom would pretend she was embarrassed but I think she secretly loved it.

  Because I had to break the news of my diagnosis to them anyway and the roundtrip airfare home was miraculously under a hundred bucks, I booked the flight that was scheduled for one thirty that afternoon. Then, hopefully when I came back, I’d know what I needed to say to Indi and I could head to Carter Hall straight from the airport.

  When I got to the house, my mother greeted me with joy.

  “Hudson! What a wonderful surprise.” She hugged me tightly and I’m not ashamed to say that I reveled in the comfort of her familiar embrace and held on a few seconds longer than I would have normally. “Your father’s at the gym, but he’ll be home in a little while. Are you hungry? Do you want something to eat?”

  “I could eat,” I said.

  We went into the kitchen and she made me a turkey and swiss sandwich.

  “Are you staying?” she asked. “I didn’t see a bag…”

  I shook my head. “No, I’m flying back later this afternoon.”

  She gave me a worried glance and placed the sandwich on the table in front of me. “Hudson, is everything all right?”

  “Everything’s going to be fine, Mom.”

  We sat at the table and she sipped a cup of coffee as I dug in.

  “Going to be?” she asked. “That’s not exactly reassuring."

  Luckily, my dad’s voice boomed up the stairwell from the street level. “Marlene, honey, I’m home!”

  I stood as he came bounding up the stairs. A smile broke out across his face.

  “Hudson!”

  I returned his hug even though I still hadn’t forgiven him.

  “Is that one of your famous turkey sandwiches?” my dad asked. “Where can I get myself one of those?”

  “I’ll make you one.”

  “You're the greatest, Marlie-bear. Extra mayo on mine. So what’s up?” he asked me.

  “I’m here because I have something to tell you.”

  A shadow fell over my dad’s face. “Damn it. I knew it! She’s pregnant, isn’t she? I told you she was just itching to get her claws into you. Isn’t it just like a—ow!”

  My mother had appeared at his side in an instant and whacked him on the head with her spatula. Mayonnaise splattered everywhere and my dad threw his arms up in a gesture of defense.

  “What the fuck, Marlene!” My dad’s face was red but my mom was still brandishing her spatula.

  “I told you before I wasn’t going to listen to any more of that misogynistic bullshit and I meant it. Hudson isn’t here to tell us we’re going to be grandparents. If he was, Indi—who is a wonderful girl, by the way—would be here with him. Now shut up and listen because I have a feeling the news he has isn’t good.”

  After wiping my mouth with a napkin, I gave my mom a look of gratitude as she took a seat next to my dad, still holding the spatula.

  “All right. Here it is. I have a rare condition called otosclerosis. It’s not life-threatening, but it is serious.”

  I laid out all the facts, including the uncertain state of my career. When I finished, I braced myself for ranting and raving. I wasn’t disappointed.

  “What the fuck?” my dad said. “How long have you known something was wrong?”

  Resigned, I said, “Months.”

  “Months?” He jumped to his feet, unable to sit still. “Fucking months? Actually, that makes total sense. I’ve been wondering why you’ve been playing like shit. Now I know.”

  “Dom, don’t. This isn’t his fault.”

  “The hell it isn’t. I’ll bet if he’d gotten looked at right off the bat we wouldn’t be where we are today, with his career in the shitter. You nip things like this in the bud so they don’t get worse and ruin twenty-one years of blood, sweat and tears.”

  “You’re wrong, Dad,” I said, and it felt damn good. “The only thing that would have changed if I’d seen a doctor right at the beginning is that I would have gotten the hearing aids sooner. That’s all. It’s not my fault. It’s not anyone’s fault. It was inevitable.”

  Before Dad could say a word, my mom said, “Dom, your grandmother, Margaret, went deaf when she was in her twenties. I remember hearing the stories about how your father and uncles got away with murder because she couldn’t hear them sneaking around behind her back.”

  “What does that have to do with anything?” my dad asked.

  “If Hudson’s condition is in any way hereditary, maybe it’s your fault. Maybe it’s the Forte genes.”

  Because some of the hot air seemed to go out of my dad, I didn’t point out that if Grandmother Margaret was the one with the gene responsible, I didn’t inherit it from a Forte, I inherited it from a Laramie.

  “Regardless of fault, this isn’t the worst news in the world.” My mom held a hand up when my dad opened his mouth. “There are a hundred worse things I can think of than this. It sounds like he will still be able to play for the Dragons.”

  “As long as the hearing aids can key into the stuff my ears aren’t picking up,” I said. “We won’t know until I try them out.”

  “When will that be?” my mom asked.

  “I have an appointment with the audiologist tomorrow, but it could be a couple weeks before I actually get them. They said it will take a while to adjust. I can’t just put them on and play. I’m supposed to start using them in quiet surroundings first and work up to noisier settings.”

  “And hockey arenas aren’t known for their low noise level,” my mom said.

  “Right.”

  “What if they don’t work?” my dad asked.

  I sighed. “Then we’ll have to look at surgery.”

  But I really didn’t want to even think about surgery. The idea of someone messing around in my ear with a laser… What if the surgeon got jostled and fucked up my brain? What if I got out of surgery in worse shape than when I went in?

  35

  Hudson

  As I was waiting for the Uber driver to pick me up and bring me to the airport, my dad came out of the house and jogged down the steps to where I stood on the sidewalk. A light snow was starting to fall. Wearing a track suit and no shoes, he had to be freezing.

  “Hudson, before you go, I wanted to say I’m sorry about what I said. About Indi.”

  Without lifting my gaze from my phone, I said, “Which time?”

  He stuck his hands in his pockets and nodded. “Okay, I deserved that. Both times. I just…you have so much on the line right now and it’s not the time to be—”

  “Stop.” I held up my hand. “I’ve already heard this lecture a thousand times, Dad. I know wh
at’s at stake. I’m not stupid. But Indi is special. I’m in love with her.”

  He sighed. “I was afraid of that.”

  “You know, Dad, I really don’t understand why. You said at your retirement celebration that you never would have achieved what you had without Mom by your side. Was that a lie?”

  “Of course it wasn’t a lie.” His upper lip curled in indignation. “That was the God’s honest truth.”

  “Then, how about a little faith that Indi could be for me what Mom was for you? How about you don’t jump to conclusions that honestly sound paranoid?”

  “I’m not paranoid.”

  “Then why are you so convinced that Indi’s a gold-digger?”

  He blew out a breath that steamed in the frigid air. “Because…” He cast a wary glance behind us. “I almost married one.”

  I stared at him in surprise.

  “What the…? When?”

  “It’s a long story. How about I drive you to the airport and I’ll tell you on the way?”

  Burning with curiosity, I agreed. I thought I had heard every story my dad had to tell, but I’d never heard anything about a gold-digger.

  Five minutes later, we were on Atlantic, headed for I-278E with an estimated drive time of one hour. I was again reminded how powerful the Camaro was and how you could feel it in your tailbone when he revved the motor.

  “I was twenty-three, only a couple of years older than you when I fell for Sabina. She was a knockout. Blonde, great rack, big pouty lips. I thought she adored me. I certainly adored her. She was insatiable in bed. I mean, she could—”

  “Dad, don’t! Let’s not go there, okay?”

  “Right, right. Sorry,” he said. “Anyway, I was like the frog in the pot of water that heats so slowly he doesn’t realize he’s being cooked. She took her time, conditioning me to do whatever she said, buy her whatever she wanted until eventually, she got me to propose.”