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AUTUMN
Minnesota and Florida
***
BREAKUPS WERE MISERABLE, and Zack second-guessed himself about Aaron more than once. But Aaron did not need more inconsistency from him, and Zack really did need to focus on having a life that wasn’t about constantly running to and from distractions that ranged from inappropriate to dangerous. So he stayed in Saint Paul and kept playing hockey because it didn’t make sense to do or go anywhere else. He finally managed to play in an actual game for the rec league, and he was happy to be perfectly adequate. Maybe one day, he’d even manage to score a goal, but that seemed far away.
He told Sammy about Aaron’s failed attempt to get Sauer to call him, and about the breakup which had been partially precipitated by Zack’s inability to handle that mess. Sammy had no sympathy to offer and no interest in absolving Zack of his journalistic sins, which was fair. After all, it didn’t matter that he had broken up with Aaron; it didn’t erase their past or the way it had compromised Zack’s objectivity. The only solace he was given was that Sauer would be yanked out of the article completely, allowing Zack to rework his initial swiss cheese draft into a truly compelling profile of Aaron and life at TCI.
Zack knew as he worked on it that it was a love letter, but he was grateful that it was as much a love letter to a place and a sport, as it was to his first post-divorce ex.
Who he did, of course, still see around the rink. They’d nod to each other—tight and miserable—when they passed at the front desk or by the vending machines. Matt, at least, remained a steadfast friend amongst that chaos, offering sympathy, conversation, and ongoing instruction in the art of hockey trash talk. All further bar fights were avoided, and Tasha drilled him ruthlessly in edge control.
But while skating and friends and the legacy of his own mistakes continued to exist, so too did Florida. Unfortunately. As the calendar ticked towards Thanksgiving, Zack didn’t know what he wanted to deal with less—his ex and the condo that was now in contract to sell or his parents who now expected to see him for the occasion since he wasn’t in another country.
Either way, he had to get on a plane. This time, when the adrenaline and the panic started, he felt entirely justified.
***
THE CONDO, WHEN HE visited it for the last time, felt remarkably alien. His ex had finally taken his things, as well as all manner of things that Zack hadn’t necessarily expected to go missing. Gone was all of their cookware, the chaise lounge that they had only bought for the living room because the realtor had thought it would make the place sell faster, and most of their art. The photo of his ex’s hands coiled with rope remained, as did boxes that Zack had never bothered to unpack when they had moved into this place originally.
He couldn’t wait to purge all of it. Except the photo. Art was art, and he’d sell the damn thing on the internet to some collector who just wanted something vaguely sexy for their guest bedroom. Beyond that, he absolutely did not care. So much so, he was willing to spend the Thanksgiving holiday at his parents’ house, rather than sleep a single night in that apartment again.
His parents lived in a gated community up in Jupiter, which was only the first of many reasons he didn’t usually visit them. His parents had never been his biggest fans, and there was no winning with them. Going into conflict zones hadn’t been heroic to them; just foolish. On that point, they’d quite possibly been right. But when he had stopped, they had then thought him a coward. They’d treated his book deal much the same: like it was a waste of time until it wasn’t enough. Their opinions on his marriage and divorce were equally as skeptical and unhelpful, but Zack had the sense to know that even a stopped clock was right twice a day. Which didn’t make it less infuriating; it just made it not matter.
“How’s Wisconsin?” his father asked, pouring them both a cup of coffee.
“Minnesota,” Zack corrected.
“What? Oh yes. Of course,” his father said vaguely, as if anywhere not in Florida simply wasn’t worth distinguishing from anywhere else.
“It’s fine,” Zack said. The same answer he’d given when asked about his day when he was in high school or his last trip to a combat zone. “I’m going to move there.”
“For good?” his father asked. He seemed startled, which was at least a victory.
“For now. I like it there.”
“Ah,” his father said. “Well, good luck with all that.” Then he started talking about politics.
Zack tuned him out. He was too unsurprised by his father’s indifference to be hurt by it.
I’m done with all of it, he realized. Not just the condo, but Florida. His family’s bullshit. The feeling that his failures were innate, versus just ordinary messed up stuff he could deal with and fix, just like anyone else.
The problem with him and Aaron had been bad choices, yes, but mostly, Zack realized now, it had been timing. Aaron had even said as much, and Zack hadn’t wanted to listen. Because then he would have had to have been patient and deal with his mistakes, and face the possibility that what he wanted wasn’t nearly as important as what Aaron was working towards.
Oh well. Insight was great, but it couldn’t overcome circumstances anymore than it could overcome 24-hours and a turkey dinner with family that was just going through the motions all the way around. They even had to be difficult with him about hockey—of all things!—when he was just trying to do what all men were expected to do on national holidays, which was talk about sports.
His choice to stick around the Twin Cities may not have made sense initially, and he may have just been thinking with his dick. But now he was all in. Permanently. Simply because it wasn’t this, which felt like not only a relic of a life he had never wanted, but also a relic of a life he had never had.