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“That hockey guy you poked fun of? The one I’m living with? He took it.”
I chew at the inside of my lip and blush a little when my mom says, “Oh.”
I can hear the sound of something sliding against the wall and imagine her pulling the frame down for closer inspection.
“He’s talented,” she says.
“He is. At that, and at his sport. And he’s smart, and pretty funny, and?—”
“And he’s quite the looker,” my mom butts in.
“Ha, I mean . . . yeah, he’s pretty handsome.” I cover my face even though I’m all alone. I imagine Cutter’s face, the sharp line of his jaw, his chest, his . . . other attributes. I bite my thumbnail.
“You really like him,” she says.
I nod but eventually say it out loud.
“I do.”
I’ve caught feelings. I’ve caught them hard.
I pull my phone out for a beat to check the time. I need to get moving if I want to see the start of the game.
“Hey, Mom. I have to go, but maybe we can talk more tonight. Or tomorrow. And maybe we can plan a weekend for you to fly out? See some games and maybe spoil me with dinner?”
My mom laughs, probably amused at me weaseling dinner, but she quickly agrees.
“I wish I could get you out next weekend. I did something crazy and invited Dad. I don’t really know what to say to him, and since apparently you’re talking now, it might be nice to have you play moderator.”
My mom puffs out a snarky laugh at my suggestion.
“I think it will take a while for us to work into a full-fledged family weekend. And since you don’t plan on grad school, I’m afraid we don’t have enough time for that.”
I smile and nod.
“You’re probably right,” I agree.
“I love you, Laney. And I’m so proud of you. For everything.” A new round of tears prickle my eyes, and I quickly blot them away with the shirt.
“I love you too, Mom. And thank you . . . for everything.”
We both let the quiet settle in for a few seconds, maybe letting the butterflies land in our chests as we prepare to end the first totally cordial conversation we’ve had in years.
We say our goodbyes and I dash into the bedroom to slip on some leggings and the stupid fan club shirt. I try tucking it in at first but pull it free realizing no matter what I do, the words are still going to be there.
“Gah!” I chuckle at myself as I stretch it out as if somehow it won’t feel weird walking around in a Cutter billboard. I’m already half of Caney-ship. Do I have to eat all of my words I’ve ever said about the man?
I glance to the bed and find my favorite Tiff Hockey sweatshirt of Cutter’s and decide to put that on over the shirt rather than the zipper jacket I was planning to wear. I grab my wallet and keys then head out for the game.
I make it there just as the announcements finish up, and Cutter’s mom spots me as I’m scanning the rows of seats in the family section. She waves her hands as she stands up on the seat and I head up the steps toward her. Flynn jogs down to me, ignoring the fact that I know where I’m going, and I muse internally over how spot-on Cutter was with his descriptions of his brothers. When I make it to their row, I follow Flynn into the middle of the rows and take the open seat by their mom and a man I don’t think I’ve met yet.
“Laney, I’m Andrew. We didn’t get to meet last night since I just got in.”Andrew. Cutter’s favorite.
I take his hand and hold it with both of mine as we shake. His palm is warm and he notes how cold my fingers are.
“You don’t come to a lot of hockey, do you?” he asks.
I shake my head. He looks so much like Cutter it’s as if I’m getting a glimpse into the future. He’s more professional looking but probably only because he’s close to thirty and has a perfectly trimmed mustache and beard. And a sweater with a tie underneath. That part helps, too.
