String lights twinkle everywhere. There’s hot cider, cookies shaped like hockey sticks, and the soft hum of Bing Crosby. It’s a holiday movie.
Of course, I’m sure Walt Disney probably didn’t mean for the perfect family to have an elderly woman hawking condoms and Jell-O shots.
“Oh, Ellie doesn’t need one of those,” one of Ellie’s multitude of aunts says, waving Granny Murray away from me.
“I can’t believe you’re spending all that time playing hockey,” her aunt chides her. “Poor Ellie will snatch defeat from the jaws of victory and won’t manage to seal the deal until your eggs are all dried up. Now,” the aunt tells Ellie, “I told your dad to stay out of your room if you and that Fletcher want to celebrate the win.”
Ellie drains her glass then takes two Jell-O shots for good measure. “Thanks, Aunt Babs.”
I make the rounds through Ellie’s loudly curious family. They clap me on the shoulder and offer advice.
“Get those endorsement deals early,” one uncle slurs, poking two fingers in my chest as he talks.
“Being captain’s a big deal, son.”
“Are you in a captain’s group chat?”
“I think maybe you should give it back to Zayne.”
“No, he’s not giving that up.” An elderly man muscles in. “Make them give you a signing bonus!”
“My daughter has a PR company.” A young woman—Violet, I think?—shoves a card in my hand.
“She does! She represents Ryder O’Connell,” the woman yells at someone who is, I’m assuming, her sister.
“Where is Ellie? You like this or this?” someone asks.
“What?” Ellie shouts from across the noisy, crowded room.
“For your new uniforms! You cannot do this burgundy—it clashes with his skin. He’s a winter, not an autumn.”
Ellie makes a helpless gesture. “Call Dana.”
“I’m not calling Dana. You have her number! Call her! Tell her we want a meeting.”
I duck around several small elderly women who are carting a huge roast turkey through the living room, trailed by several boys who whine, “I thought you were going to fry it! Why can’t we have fried turkey? Is there gravy?”
“Gravy!” Jovi says happily as the rest of the team pours into the house.
“Come on.” One of Ellie’s aunts cups his face. “I’ll make you some gravy.”
“Get him some ice! Ice! Get them ice!” A cooler is passed around.
I accept the ice that’s slapped on my wrists and knees then make my way to a far corner of the room by the stairs. Zayne leans against the wall, alone, sipping his punch, watching the chaos with a dopey, happy smile on his face.
“This is just peak Christmas—like pure holiday magic.” He ruffles my hair. “You’re lucky, Fletch, you know that?”
“Yeah.” I watch Ellie arguing with her sister while she dishes up protein-heavy plates for the players and coaxes the Finn to “just try the Jell-O salad.”
“It has marshmallows in it!” he roars.
“And mayonnaise.” Bramms smirks.
I nudge Zayne. “You know,” I tell him, “it’s not too late for you.”
“Eh.” Zayne sips the holiday fruit punch. “I don’t know. Probably. But I’ll be happy with what I have.”
“I think Ellie has some single aunts.” One of them with huge red hair looks over and winks at him. “There’s always Dana,” I snicker. “Can’t say I don’t recommend dating the boss.”
