Page 20 of The Overtime Persuasive

I KNOW

How do you feel?

Lucy

Like I might throw up. In a good way??

I know exactly what this call-up means, the way only someone who grew up in this family could. I’ve watched Dad get these calls, and our brother, too. They are the best, the calls for the ones who spend years grinding in the minors. It’s a call that changes everything overnight. It’s not a small thing, getting picked out of a crowd and told that it is you, specifically, who is wanted. Kind of like being a vampire slayer, a chosen one and all that.

There’s no part of me that feels anything but proud. I’ve seen the work she’s done over the years, the early mornings and the late nights. She’s earned every second of this, and if anyone in this family deserves to hear their name called, it’s the twin who’s spent her whole life being somebody’s sister first and a goaltender second, right up until the exact moment she wasn’t.

Go be terrifying. Stop letting pucks in.

Lucy

That’s the plan. Practice today, video review tonight. I might actually die. LOL

Don’t die. I need a ride to the airport next month.

Lucy

Wow. Your support oozes through the phone.

It’s from a distance. While you drive.

I set the phone down, still smiling, and refill my coffee. And that’s when the thought shows up, uninvited, the way it’s been doing more and more lately. Uninvited, but oddly welcome, because when I have this kind of thought, it means I think of her.

Does Eva know yet?

It’s such a small, silly thought. Lucy’s her best friend, duh. Of course she’ll know, probably within the hour, before I’ve finished this cup of coffee. There’s no version of this where Eva doesn’t hear the news, and certainly no version exists where she needs to hear it from me.

And yet my thumb is already hovering over her name in my contacts, like some part of my brain skipped the part where I decided that was a good idea and just started doing it. I type a quick text out.

Hey—did you hear about Lucy?

I pause before sending it. It’s one text. It’s nothing. It’s the kind of thing you’d send a friend, isn’t it? If I send it and Eva already knows, I’ve just told her something she didn’t need to hear from me. If I send it and she doesn’t know yet, I’ve made myself the person who told her, which means I’ve made myself part of a moment that isn’t mine to be part of. Lucy’s news belongs to Lucy to share, on her own timeline, in her own way.

I stop in mid-move, my hand hovering over the phone, and bark a laugh out. Overthinking. I could get a gold medal in it these days. I delete the text and put the phone face-down on the counter, like that solves anything.

It’s a fine line, I’m coming to realize, the one between Lucy’s “friend I’m cordial with” and someone I look for reasons to talk to, but I’ve gotten disturbingly good at finding it and stepping right up to the edge of it.

I don’t cross said line, mind you. I just like knowing exactly where it is so I can try to stick my toe over it. Eventually.

I’m still standing there, coffee going lukewarm in my hand, when the phone buzzes again. It’s our family’s group chat.

Dad

Premier League! Knew that girl had it in her. Lucy, you’re amazing.

Before I know it, even Gavin, our older brother, is weighing in from Europe. You know, where all good hockey-playing Snyders go when you’re hired to coach a team.

Gavin

LUCY! Wish I was there to celebrate with you in person.

Lucy

It’s going to be crazy.