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I watch Mary, the other barista standing in front of the large metallic espresso machine, start concocting a hot beverage that I can only hope is mine so that I can get out of this situation as quickly as possible.
“No problem. I interrupted your skate time yesterday. I owe you,” he says.
“You don’t owe me anything,” I tell him.
That’s not true. He owes me an Olympic tryout. But since I'll never get that chance back and I've already come to terms with retiring from my professional skating career, Slade's ability to make it up to me is impossible. I’ll settle for him pretending that I no longer exist, and we can both get on with our day.
My eyes shift away from him as I watch Mary, my favorite barista, at work.
She can barely see me over the tall machine, but she smiles the second she recognizes me.
She mouths a hello, though the loud screech of the milk steamer drowns out any possibility of her and I having a real conversation, which would have saved me from having to converse with the man taking up everyone’s attention in the small coffee shop.
While everyone else is staring and whispering about Slade, he seems to only have his eyes on me, not breaking away for even a moment. I’m sure he’s used to all the attention by now.
Even in college, Slade’s presence in any room he was in always demanded everyone noticed him. We didn’t have any classes together. He was in his senior year, and I was in my junior year, so our paths didn’t cross all that often except at house parties or when I’d watch my dad coach during home games. But if there were ever a crowd of people forming somewhere on campus, Slade would surely be surrounded by the mob.
I never understood all the hype. Or… I suppose there was a brief moment when maybe I did.
On my first night on campus at a frat party, I saw Slade standing in the living room with a group of guys. Our eyes met for just a moment, and he smiled at me. I thought he would come over and introduce himself, but then my roommate asked me if I wanted a beer and when I looked back to find him again, he was gone. I didn’t see him again that night, but it’s just as well since my roommate turned to me when she saw who I was smiling at.
I still remember our conversation.
“You know who that is?” she asks.
“Who are you referring to?” I say, playing dumb.
“The guy you just undressed with your eyes,” she teases and then pokes her elbow into my side.
“I just smiled at him,” I say defensively, taking the beer she hands me.
“Well, stay clear of that one unless you want it hot, fast, and temporary. Word is he’s good in the sack, but he doesn’t do girlfriends,” she warns.
“Who is he?”
“Some big-shot hockey player who has a temper and likes to hog the puck… so I’m told.”
“Hockey player? What’s his name?” I ask, making a quick sweep of the kitchen and living room again to see if he returned.
“Slade Matthews. I heard he has had five separate NHL teams trying to sign him into a multi-million dollar deal since the kid was a junior in high school.”
Slade Matthews… I’ve heard that name before.
My father’s protégé and a hockey player, which means I don’t get to touch, or my dad will have an aneurysm and lock me up in some tall tower.
My dad mentioned that Slade had a temper when he first showed up freshman year. He didn’t like making friends or sharing the puck, either. He also said that Slade’s good enough to get away with it to win most games… but you can’t win championships without a team.
Slade has been my father’s pet project for the last three years. This being Slade’s senior year, and the Hawkeyes trying to wine-and-dine my dad into moving to the NHL, Slade might be the last college player my father gets to coach.
They have some kind of bond I haven’t been able to understand from Michigan. But now that I’m here, I have to admit that I’m curious about the player that my father raves about.
“Oh… I’ve heard of him. He plays for my dad. Why doesn’t Slade just take the contract deals, then? Why play college hockey and risk an injury?” I ask.
With everything my father has told me about his star player, he never mentioned that Slade has had NHL offers since before he showed up at the University of Washington.
With hockey careers being as short as they are, why would he risk his best years playing in college if he could already be playing in the NHL?
“His family is wealthy. Like mega-rich, great-great-grandpa owned a baby shampoo company, wealthy. He has like a fifty-million-dollar trust fund that he doesn’t get unless he finishes college first,” she says and then takes a sip of her beer. “The kid is pre-med too. Why try so damn hard? I’d be taking basket weaving classes, and wine appreciation courses to fill my requirements. Just enough to graduate, and then I’d be living out my best days on a private yacht off the Greek islands.”
