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“Would you like to make a comment on the record?”
This is why I hate reporters. “No, I wouldn’t because there’s no story here; there’s nothing to tell,” I say, irritated. “Alex has been doing well since his trade to Philly, and they’ve won their last few games on the road. If that’s the story you want to write, then by all means, print it, but I don’t have anything more to say about Alex Parker, and I certainly can’t comment on the company he keeps outside the rink.”
“You have my email address now along with my contact info. If you think of anything that’s newsworthy, give me a call, but just a heads-up that I will be reporting on Alex’s behavior today. The Flyers used up most of their cap space to sign Alex. Don’t you think they’ll be looking to move him before the trade deadline if he’s not performing?”
I pinch the bridge of my nose and sigh. “He’ll b
e at the game tonight; that much, I can guarantee. Hold off on publishing the story. Please.” I can’t believe I’m begging a reporter.
“Fine,” she says. “Thanks for your time. We’ll be in touch.”
Then, the line goes dead.
After we eat American hoagies from the deli down the street from my office and grab a coffee from Dunkin’ Donuts, I walk with Jamie to Dilworth Park, a large, open space with easy access to public transportation that runs along the west side of City Hall. In the winter, it turns into a public ice-skating rink. During the summer months, it’s a giant water fountain, and I can see the kids playing in the water that shoots up from the ground all the way across the street through my office windows.
With Mickey traveling between offices and less involved than that before, I haven’t had a chance to come here since fall. Ever since my parents’ deaths, Jamie has made it a point to take me ice-skating on my birthday, and today is no exception. Since today is my twenty-sixth birthday, it’s also the thirteenth death anniversary of my parents. It’s hard to believe that so many years have passed. But I’m starting to feel like the past is repeating itself with Alex.
Only Jamie and Mickey know my birthday, and both of them know not to send gifts. It’s not something I announce to anyone because I don’t like to make a big deal of it. What would I celebrate the fact that my parents left me because they were too selfish to stay clean?
When I see red roses, I want to rip them to shreds, not find a vase. Those stupid hearts and all the generic pink and red shit they sell for this fake-ass holiday can kiss my ass. My dad used to call me his Little Valentine. That’s what my father wanted to name me, but my mother won that battle and named me after her favorite children’s novel, Charlotte’s Web.
Jamie hooks his arm around me and pulls me close to him as I hold my coffee between my gloves, my teeth chattering from the subzero temperature.
He steers me toward the rental booth. “I only have thirty minutes until my boss is expecting me back.”
“You’re the boss now, silly. It’s okay to take advantage of that power.”
“Just because I got the promotion doesn’t mean I can throw it in everyone’s faces, and you’re not one to talk. When was the last time you went out for lunch?”
“Last month, with you. Duh, Jameson,” I say with a smirk.
“You should be getting overtime for all the lunches and dinners you miss for work.”
I laugh and nudge him in the arm. “I’d like to see the look on Mickey’s face if I were to ask for paid lunches and dinners on top of my commission. Besides, we just expense those meals to the clients.”
I flip up the plastic tab on my coffee and take a sip, checking out the happy couples and children skating around us with smiles on their faces, wishing I could share their same enthusiasm.
“I really do need to get back within the hour.” Jamie’s tone grows serious. “We’re demoing the beta version of that app I showed you to a client this afternoon. If I can impress their CTO, it’ll be huge for my firm. It might even lead to another promotion or more profit-sharing options.”
“I have no doubt that you’ll sell it. You have nerd superpowers that people can’t resist,” I say with a genuine smile.
Jamie hugs me tighter and plants a kiss on my cheek. “Do you want me to get the skates?”
“Yeah, you know my size.”
Jamie hands a twenty-dollar bill to the woman behind the counter and rambles off our skate sizes.
After we lace up our skates, we make our way onto the ice, somewhat unsteady and needing to hold on to the ledge until we get used to balancing our weight on the blades.
Jamie laces his fingers between mine, and I clutch his hand tight, afraid I might fall without support. We start to pick up the pace, one revolution around the rink, before I feel comfortable enough to let go of Jamie, but I don’t because I want him close.
“Do you remember the year we skipped school, so we could go down to Millennium Park before it got too crowded to skate?” Jamie grins, his eyes scanning the bustling city around us.
“How could I forget?” The memory makes me chuckle. “That cop tried to chase us across the ice without skates and busted his ass.”
He laughs so hard that he snorts. “And then his partner came in after him, freaking out, and tripped when he tried to help him up.”
“Good times. We were such punks back then.”
