Page 37 of Home Ice

On the bench, Coach Markel didn’t look up from his card. “Good,” he said. “Again.”

We did the same thing, or close to it, in the third period, and it turned into Heath’s goal off a rebound. We won four to one.

The room afterward smelled of wet gear and orange slices. Trier sat across from me, working at a knot in his skate lace.

“Two points,” he said.

“One and one.”

“Two points.” He didn’t look up. “Peaches ate a full can this morning, in case you were wondering.”

“That’s good.”

“It’s adequate.” He stood, gathered his shower things, shrugged one shoulder, and went to shower.

Varga was already fully dressed, planning a meal for our open day tomorrow.

“Mikkelsen’s out,” he announced. “He has a dinner.”

“I am having dinner.”

“You have a dinner. Meeting the parents at their home on a Sunday. In front of the grandmother. Whose idea was this?”

“His mom called me.”

Laughter rippled through the room. Varga sat down on the bench beside me and placed a hand flat against his chest.

“His mother called you.”

“She got my number from Max.”

“Rafe. Look at me. The mother called. That’s not dinner. That’s a summons.”

“You’ll be fine,” Heath said from his stall, without turning around. “Eat everything they give you.”

“Ask for seconds,” Kieran said.

The players’ parking garage was mostly empty by the time I got there, and it was cold enough that my breath showed under the flat white lights. I sat in the truck with the engine running for the heat and typed a message on my phone.

Rafe: what do I bring tomorrow?

Max: nothing! she’ll say bring nothing

Max: she is lying

Max: flowers. not the gas station ones. she can tell

I sent Mom a text, too. Her answer came quickly.

Mom: Dinner at his family’s! That’s lovely. Flowers, and offer to help with the dishes and mean it.

***

I stopped at a flower shop on Damen, where a woman in a canvas apron took the ones I’d picked out of my hand and gave me different ones without explaining why. They cost more than I expected, but it made me feel like she’d given me her best.

The house was a brick bungalow on a street in Portage Park where every driveway had a basketball hoop over it. Max’s car was at the curb. Behind it sat Niko’s black pickup.

The front window glowed gold, and somebody stood there looking out.