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I look at Vic, who seems unconcerned that he might be missing warmups. “Game?”
“Yesterday’s game against Chicago.” Dad says, making his way to the couch. “I missed it, but got it recorded.”
“Dad,” I say, trying for understanding and gentle, but failing. I love these people, but I need everyone to go away right now and leave me alone to job and apartment search. “If you recorded it, you’d have to watch at home. It’s not saved here.”
There’s a moment of silence as the two men look at each other and then at Jen, who is wide-eyed and shaking her head.
“I have the game footage,” Vic says at the same time my dad says, “We can stream it from one of those websites.”
Vic plops down next to my dad and tosses something in my general direction. I catch it on reflex, unfurling it to find an Arctic jersey with Vic’s name and number on the back.
“Did I forget you were coming over?” I ask, knowing damn well that I have forgotten nothing of the sort, but I also don’t know why he’s at my house to stream a game he can watch at home on his bigger television.
“His internet is down,” Jen takes a seat too, “He texted me to see if he could watch here until the guys can go fix it. I said it was fine.”
“Of course it’s fine.” I frown and check my phone. Did I miss a text?
“Quit dawdling, Cooper, and go put on that jersey. You’re holding up the game,” Vic says as Jen navigates the television and the opening reel for the Arctic plays through the living room.
I step into the kitchen to strip down to my tank top. Normally I’d have no issue doing that in front of Jen and my dad, but it feels wrong to take off layers in front of Vic. I pull the light blue fabric over my head, impressed to see the jersey is almost too big. This isn’t how I planned to spend my Saturday, but I guess I don’t mind. There are worse ways to pass a few hours than by watching hockey with people I care about. And I could use some time to not think about Erik and moving and what comes next.
I should talk to him about it, right? Before making grand plans? I pull my phone out, not to unload my thoughts on him, but because I miss him. It’s been longer than normal since we last chatted. I type and delete several messages, each feeling needier than the one before. I don’t want to seem lonely and desperate without him. Even if I feel lonely and desperate without him.
Quinn Cooper:
About to watch hockey.
What are the odds your brother explains things as well as you do?
There is no immediate response, so I put my phone away and head back out to join the crowd. The last seat is in the chair we never use. Tesseract is sitting on the back, tail twitching. I cuddle into my tabby as the players hit the ice. It’s nice, sitting in my living room, surrounded by family… and yet I miss Erik so much that it makes my stomach clench and my heart ache.
Vic keeps up a steady stream of conversation through the first period, but it’s less about the mechanics of the game and more stories about who said what on the ice. Vic, I’ve noticed, is a gossip. Dad eats it up, hanging on each word like a small kid seeing fireworks for the first time. It makes sense. Dad understands the rules of the game, so the extras are fun for him. Jen is alternating her attention between smiling at Vic, scrolling on her phone, and sneaking glances at me. Jen watches even less hockey than I do and she’s beyond lost but being a good sport about it.
I’m trying to pay attention, I am, but I still almost fall off the chair trying to reach my phone when it buzzes.
Erik Varg:
He’s a show boater. Don’t believe a word he says.
About hockey.
The rest he’s good for.
I miss you.
This isn’t the right time for this conversation. My brain knows that. It’s better to wait and talk over the phone if we can’t be face-to-face. At the very minimum, it should wait until I’m not sitting in the same room as my dad and Erik’s brother, pretending to watch a hockey game. That doesn’t mean I can stop my fingers from typing out each careful letter any more than I can stop the smile from spreading across my face. The grin is so big I can feel the ache in my cheeks already, even as my heart threatens to stomp right out of my ribcage.
Quinn Cooper:
What if I look into jobs around Chicago…
I watch three little dots show he’s typing a reply for what seems like an eternity. They blink at me, then disappear. Blink, disappear. Blink and disappear until I’m ready to throw my phone through the flat screen television. The game is on an ad break, so I doubt my dad and friends would even notice. Vic’s texting furiously, Jen is still scrolling, and my dad is watching acar commercial with a goofy grin under his hat. I put the phone down, determined not to look. A watched pot and all that jazz.
When it vibrates again, I practically crack the screen from the force of my grip. My pulse is out of control. My brain feels fuzzy and my stomach pitches. I’m stitched together with frayed nerves. My hands tremble as I swipe open the screen, eyes blurring as I try not to throw up.
Erik Varg:
That won’t work, Quinn.
