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Perhaps I should be kinder to Zeke’s brother. Perhaps I should think about karma and all the things I’m putting out there in the world, knowing there’s a chance that someday he might return the favor.
“Forgot to mention,” he says when he returns. “That was decaf I gave you this morning.”
Perhaps he can enjoy cleaning up his daughter’s new Beyoncé-themed glitter.
“You gonna stay for the first period?” he asks as the coverage shows the lights coming back up at the Memorial Coliseum across town after the singing of the national anthem. “Should be a good one tonight. Always gets a bit chippy when they play Boston.”
“I’ll listen in on the radio on my way home,” I say with a shudder as I pop one more pretzel in my mouth. I don’t like it when the games get chippy. It just means Zeke’s going to fight. The camera pans across the players as they set out on the ice.
“He’s starting?” I frown. Zeke is an enforcer and isn’t usually one of the first five out.
“Like I said,” Zach says, resuming his game-time stance. “Chippy.”
I squeeze his shoulder goodbye with a knot in my stomach. Normally I would stay and watch the first period. But today’s been another red-letter day in class, and so tonight, I’m heading home for a hot date with my girls and our favorite man.
ME: It’s been a day. Get out the Cuervo.
ALY: On it. I’ll make some guac too!
CARO: Are we talking Lizzo and palomas? Or Joy Division and shots?
ME: Surprise me
CARO: On it
The drive back across the Ross Island Bridge as I find the scrabbly AM station broadcasting Zeke’s game. Boston has already scored, and I can only imagine Zeke stewing, knowing he’s been on the ice from the start.
The drive north to our Hawthorne Street neighborhood is slow but fairly painless. At least it’s dry for the moment. I’ve been in Portland for almost two years now, and the city gets an unfair rap about how much it rains. Yes, it rains. But the only people who ‘need’ umbrellas are tourists. In fact, heavy rain will grind traffic to a halt because it’s so rare people forget how to drive in it.
Bikes and buses buzz past as I move through the stop-and-go traffic, driving past brewpubs and plant shops. I love the energy of this city, the way that a little weather doesn’t slow it down and it stays buzzing and positive despite the clouds. It has a down-to-earth grit that is a far cry from my stuffy childhood in Connecticut and Vermont. And now that I’m here, I can’t imagine being anywhere else.
As I pull onto our street, Caro distracts me, and I shut off Zeke’s game. She’s standing in a parking spot directly in front of our penis-pink triplex. Her athletic figure is clad in cutoff shorts, a slouchy tie-dyed T-shirt, and Aly’s yellow rain boots: most likely whatever clothing items were most handy on her way out the door. Her wavy brown hair is twisted into a messy bun on top of her head. She waits for me curbside, beckoning me to park there as she raises both a paloma and a shot glass. I take the spot, grateful for her forethought.
“Took you long enough,” she says, waiting for me curbside.
“What’s this?” I ask, crossing to her as she hands me the frozen paloma.
“Little bit of column A,” she says, then pours the extra shot into the cocktail. “Little bit of column B.”
“You’re a godsend,” I say, sipping the potent drink. She lugs my massive hiking backpack from my Land Cruiser while Aly waits on the porch in a cobalt blue tank, black yoga pants, and a cute, frilly apron. She wiggles her hips to the beat of one of Lizzo’s kickass anthems as it pours out the front door.
“Rough day, honey?” Aly says, wrapping an arm around my shoulder and pressing her rosy cheek against mine. Her dark, bouncy curls tickle my ear and I kiss her rosy cheek.
“You two are the best.”
“We know,” Caro says, pouring some extra tequila into her own paloma at the dining table. Aly shuffles out of the kitchen with a bag of Hood River tortilla chips and a bowl of guacamole.
“Tell me if it needs more… something.” She passes me a perfectly portioned bite.
I crunch into the crispy chip and creamy dip and it’s the perfect blend of salty, spicy, and lemony.
“Hmm,” I moan, chewing on it. “I think I need to try more to be sure.”
“Have at it,” Aly says with a grin. I load up two more chips and pass through the kitchen to the back hall and into my bedroom.
“Are we staying in or going out?” I strip, making sure my dirty clothes don’t touch my peach organic cotton duvet. Even though I shower at school before I leave, there’s still something about changing into fresh underthings once I’m home. It feels like I have a fresh start and can really leave school and the hospital behind.
“Your call, babe,” Aly calls from the kitchen. “Does Zeke have a game?”
