by Sara H Ney
I freeze and my body tenses up. “What?”
“Haven’t you looked at it?”
“Well, I mean... after we took it.”
Molly nonchalantly studies her nails and swivels back-and-forth in the desk chair. “If I were you, I’d take a look at it.” Without looking up at me, she thrusts her cell in my general direction.
I grab the phone and find Matthew’s name in the Story index, the little pie chart indicating one story. Tapping it twice, I hold his name down and our photo pops up, along, of course, with the tag line ‘Off the market’ and a few heart emoji’s.
My mouth falls open and Molly continues. “That’s not even the best part. Have you been online today?”
Unable to speak, I shake my head.
“The picture and an article have been picked up by ESPN dot com.”
“Wh... what?”
“You heard me.” she stands up and straightens her shirt, pulling it down and dusting off invisible lint before casually strolling out of my bedroom, waving a hand over her shoulder. “Toodles!”
I grab my phone the bed, reading and rereading Matthew’s last messages.
Matthew: So is that a yes for tonight?
Matthew: This time I promise not to take you to an ice rink. ;)
I’ll be honest: I panic a little. Now I don’t know if I should be seen with him in public. I mean - he’s a public figure, for crying out loud. Now that our private picture is out there for world to see... Oh my god. What if his parents have seen it? Oh my god. What if my parents have seen it?
Holy shit, I’m freaking out. I don’t’ know if I can handle this.
Get it together Cecelia. I shake my head, hair swishing around my shoulders and take a deep, cleansing breath.
Wait, what am I saying? Of course I can handle this! I’m a strong, independent woman with a college degree - not to mention my impending Masters. I should be happy that’s he’s declared himself in a relationship to the world. Ecstatic, even!
But... he hasn’t declared himself to me. And isn’t that what matters?
I sit on the edge of my bed, clutching my cell phone in my now trembling hands.
It pings again, and I tip it up to see my sister’s text icon light up the screen.
Veronica: Good morning, you dirty slut. Anything you want to tell us?
A laugh bursts out of me before I can stop it, and smiling, I reply: You know I’ve always had a thing for athletes...
Veronica: That’s the understatement of the year. Roger is planning the wedding, btdubbs. His professional hockey player son-in-law. Mom is reeling because u clearly have loose morals.
Me: Obviously.
Veronica: So... seriously tho. Is it serious? Is this a real thing? No bullshitting a bullshitter.
I hesitate, thinking.
Is this a real thing? I can’t answer for Matthew, so instead I tell her what’s in my heart.
Me: Yes, I think so. Yes. It’s the real deal.
Veronica: Well then. You better get his fine ass to Mom and Dad’s before Mom has a stroke.
Me: ((Groan))
Then to Matthew, I reply: It’s a yes for tonight...
Because he doesn’t know this yet, but we seriously need to talk.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Matthew
“Let me put it to you this way: You hurt my best friend... I’ll make your death look like an accident” - the only hostile words Abby has ever uttered.
“So, I’m just going to put this out there: my parents want to meet you,” Cecelia says from across the table, legs crossed but bouncing nervously, looking slightly agitated.
Alright, that’s not accurate: she doesn’t look agitated - she looks pissed about something.
I lean back in my chair and watch her, taking a drink from my latte. “Okay.”
She raises her eyebrow skeptically. “Okay?”
I nod. “Yeah. Okay.”
“You’re not going to ask me why they want to meet you?”
Sorry, but I laugh at her. She’s clearly affronted; but so cute. “I have my suspicions, but fine, I’ll bite. Cecelia, why do your parents want to meet me?”
“Because you colossal jackass, you posted that picture of us on Snap and my bloody dad saw it online.” She crosses her arms and huffs, flouncing back in her overstuffed chair dramatically. “Now they think I’m hiding a boyfriend.”
We’re sitting at Starbucks, which seems to officially become our spot, noshing on coffee and warm buttered croissants. Yum.
“I’m confused. Why is that a bad thing?”
Cecelia stares at me like I’ve sprouted ten spitting alien heads, and her lip curls up. Leaning forward again in her chair and holding up her left hand, she begins ticking off reasons that, apparently, justify her pissy attitude. “Let’s see; for starters, we’re both half naked in the picture that was supposed to be private! Private Matthew. Secondly, and thirdly, you posted it on your story - your story! - and it got picked up by a freaking sports network. Fourth, you announced we’re a thing, and we,” her hands move back and forth between us. “We haven’t even discussed it yet. You’re freaking leaving for California Matthew. California.”
“Babe, please, you’ve got to stop repeating yourself. You sound like an echo.”
“Have you listened to a thing I just said?” She looks at me like I’m an idiot. And hey, I probably am.
“Yeah. You’re mad.”
She throws herself back in a huff, lips pursed. She crosses her arms and glares at me.
“Wait. Are we fighting?” I ask innocently because honestly, I have no idea what is happening right now.
Cecelia blows out a puff of air, and her long bangs wisp around her face. Her arms land with a thump on the arms of her leather chair, she slouches before sighing like she’s given up. “No, we’re not fighting.” A smile plays at the corner of her lips. “I think your brains are addled from being bashed with too many hockey sticks.”
I pull her chair towards mine and rest my palms on her thighs. “I thought you’d be happy.”
Her eyes are on my hands, and she studies them for a few moments in silent contemplation. I can tell she’s thinking hard, and when she finally lifts her head, I’m not sure I like what I’m seeing.
She looks guarded and unsure. Biting her lower lip, she glances around the coffee shop. “Matthew, you’re... leaving.”
“So?”
“So? How can you be so... blasé about it? You’re going to be three thousand miles away.” She says it in a ‘like, duh’ tone of voice, as if it explains everything.
“Actually, it’s only sixteen hundred and seventy.”
“Huh?”
“Miles. There are only sixteen hundred miles between Madison and Los Angeles.”
“Oh my god, stop being so damn literal; like it’s no big deal to you. What am I supposed to do while you’re gone? Languish here while you go traipsing about your business in California?”
“Um, no... Cecelia. The season is only like, five months long. If we don’t win the Stanley Cup, it’s even shorter. You can fly home and see your family every weekend if you want to.” I take a drink from my latte and lean back again, reluctantly removing my hands from her body, then take a bite of the croissant that’s all been forgotten on my plate. Taking a bite, I chew, wipe a crumb off my chin, and add, “Sometimes I’ll be able to come with you.”
She shakes her head and stares at me, brown eyes gone huge. “What?”
“The season is only five months long -”
“I heard what you said.”
“Then why did you -”
“Would you shut up for a second? I need to think.” Her hands go up to knead her temples, and she leans forward, resting her elbows on her knees.
I shut up for a second.
But then she raises her head and looks at me, her eyes searching. “I don’t get it.”
I cock my head, confused. “What don’t you get?”
“I don’t understand what you’r
e saying. Actually, I think it’s you who doesn’t understand what you’re saying.”
**Cecelia**
He must be crazy: there can be no other explanation for him wanting me to follow him to California. I mean... it’s only been a few weeks. Plus, I’m in my Master’s program; true, I’m almost done, but... still. There’s job hunting, and new apartments, and... and...
He cocks his head again, staring at me with those bright green eyes. “I thought it would make you happy to be with me,” he says, crossing his legs and leaning back in the big leather chair.
“But we haven’t even discussed it,” I argue, determined.
Those eyes bore into me further. “We’re discussing it now,” he points out.
I roll my eyes and cross my arms, glancing out the window to the dark parking lot outside. “First you announce that we’re in a relationship, then you drop the California bomb on me. It just seems a bit... rushed for a twenty-four hour period.”
“I’m sorry you feel that way, but, well, it’s not like we have a lot of time. I leave in three weeks and won’t be back until Christmas, and that will only be for two days. Do you really want a long-distance relationship? Because I sure as hell don’t. They suck. I watch them play out with my teammates and they always crash and burn.” He pauses to take a deep breath. “I’m going to lay it out there for you, okay? Plain and simple; I don’t want to leave without you by my side.”
The logical Cecelia that overanalyzes everything wants to argue with him; point out all the flaws in his logic - all the reason it would never work having me with him. My heart, however, just about burst inside my chest when he said he didn’t want to leave here without me by his side. And the thought of waking up in bed with him every morning? Um, hello!
I mean: holy swoon, right?
My mouth gapes briefly before I snap it shut. “Matthew, I have a degree to finish. Papers to write. A job to find...”
Now he’s rolling his eyes. “I’m not discounting your priorities, babe, but let’s be honest here: you’re days away from getting your degree. You don’t have any classes to attend, and as far as jobs go... What difference does it make if it’s here, or in California? Or if you wait until you get back? Or if you take a job and work from home?”
Hmmm, all very valid points.
There really isn’t anything tying me down - not technically - and I’m not even from Wisconsin to begin with. My family is in Illinois, but flying home really wouldn’t be an issue.
“It’s possible that we’ll drive each other nuts,” I point out with authority.
“It’s possible that we won’t,” he counters with a raised eyebrow. “Besides, we’ll be back in the Midwest within a few months. And don’t forget; my agent is shopping me around for a trade. I could end up here in the long run.” He takes another causal drink of his latte, before smugly adding, “I’m good enough to play for the Blackhawks, you know.”
The Blackhawks are Chicago’s professional hockey team, and his mention of them almost makes me spit out the coffee I just took a drink of. Not to mention, his continued use of the word ‘we’ is making my head spin, and not to be overly dramatic, but it’s almost information overload.
I knew Matthew Wakefield was intense, but this is overkill.
“Maybe you should come over here and sit in my lap. That might make your decision easier,” he laughs, patting his slightly parted thighs.
I gulp and shake my head, giggling. “That is so not what I need right now.”
“So maybe I should take you back to my place and convince you.”
***
“He said what?!” Jenna shouts at me, her palms slapping the table and making the whole thing shake. “Say that one more time so I can process it.”
I’ve just recounted the Starbucks exchange to girls, who were already gathered in my kitchen when I got home. I kind of felt guilty spilling the beans to the entire group before talking about it privately with Molly first, but... Jenna was so persistent when I walked in the door that I really didn’t have much of a choice.
“He said he didn’t want to leave here without me.”
“Without you. By. His. Side,” Jenna says slowly, emphasizing each word. “Let’s all take a moment of silence to let that sink in, shall we? No one say anything. In fact, maybe we should all bow our heads.”
We all look around at each other, smirking, as Jenna bows her head, long earrings grazing her collarbone. She squishes her eyes shut, then opens one to make sure we’re all observing the ritual.
“Come on you guys, this is a momentous occasion! Give it the respect it deserves!”
Abby snorts. “I am not bowing my head, you weirdo.”
“Hey. Just be lucky she didn’t make us all hold hands,” Molly intones dryly. “But seriously Cecelia, what are you going to do?”
I throw up my arms, exasperated. “Nothing. I mean, it’s crazy. I can’t move to California! I hate California! Besides, I don’t even know if we’re dating. I mean, it’s crazy, right? I’d be nuts to consider it.”
I scoff, making a few pfft sounds and everyone is staring at me like I’ve gone off the deep end - but I’m on a roll and can’t stop the verbal diarrhea. “I barely know him. We’ve been out once. It’s almost seventeen hundred miles. I can’t leave my family to follow a guy! That’s what I’d be doing, right? Following a guy? It’s pathetic, who does that? I can’t stand girls who do that. Get a backbone! Anyways, it’s crazy. My parents would kill me! I’m a grown woman for craps sake. I can’t move. I have a life here.” I stop rambling and look around the table at Molly, Abby, and Jenna’s smug faces. “What?”
“Do you know what you sound like?” Abby asks, crossing her arms.
“Um... what?”
“Like you’re trying to convince yourself it’s a bad idea.”
“It is a bad idea,” I shout, latching on to the concept. “My cousin Stephanie moved with a guy to Florida once. He ditched her as soon as they got there, locked her out of their apartment and she had to take a bus home. So there.”
“Yeah, but wasn’t the guy in some grunge band who, like, cheated on her constantly to begin with?” Abby asks skeptically.
“Whose side are you on?” My brown eyes narrow at her.
“No ones. I’m just saying. It’s not like Matthew has a normal job. If he wants to be with you, he has to ask you to go with him, Cece. Think about it. He’s a freaking professional athlete, not some normal twenty-three year old trying to make it in an entry level job. He travels for a living.”
“Thank you, Abby,” Molly says, smiling. “That’s exactly what I was going to say.” Then she turns her attention on me. “Cece, I’m all about you doing what you think is best. But what Abby’s saying is Matthew isn’t normal, and dating him isn’t going to be normal, and... It is what it is. I’m sorry, but this brand of crazy is how it’s got to be. He needs someone who’s a definite in-or-out. When Weston gets drafted - god willing - if he’s going to be in my life, I’m going to have to make the same sacrifice all partners of pro athletes make. You move. You hop on a plane and go. It’s a lonely life for them on the road; their bodies get beat up, fans go crazy. They get traded to one city after the next. They need someone stable in their hectic, messed-up lives.”
“The fact that we’re even having this conversation is fucked up,” I say, the curse slipping out before I can censor myself. “Is everyone forgetting the fact that we barely know each other?”
Jenna rolls her eyes. “Oh give me a break. The two of you have been going at it since the day you met. We know it, Matthew knows it, and you know it. So stop fooling yourself because you’re scared.”
“So what if I’m scared?” I throw back. “In fact, I’m scared shitless! What if I move and he doesn’t want me anymore? What if all we do is fight? What if I can’t find a job and I sit home like some housewife, twiddling my thumbs and staring at the door every night waiting for him to come home? What if I can’t handle the groupies?”
I h
old my shaking hands out in front of me for everyone to see, oblivious to the tears are streaming down my cheeks.
Abby stands up and comes to my side of the table, pulling me into a side hug. “Honey, oh honey. Don’t cry. You don’t have to decide now.”
“Men are such bastards,” Jenna says gravely, causing Molly to roll her eyes for the second time in a matter of minutes.
“Ignore her,” my roommate consoles. “It’s okay. No matter what, it’s going to be okay. If you want to stay with me, and stay here in our apartment, and go on with your life and only see him when he has bi weekends, that will be okay, too. He’ll understand. That’s just how his life is.”
“Maybe you could insist on separate bedrooms,” Abby suggests helpfully.
“You did not just say that,” Jenna laughs loudly, cackling like a maniac. “Separate bedrooms!? The whole point of moving in with someone is so you can screw anytime you want. God, sometimes I wonder about you...”
Molly holds her hand up in front of Jenna’s face. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t just insinuate my brother would go through all the trouble of moving her across country just so he can screw her.”
Jenna, who has never been one to take a hint, continues. “In fact, I can’t believe you and Weston aren’t living together yet, the way you two go at it.”
“First of all, we are not always going at it: I’m insulted you’d even say that. Secondly, unless we get officially engaged, we can’t live together. Parents rules, and they pay the rent, so...”
“Plus, you’re only twenty,” Abby puts in. “Way too young to be shacking up.”
“Says the nun,” Jenna murmurs.
“Since when is it a crime not to have sex with every guy I come in contact with?” Abby asks, hands propped defensively on her hips. “At least I have a little self-respect.”
“You guys stop,” Molly interjects, putting both her hands up to halt the conversation. “Why are you two always arguing? Enough! We’re here to help Cece, not fight. If you can’t get along, then I hate to say it, but maybe you should leave.”
“Yeah, Abby. Maybe you should leave.”
“You know what? I’m going to my room.” I say, my head suddenly throbbing. Before shutting my door and throwing myself on my bed, I pop three ibuprofen and drink an entire glass of water from the bathroom sink - which is kind of rank, but at least it’s cold.