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After cheering our faces off, we all breathe a sigh of relief. We needed that goal.
Hoping the excitement of the goal will sway Martha away from her previous topic proves futile. She continues chatting even as the buzzer sounds to mark the end of period one.
"Anyway," she says. "I cannot tell you how happy I am that you two are back together."
I smile. "I'm happy too." Martha takes my hands in hers, patting them lightly.
"My son is only half the man he should be when he's not with you. When you left, it broke Ryan." A flush of guilt suffuses my face, and I don't know what to say. "Don't feel bad, Avery. I'm not telling you this to make you feel sad or guilty. I'm telling you because I want my son to be happy. And I want you to be happy.
"I've known for a long time that you and Ryan were meant for each other. A mother just knows. You two actually remind me a lot of Joseph and me. When we met, we just knew. It was a little different for you guys because Ryan had to grow up a little and realize what his feelings meant, but in the end, the result is the same. You two are made for one another."
"How can you be so sure?" I ask, not knowing why I even ask the question. I don't need to give this woman any more reasons to distrust how I feel about her son.
"Because Ryan would do anything for you. He would give up anything for you. There is nothing my son wouldn't do to make you happy."
Turning toward me, Martha looks me straight in the eyes as if trying to impart some vital message to me. "There is nothing you could do,or not do,that would make my son stop loving you. He will love you no matter what."
Something about how she says those words makes me pause. I stare back at her, gazing into the indigo depths of her eyes. I see love and kindness, but underneath, I see a pebble of sadness and even further still, I see a grain of sympathy.
She knows.
"Would you?" I croak, half whispering, looking downward, afraid of what I might see looking back at me. She wants grandchildren so badly. I can't imagine her not resenting me for taking biological grandkids off the table.
“Oh, honey," Martha says soothingly, wrapping her arms around me, holding on tight. "I will always love you like a daughter. There is nothing wrong with you, Avery. You're perfect just the way you are."
My throat starts to itch and swell with emotion. With Martha’s arms around me, stroking up and down my back in a slow, calm, and steady rhythm, I try to keep it together. My eyes sting, and I want to cry, but somehow I manage to keep the tears at bay.
The rest of the box somehow misses our exchange, their attention raptly on the ice. The crowd groans. Toronto has scored to take the lead. After a few more long seconds, Martha pulls back and smiles warmly at me.
"Have you talked to Ryan about it?" she asks. I shake my head.
"I don't want to dump this on him during the playoffs." I sigh, picking invisible lint off my blazer. "How did you find out?"
"I've suspected something was wrong for some time," Martha begins. "I could see you pulling further away the summer you broke things off with Ryan, but I didn't fully understand why. When Ryan was traded to Los Angeles, I didn't want to make the situation worse by forcing the issue. I didn't want to interfere. But when Ryan came back to Toronto, I knew he was coming back for you.
"Your mother and I have always been friends, and we could see how miserable you've been without each other. Neither one of you has moved on." I open my mouth to protest but shut it. She's right. Ryan and I are as stuck on each other as ever. "Don't be mad at her for telling me, Avery."
I'm not mad.
Since sharing my truth with friends and family, I feel liberated. But that hasn't stopped me from fretting over how Ryan will react. It's not that I am scared he won't love me—not entirely, anyway. I'm terrified of disappointing him. I don't want to be the reason why he misses out on something he wants. I don't want him to resent me.
"Do you really think Ryan won't care?"
"Avery, there is so much we don't know," Martha states matter-of-factly. "We don't know one hundred percent what you can or can't do. We don't know what other options you might have in the future. This isn't something we need to decide tomorrow, or even next year."
A cheer explodes inside our box. Toronto has taken a three-to-one lead in the third period. The wives are high-fiving and screaming. Someone has an air horn and is unleashing it on the arena. Holly is laughing with Sunny in the corner while Boston fans shoot us stink eyes from around the rink. Martha cheers along with them as time ticks down on the clock.
Toronto scores an empty netter to seal the deal and take game one. Everyone is in high spirits as we make our way down to the visiting locker room.
Martha hooks her arm through mine, letting me lead the way. Just before we reach the elevators, she stops and asks me a question I'd never considered.
"If it was Ryan," she starts and then stops, considering. "If Ryan had slow swimmers or some type of infertility issue, would it matter?"
"Of course not!" I say automatically without even thinking.
Martha shoots me a look that screamsI told you so.
"Then, I believe you have all the answer you need. Give my son some credit. Or, at the very least, give me some credit. I didn't raise a complete idiot."
