Without giving me a chance to respond, he looks down at his ball, takes a swing, and he overshoots the green.
I chuckle. “I think I’ll take that bet.” There’s no way he’ll win. Blockchain technology or not, there’s no way I’m spending my summer shuffling papers. He walks back to the cart and slides in. We drive down the cart path, parking next to the green. I take off my golf glove and grab my pitching wedge and putter. Dad does the same.
“What do I get if I win?” I say. I think for a moment. “OK, I know. When I win, you have to clean my house on the lake once, including the toilets. Mow the enormous lawn, front and back, every other week while I’m here, and cook my dinner every Friday night for the next two months.”
Dad chokes as he laughs, but he sees I’m serious. “You’re on, son!”
“And you can’t have Nancy help!” Nancy is my dad’s wife. Technically my stepmom, I guess, though that title seems a little silly if you meet them after you’re an adult, as I did.
“No problem.” He turns back to his ball, and true to his word, he chips the ball onto the green, and it rolls right up next to the cup. He taps it in, giving him a par. “I can’t wait for you to join me in the office. You know it’s always been my dream. Not that it makes sense, long-term, for you to practice law, given your finances. But you do need real-world experience. Experience gives you options that no amount of money can buy.”
My turn is next. “You’d be surprised, Dad,” I say, but as I say it, I realize he’s right—there’s a lot I don’t know yet. I step up to the ball and chip it onto the green, not as close as I’d like, but my putt lands the ball in the hole. I get a birdie. So far, I’m winning.
A few holes later, I’m still in the lead, and we’re getting ready to tee up on a par five. The game has moved along quickly, and we have a group right behind us, so we haven’t had time to talk about Aspen yet.
I swing my driver and crank the ball straight down the center of the fairway, just shy of 250 yards. “Are you sweatin’ yet, Dad? I hope you like yard work.” I laugh and pick up my tee from the ground.
“No worries. You’re going down, boy.” He laughs and tees up his ball and hits a nice one, not as far as mine, but straight down the fairway. As we drive the golf cart to our second shots, he says, “So tell me about this girl you’re after. Your juice.”
Beep. Beep. A small horn toots next to us, announcing the arrival of the club’s beverage cart. Without asking me what I want, Dad calls out to the young gal, “We’ll take two cranberry juices.” I laugh, and he walks over and collects our drinks, and the cart takes off for the next hole while Dad brings me a juice.
“So, juice, you were saying?” He gives me a silly grin and nudges my shoulder. “Let’s hear it!”
“It’s Aspen. Aspen Kingsley. Do you remember her?”
“Gabby’s girl. Yeah, I know her, and I know Gabby, too.” I look at Dad’s face to see if there’s any angst or darkness, but he just smiles. He probably remembers that Gabby said something to Aspen about Mom, back when Aspen was in high school, and that Aspen said something to me. But if he even remembers, he doesn’t seem bothered by it. It was a long time ago.
I say, “To be honest, I was scared to bring up her name, because of, well, you know.”
“Nah, it was a blessing for me. Your mother and I would’ve split sooner or later. Aspen just sped things up a little… which freed me to find my true love, Nancy. Hell, maybe I should send Aspen a fruit basket or something,” he says, laughing.
I’m relieved to hear it. “You mentioned true love the other day. How did you know?”
“It’s easy, boy. I couldn’t stop thinking about Nancy from the moment I met her. Still can’t. I wake up every day excited to roll over in bed and see her, and I can’t go to sleep unless she’s in my arms every night.” He gets a goofy, love-struck smile on his face and adds, “She’s my partner in life, and we share everything together. The good and the bad. We’re always there for each other. And just knowing that makes you feel invincible. Like, no matter what, someone’s got your back.”
I think about what he’s saying as I take my second shot. It lands ten feet short of the green. Nice. I chuckle. “Dad, this isn’t looking good for you.”
Dad hits his second shot, and it lands close to mine. “Son, my two shots match your two shots, even though you thought your big, bad first shot was so awesome. I guess it’s back down to that short game now, isn’t it?”
We pull up to the green, and we each get out our wedges and putters again. This time, Dad gets a birdie, needing only one putt to sink his ball in the cup. Meanwhile, I’m thinking about Aspen, wondering if I did the right thing with buying her Popster’s house.
My first putt misses the cup by only a hair, but it’s way over-powered, and my ball rolls off the back of
