by Lane, Stacy
“Great! We’re going to have to skip Thanksgiving this year. Your bother and his new girlfriend will be here if you still want to come, but she’s not that great of a cook so I wouldn’t bother. They had us over last week, you know. I think he’s getting pretty serious about her. I’m still on the fence. She makes better money than he does, so she has that going for her at least.”
“Mom,” I grind my back teeth. There’s a point somewhere, but she always takes forever getting to it. “Why are we skipping Thanksgiving?”
“You don’t have to skip it, come home if you want, but I’m warning you, you might want to beat her to the kitchen first.”
“Where are you and dad going to be?” I force out, banging my head on the table.
“On a cruise! Can you believe it?” Mom’s screeching has me plugging my ears.
“Not really,” I mumble to myself, knowing she can’t hear me over her own voice. Picking my head off the glass, I say, “I didn’t know you two were saving up for a cruise.”
“We didn’t have to. Your brother paid for it!”
“Wow. That was nice of him.” And out of character.
“I know! You should be taking some pointers from your big brother, Jolene. He shows his appreciation to his parents more than you.”
He has to buy time for peace and quiet. I live across the country. He should be taking pointers from me and moving far away from Oregon.
“Guess I’ll see you at Christmas unless he pays for another vacation.”
“Oh,” she pouts. “I know you look forward to coming home, but it’s just this one time.”
“It’s okay, Mom. Really.” Like really, really. I don’t enjoy going home that much.
“How’s that boring job of yours going? Still making the big bucks?”
My poor, lovely dinner is going to waste.
“It’s good, and you know I don’t find it boring. I love my job.”
“Never understood why you took it, but I guess I don’t have to with the salary you get paid.”
She makes it sound as if I’m rich. Then again, to her and my dad, anyone who makes over thirty-five thousand a year is well off. My parents weren’t poor, by any means. They lived their lives the way they wanted. They just didn’t want very much.
Money has always been a big topic, a key source to having a better life, but they never strived for more than how they started out before having kids. They were simple people who were simple-minded more often than not.
“Meet any new guys lately?” Mom asks with hope.
“Nope.”
“Are you still dressing like a boy? How do you expect to attract any men when all you wear are t-shirts.”
To her, my casual style seems too common and not feminine enough.
Gotta admit. I miss the blonde ponytail and glasses.
I’ve attracted one guy with my plainness, at least.
“There’s nothing wrong with my clothes,” I shoot back.
“I suppose. After all, you did land a doctor, even though it didn’t turn out.”
“Because he died,” I deadpan.
“Kason was such a good man,” she sighs as if missing a person she barely knew.
“Mom, I’m really happy you and Dad are going on vacation. It’ll be a lot of fun, I’m sure.”
“Have you been on one?”
“No, not a cruise, but I can imagine they are a lot of fun.”
And hella crowded.
“Get yourself a boyfriend to settle down with and you could be going on vacations too. ”
“Sure. Look, my dinner is getting cold. I’ll call you this weekend, okay?”
“Okay, only wanted to chat for a minute, but I guess I can let you go. Bye, sweetie.” She sounded offended.
“Bye, Mom.”
We hang up and I stare at my food. Talking to her is mentally exhausting.
I hate thinking this, but it’s true or otherwise, I wouldn’t have thought it at all. Phone calls with my mom do not leave me feeling warm and fuzzy afterward. If I don’t get immediately frustrated over something she has said, then I hang up with more self-doubt than when the conversation started. She has a way of putting me down and doesn’t realize it. I don’t believe she even means to sound insensitive.
I brought it up once in high school while we were all eating dinner. Dad told me I was the one hurting my mom by those accusations, and my brother said I needed to grow thicker skin if I wanted to make it in the real world. No one felt or heard those words as I did. I never spoke to them again on the matter. Absorbing indifference from my own parents set a path I remain on to this day.
Thirty minutes later I’ve finished dinner, though it did not taste as savory as I wanted it to be prior to the phone call.
I clean up some around the house, watch a couple episodes of Stranger Things, then take a long, hot bath.
A row of candles are lit at the end of the tub, and the lights are turned off. The lavender oil I added to the water soothes the tense muscles in my back. Neck deep in bubbles, my eyes shoot open when my phone chimes, shattering the serenity.
If I did not happen to set it down on the edge of the tub near my head, I would have just ignored it. Wiping off one hand with the towel rolled up beneath my neck, I grab my phone to see who the text is from.
Unknown: I may have done a bad thing.
Ominous. Creepy. I shouldn’t respond.
Me: Who is this?
Arm stretched out and holding my cell over the side of the tub, I wait for a response. Maybe this person realized they texted the wrong number. I swipe out of messages and lock the screen.
Sure enough, right as I submerge my arm once again, their reply comes back.
Groaning, I brush my fingers dry and pick up my cell phone.
Unknown: Brooks.
Back shooting straight up, I drop my phone onto the floor, sloshing water everywhere as I scramble to pick it up.
I swear I’m never this clumsy with my phone.
Another text comes through as half my body hangs outside the tub.
Brooks: I kinda stole your number.
My stomach floods with heat and it isn’t from the steaming water.
Me: What made you want my number so bad you had to steal it?
I’m playing coy as I’ve attempted to do from the moment he began flirting with me outside of Chelsea’s house. Brooks is so hot and I would really like to be friends with him, but that has to be impossible. Friends cannot be attracted to each other. It’s a universal fact that never works out in the end.
Somehow I barely know this guy and the thought of not seeing him around anymore saddens me. He makes me feel good. He compliments; not critiques.
Brooks: We kissed. Then you slammed the door in my face.
Me: You caught me off guard.
Brooks: Don’t you know those are the best kinds.
Cheeks flushing, I type back.
Me: How exactly did you steal my number?
Brooks: I lied to Chelsea. Told her my dad asked for your number so he could get with you about something before the game next weekend.
Me: And you had to lie because she’s told you to stay away from me…?
Brooks: She has her reasons, I have mine.
This is dangerous territory for me. Brooks is so far out of the realm of possibility we might as well be Thor and Jane. Look how that turned out. Nerdy, adorable Jane couldn’t even make it work with the god of thunder. I don’t care how different they were, I was rooting for them.
Me: I’d like to know what yours are.
Brooks: That damn Wednesday Addams costume.
Me: You said you hated the black hair.
Brooks: But I loved the boots.
Me: Stop flirting with me, Brooks. That kiss is never going to happen again.
I’m nothing but a giant liar. If he kissed me again I would submit quicker than a woman waiting down on her knees for Christian in the red room of pain.
Brooks: Was it good though?
&nb
sp; Me: You need your ego petted that bad?
Brooks: Yes.
Shaking my head with a laugh, I sink a little further down into the warm water. As he does, though unaware, he brings out an inner vixen within me. I let her out just this once, for there is safety behind the keyboard.
Me: It was toe-curling, spine-tingling good.
Brooks: So we agree on something finally.
Brooks: Okay that’s all I needed to hear. Good night.
Sighing, my head falls back with a soft thud. How the heck am I going to shove a guy like Brooks in the friend zone?
Me: Night.
TEN
Jo
Somehow, I’ve been initiated in a group I still know very little about.
As I drove out of my neighborhood, I got a text from Chelsea saying to park behind Triplets. The bar was a short walk down the street to the arena, and they charged a fee on game nights to park in their lot.
Although she said specifically to park behind the bar, I expected to pay the charge anyway. Until I drove my car into the parking lot and the guy directing the cars seemed to recognize me before I even pulled up to him, guided me to the back where employees and the players always parked.
As I climbed out of my car, a smoking hot, leather jacket wearing bartender was waiting for me.
“Jo-Jo.” Cam grinned that devil-may-care smile.
“Hey.” Locking my car, I walk over to where he stands on the sidewalk that rounds the perimeter of the building. “Are you going to the game too?”
“I am. Mom and Dad are already inside. Brooks asked me to walk over with you.”
Hiding my face by tweaking my glasses, I hope Cam doesn’t notice the heat rising on my face.
“And Chelsea?”
“She always rides over with Vic.”
“Okay, then.” My voice carried ahead of me, holding a hint of skepticism.
“Are you nervous to walk with me?” he asks with a playful shoulder bump.
“No, but the special treatment feels a little weird, to be honest.”
Side by side, we trekked across the parking lot beneath the darkening sky. November has always been one of my favorite months since moving here. Florida is not known for its transformation into each season. Where most people are ready and excited for winter, spring, summer, or fall, I am eager for November, January, March, and June. My favorite Florida-weather months.
“I’m flattered me walking with you feels like an added bonus.” Cam takes my response as an ego boost. Typical Labelle.
“An escort and a reserved parking spot. How did I ever get so lucky?” I ask with mockery.
“Your luck changed the night you met a Labelle. We’re a special breed.”
Traffic stops to allow the large gathering of hockey fans to cross the street. With the sun on the downward slope for the day, the temperature has dropped some. This time I came prepared with a sweater. I’ve been out of the Oregon weather too long, and with the slightest decline in temperatures, I grow cold easier.
But this is Florida, after all, and layering heavy is just not smart.
I paired my cozy, loose maroon sweater with a white tank top, distressed jeans, and my matching maroon Converse. Walking next to the perfect image of a bad boy, scruffy jaw, leather jacket, and worn jeans, I’m more out of place beside him than in this large crowd of blue wearing fanatics.
“I’m very interested in meeting your mother,” I say. “I’d like to know how she puts up with you all.”
“Funny. She can’t wait to meet you too.”
“Sounds like your dad could be extending the truth,” I reply with an edge, worried. Originally, I laughed at Earl’s matchmaking jokes. Was I about to be sandwiched with a mom and dad that believed I could be swayed to their son’s charm? Because I can’t. No matter how much the taste of Brooks’s lips lingers, I will not be swayed.
“That’s a given. She knows better than to believe everything he says.” Cam leads me through a VIP entrance and up an escalator to the second floor. Already I can tell these seats will be nothing like the ones I sat in the only other time I came to a game.
The carpeted halls hollow out our footsteps. Cam walks with an attention-grabbing swagger, turning the heads of every woman who passes by. On purpose, I slow my gait by a step.
“What are you doing back there?” Cam asks, noticing right away how I distanced myself from him.
“Don’t want to interfere with your single status by walking so close,” I reply, point made when a duo of couture wearing ladies give me the stink-eye.
He watches me, waiting for the crack of a smile, a burst of “just kidding,” for me to fling myself on him, I don’t know, but I try smiling. Try. Keyword.
“C’mere.” Cam pulls me by the arm. “You’re my date for the night. Let’s make all the girls and boys jealous.”
Laughing, I tip my head back to look up at him. Funny how being up close—under his arm, specifically—doesn’t feel uncomfortable. Of course, I find Cam very attractive, but I don’t have the somersaults in my belly or the urge to wrap myself around him like a koala on a tree. “If I’ve picked up on your dad’s matchmaking behavior at all, us arriving together will cause a scene.”
“Are you kidding,” he scoffs. “It’s going to cause wedding bells.”
“Sorry to let you down, Cam, but I don’t ever plan on getting married.”
“Damn. You and my brother may be perfect for each other after all.”
Cue embarrassing moment: I trip over my own feet.
He helps me relearn to walk, laughing. “I can see the appeal. You’re adorable.”
“Brooks thinks I’m adorable?” Disappointment sets in the lines on my face.
“Yeah,” he replies, like it’s something so obvious and appropriate. His speech lags when he catches my expression. “Isn’t that a good thing?”
“Women don’t really want to be found adorable by a man who is way hotter than her.”
“One, you are way hotter than my brother,” he says with a stern gleam. “Two, a man should find his woman appealing in every sense of the word. Adorably sexy, adorably frightening, adorably a pain in his ass.”
Well, when he puts it that way…
“I am not Brooks’s woman.”
“Yeah, I told him that too. Shutting the door in his face after he kissed you should have been obvious.”
“He told you?” I ask, incredulous.
“Your secret is safe with me,” he whispers, stopping in front a large door and swinging it wide open. “Mom, Dad, your favorite son is here!”
Through the front facing suite, the bright, white rink sits straight ahead. I assumed we’d be sitting in seats similar to the last time I came, but this is the opposite. There’s a sidebar filled with trays of hot food, platters of fruit, and stacks of desserts. Two large TV’s are mounted on each side of the room. There’s a lounge area in the center and a couple rows of cushioned seats that face outward.
It’s closed off, more intimate, and if this is easily available, the suites are the only way I will come to these games from now on.
“Sourpuss,” Earl calls to me.
I walk further into the room, greeting him as he envelopes me in a hug.
“Hope you’ve been keeping up on hockey. I’m gonna quiz you later,” he wags a finger with a cheerful smile.
“You’ll likely be disappointed then,” I quip.
I’ve been keeping up with the Fury, but understanding the game was a whole other dilemma. The first part of the matter was me keeping up with the team for one reason and one reason only.
“Don’t worry, Jo, I’ve been forced to be involved with the damn sport from the moment I had my three boys.” A lovely woman walks up beside Earl. She has short brown hair with a round face and warm smile. “I came tonight just for you. That way you won’t feel pressured being nice to the old geezer again.”
“She also came to be nosy,” Cam muffles in my ear, bending my way like it’s a big secret that no one
is hiding. Then his kisses her on the cheek. “Didn’t you, Mom?”
“Okay, fine, yes, but only because Earl wouldn’t stop talking about you that first night—teaching you hockey, and how good you were at karaoke. Then there was that mysterious call from Brooks at Chelsea’s party. He was way too tight-lipped about that.”
“And then I told her how gorgeous you are,” Cam adds, snagging a cube of cantaloupe off the tray near him and popping it in his mouth.
“Which followed with me asking why Dad thought to match you up with Brooks.” A guy I saw in the corner talking with Chelsea when we first walked in joins our mortify-inducing conversation.
I barely know these people and they are trying to pair me up with one of their three sons like a Failure to Launch situation. I should be running away from these nutsos. Instead, I’m standing before the crazy bunch, smiling like I’m one of them.
The newcomer, such a close resemblance to Brooks it’s unsettling, has to be the third Labelle brother, Alex. With the same fascinating gray eyes as the others, Alex could most definitely pass for Brooks’s twin. They both have dark hair, such a rich, deep brown it’s almost black, and a pair of bushy eyebrows.
“Jo is sticking around,” Chelsea pipes in, intertwining our arms at the elbows. “Which means she isn’t getting with any of you. Sorry, Earl.”
“Brooks already staked his claim,” Alex adds, checking with Cam for backup.
Cam watches his brother, bobs his head my way, then turns toward the sidebar without answering, and answering all the same.
“What does that mean?” Chelsea asks me.
“You know too?” I ask Alex in a soft, appalled voice.