Hip Check

by Deirdre Martin

  “You’re kidding me.”

  “No. I’m not. Why do you look so surprised?”

  “Because that’s not part of my job, Esa. If you want a relationship with her, you have to find these things out yourself. By spending time with her.”

  Esa looked pained. “What little girl would want to spend time with her uncle?”

  “A little girl whose mother died in a plane crash?” Michelle hesitated a moment, but then put a reassuring hand on his forearm. “I know this has to be hard on both of you. But it’s especially hard on her. Think about it.”

  “I can’t read her. One minute she seems to like me, the next she seems detached. I’m not good—”

  “Then get good.” Christ, she sounded like some irritable old schoolmarm. Some irritable ex-schoolmarm. But his “woe is me” stance didn’t fit in with a man who had become a successful professional athlete.

  “Those are normal reactions for kids who are grieving. She needs time.”

  “Yes, of course.” Esa was looking at her with what looked a helluva lot like admiration. “You’re very feisty. Do you know that?”

  The compliment threw her off balance, and made her realize that she owed him one. He might be inept at coping with Nell emotionally, but he was making damn sure that she didn’t want for anything else. He deserved some kudos, didn’t he?

  “She’s lucky to have you.” Michelle’s cheeks were getting hot and she didn’t know why.

  “I’m doing it for Danika,” he said evasively.

  And yourself, Michelle thought, though she’d never get him to admit it.

  “Well, whatever your reason, Nell’s lucky.”

  Ugh. She sounded like some puck bunny, fawning over him, worshiping the ground he walked on.

  “I better go,” she said briskly. “Like I said, stuff to do . . . see you around.”

  “Right.”

  She had almost made it to the street when he called out to her. “Michelle!”

  She turned around to the sound of cars crawling up the street behind her. She and Esa stood facing each other for a long, uncomfortable moment, like there was an invisible cord between them that neither could see, but both knew was there.

  “Thank you,” Esa said, just like the other night.

  “You’re welcome.”

  She turned back to the street. She had a feeling that “thank you” was his fallback position. Simple, uncomplicated, impossible to misinterpret unless you had an extremely active imagination. There was something else he wanted to say, but didn’t. She was glad.

  11

  It wasn’t Esa’s night. From the opening face-off, he’d been off his game. He was skating well, but he just wasn’t seeing right. Normally, he could see plays developing and anticipate where to go for open ice, and where his line mates would be. But tonight against Boston, it was like there’d been a fog on the ice. He was reacting rather than anticipating. He’d turned over the puck a couple of times in the first period, and as a result, Coach Dante cut his ice time in the second and third. Dante let Esa know about his displeasure in the locker room and on the bench. Luckily, the rest of the Blades weren’t off their games. Thank Christ David Hewson was playing well. He almost single-handedly kept the Blades close, standing on his head and keeping the Blades within one of Boston.

  With less than a minute left in the game, Boston iced the puck. Coach Dante pulled Hewson and, looking to add an offensive spark and perhaps jolt him out of his doldrums, tapped Esa on the shoulder, sending him out on the ice as the sixth skater. Boston won the draw, but a big hit by Rory in the corner knocked the puck loose. Jason pounced on the loose puck and sent it up the right-wing boards. Esa picked it up at the top of the circles and, sidestepping a stick check, headed to the slot. Esa thought he saw Eric sneaking in from the left wing and threw a backhand pass across the ice. The Boston center had seen the same thing and intercepted the pass. He quickly flipped the puck to center ice, where it was gathered in by a Boston winger who’d broken up ice behind Eric. Once the winger crossed center ice, he wristed the puck into the empty Blades net. The remaining six seconds were an afterthought. The Blades had lost 4 to 2.

  * * *

  “What planet were you on tonight, dick bag?”

  Esa gave Ulf the finger as the two of them, along with Jason, Eric, David, and Rory strolled into Finkel’s House of Noodles down on Canal Street. Ulf had been bitching lately about being bored with the Wild Hart, so the rest of the Rat Pack had challenged the Swede to find somewhere else to hang out. And what had the idiot come up with? A combination Jewish deli and Japanese noodle house.

  “This is unbelievable,” Eric marveled. “You really want to hang out in this shithole, Ulf?”

  “I seem to remember someone whose hobby was scouring the city for tacky bars with his brother,” said David.

  “Yeah, bars,” Eric retorted. “Not restaurants.”

  “It got a good review,” Ulf insisted.

  “Where?” Rory asked.

  “PennySaver,” Jason answered.

  Esa was too tired to do anything but shake his head sadly.

  Finkel’s was empty. Not a soul, apart from the waitress and, Esa assumed, a cook in the kitchen. But you never knew: maybe the waitress was the cook.

  The waitress, an egg-shaped Asian woman with a dour expression, doled out their slightly sticky, laminated menus as they seated themselves around the one table in the place large enough to hold them all.

  Rory glanced around. “No one’s been in here since 1945. I can feel it.”

  “C’mon, guys.” Eric looked at his teammates with condescension. “It’s obvious what this place is.”

  Esa frowned. “What?”

  “It’s a front. Meth lab in the back. Or the meeting place of some secret society.”

  Jason ran a hand over his weary face. “See, this is why it’s bad that we all watch soaps. Especially you, being married to a soap actress. There are all these wild storylines, and you get them stuck in your brain, and then you start coming out with shit like this . . .” He snorted. “Yeah, bro, there’s a meth lab in the back. No, even better: an old-timey opium den. The waitress is a ninja who kidnaps young women and sells them to Middle Eastern sheiks.”

  “Hey, I wouldn’t mess with her,” Esa said. “She looks like she could poison your food with a look.”

  His friends laughed, which cheered him a bit. It was a nice momentary diversion that helped take his mind off how distracted he’d been during the game.

  Frickin’ Ulf had to be telepathic; no sooner had Esa finished the thought than he was back to, “You still haven’t answered my question: what planet were you on tonight?”

  “Let it go, you asshole,” Esa replied. “I already heard it from Dante. I don’t need to hear it from you guys.”

  “It’s Nell, isn’t it?” Rory asked. “Nanny or no, you’re still worried about her.”

  “Yeah, I am.”

  Liar, he thought. You’re a goddamn liar. It wasn’t Nell that had been poking holes through his concentration on the ice: it was Michelle. He was envious of the way she related to Nell. He could never be that way with Nell, and he knew it. He’d have to force it, the way he had been all along. Michelle had told him it was just a matter of spending more time with Nell, but he wasn’t so sure about that.

  Then there was the issue of Michelle herself. She was cute. Not his usual type, but cute. Mainly though, he liked her personality. She was tough. She was the one in charge in the house, and knew it. That pissed him off a little, since it was his apartment and she was his employee, after all. But the truth of the matter was that if someone wasn’t supervising everything, it would all go to hell. They both knew that. He hated to admit it, but he was mildly—very mildly—intimidated by her. That was new; he’d never been intimidated by a woman in his life. He kinda liked it. What the fuck was wrong with him?

  Rory looked mystified. “Why are you worried? From what you told me, Nell had a smashing start to the school year, an
d she’s adjusting well. That sounds like something to be glad about if you ask me.”

  “Don’t get me wrong, I am glad,” said Esa. “But . . . it’s just a sense I have . . .”

  He shrugged, burying his face in the menu to avoid Rory’s stare. Nothing got by that Irish bastard. Nothing. Sooner or later, Rory would embark on playing “Poke the Finn until he snaps.” Rory was a champion nudger. He’d get it out of Esa eventually. Not tonight. But when he did, this little hiccup in Esa’s equilibrium would have long passed.

  * * *

  “So, how was school today?”

  Esa settled down on the couch beside Nell, whose nose was buried in a book.

  She looked up at him. “It was okay.”

  “Anything interesting happen?”

  “Nope.”

  “C’mon, you’ve been at school for two weeks now,” he prodded gently. “Something interesting must have happened in that time. Tell me one thing.”

  Nell looked up from her book again, thinking, and looking just like Danika, bringing a dull ache to his chest. Lately, he’d been trying to remember the last thing he said to his sister, and he couldn’t. Probably just “näkemiin,” good-bye in Finnish. They rarely, if ever, said “rakastan sinua,” I love you. They just weren’t brought up that way. He wished it had been different. He wished they’d said it more, and he wished he’d spent more time with her.

  “Well,” said Nell with a deep sigh, as if unloading an immense burden, “we had a science quiz and I got a ninety-two.”

  “That’s great.”

  “I suppose.”

  She went back to her book. Esa sat there beside her, feeling hapless, treading water. How should he keep the conversation going? Get more detailed answers out of her? Maybe he’d ask her what the book she was reading was all about. But that might make her feel like she was doing an oral report. Tully Webster was right: he had no idea how the hell to take care of her. Ten minutes passed in torturous silence; at least it felt “torturous” to him. Nell seemed deep in her reading. Esa had a feeling he could set his legs on fire and she wouldn’t notice until the last minute. He passed the time answering his e-mail, doing his best to ignore Lou Capesi’s barrage telling him he should do such and such charity event. It was only a matter of time before the fat bastard started trapping him after practice.

  Esa started getting squirrely. It was eight thirty; shouldn’t Michelle be hanging out on the couch with Nell by now? He had important stuff to do. He’d gotten an e-mail from two Victoria’s Secret models who were waiting for him right now at the Plaza. His mind flew back to him and Rory walking up that pitiful, backward High Street in Rory’s hometown of Ballycraig two summers back. He’d told Rory he was ready for a “real” relationship. He must have been drunk.

  Esa was on the verge of inappropriately knocking on Michelle’s bedroom door when she appeared in the living room in a lovely sleeveless shirt that showed off toned biceps, and a pair of pencil thin jeans. She was wearing makeup. And a smile.

  “How do I look, Nell?”

  Nell’s face lit up. “Really, really pretty, Michelle.”

  “Thank you.” She came to the couch and kissed Nell’s cheek. “Have fun tonight. And if you decide to play your uncle in Wii bowling, don’t humiliate him too badly.”

  Esa felt the synapses in his brain short circuiting. A stroke? All he knew was that Michelle’s words weren’t making any sense.

  He rose from the couch with a strained smile. “Michelle, can I talk to you in the kitchen for a moment?”

  She looked at him quizzically. “Sure.”

  Esa followed her into the kitchen. She was leaving a trail of very delicate perfume in her wake. It was nice. At least his brain could still react properly to that.

  “Is everything okay with Nell?” she asked worriedly.

  “Everything’s fine.”

  Michelle looked confused. “Then what’s up?”

  “I was wondering where you were going.”

  Michelle looked taken aback. “Where I go on my nights off is none of your business, Esa.”

  “Right, of course, I’m sorry,” he backpedaled. He knew she was right; he just couldn’t remember the conversation.

  “Is there a problem?”

  “No, no problem.” Except my night is fucked. “Do you think you’ll be in late?” Maybe he could tell Didi and Monique to wait for him.

  Michelle tilted her head, looking at him as though he was some sort of enigma she was trying to figure out. “You forgot,” she finally said.

  “What?”

  “You forgot it was my night out. Even though I made that giant calendar for all of us to look at whenever we wanted. You forgot it was my night off. You made other plans.”

  He couldn’t quite meet her eye. “Guilty.”

  He could tell Michelle was holding back her temper. “When will you understand that it’s not all about you anymore?”

  “I know, I know.”

  “Do you?” Michelle asked sharply.

  Esa’s eyes locked onto hers. “Yes, I do.”

  The air between them shimmered, intensified. Esa felt like he was in a staring contest.

  Michelle broke contact first. “We’re on the same side, you know,” she said quietly.

  “Of course,” Esa agreed, but the feeling of his brain misfiring was returning.

  Michelle smiled awkwardly. “I should go.”

  “You look very nice,” said Esa. “Date?”

  “Maybe. It’s—”

  “None of my business,” Esa finished tersely.

  “Bingo.”

  “Well, whatever it is you’re doing, I hope you enjoy your evening. You deserve it. You work very hard.”

  Michelle blushed. “Thank you.”

  “Yes, well . . .” Esa glanced around, not sure where to look. This was fucked up; he was acting like some pussy schoolboy who didn’t know how to talk to women—looking around, words trailing off, awkward. He was glad Rory wasn’t here. His reputation would be ruined.

  Even more pathetic was how confused he was feeling. The thought of Michelle going on a date irked him. It didn’t make sense. That was a lie. He didn’t want it to make sense, because it was laughable.

  Once again Michelle was the one who broke the awkwardness. “I’ve really got to go. I don’t want to be late. Don’t let Nell scam you into letting her stay up too late.”

  “I won’t.” He forced a smile. “Have a nice evening.”

  “You, too.”

  Esa remained frozen in the kitchen, listening as Michelle and Nell exchanged good-byes. He heard the front door open and close, and then there was no sound but the constant hum of the refrigerator. Nell was still out in the living room, turning pages. Esa pulled out his cell, shaking off the temporary madness of even giving a shit about Michelle’s night. He forced himself back to being annoyed about having to turn down a night of fun and frolic. Next time he’d be sure to check the big calendar. But for now, he was screwed.

  12

  “Michelle?”

  Hearing her name tugged Michelle out of her reverie; worse, it embarrassed her. Here she was, in a nice wine and cheese bar with David, the manny, and all she could think about was the displeasure on Esa Saari’s “stunningly gorgeous face” earlier in the evening when she’d intimated that she might be out on a date. She shouldn’t care. But she did. She liked the way it made her feel, even if it was just momentary: like she was attractive. She hadn’t felt that way in a long time, despite the good-looking man sitting across the table from her.

  “Sorry. You know what it’s like being a nanny: your mind keeps getting pulled back to kid stuff, even when you don’t want it to.”

  David nodded sympathetically. “I hear ya.”

  Michelle had been surprised when David called and asked her out for a drink. Her first thought had been that he wanted info about Marcus. But as they stayed on the phone chatting a bit, it dawned on her that he was asking her out because he liked her. It had noth
ing to do with Marcus, because David wasn’t gay. She accepted his invitation. Now she wondered if it was the right thing to do.

  After spending a few hours with him, Michelle could already tell he was one of those guys about whom people said, “He’s a total catch.” Meaning that in theory, as a single woman who one day hoped to alter that state, Michelle should be feeling like she might have landed the big one. Yet she didn’t.

  It was fun swapping war stories with him. But in the back of her mind remained the specter of Esa, the way he’d looked at her, and the tightness in his voice when she’d told him it was none of his business what she was up to tonight. Maybe he disliked that she might be out with another man. Michelle liked that.

  There was something about Esa’s vulnerability where Nell was concerned that tugged at her. Even though he was so damn clueless sometimes it made her want to strangle him, it also made her want to help him, for Nell’s sake.

  David took a sip of wine, his expression mildly perturbed. “Is everything okay?”

  “Yes, of course. Why do you ask?”

  “You just seem really preoccupied.”

  “No, it’s just . . .” She realized she could get away with a half truth, at least. “I feel guilty about this. Marcus thinks you’re gay, you know.”

  David groaned. “I was wondering about that.”

  “He’s been planning to ask you out. I don’t feel it’s my place to tell him he’s misread you.”

  David bit into a cracker with cheese. “No, of course not.”

  God, Michelle thought, he is such a good guy. Not a moron, like Saari. Not a dog, like Saari. Not an egomaniac, like Saari. You should be attracted to David. But you’re not. What the hell is wrong with you? Instead you’re thinking about a self-centered jerk. Admit it: clueless as Uncle Esa is, he’s hot. And there is some kind of sexual tension there. It could be because she held more power in the house than he did. Or it could be the stirrings of a general attraction. Which didn’t matter, because it could never, ever be acted on. She could lose her job. Worse, she would lose her self-esteem. Assuming she wasn’t imagining things. Which she didn’t think she was.