Page 47 of A Little Too Forward

I’m in love with him.

Which is a disaster. Potentially.

“You are being so pathetic,” my sister tells me from across the room. She’s sitting on a kitchen chair, having refused to sit beside my smelly, sad ass. Her words, not mine.

“You know,” I say between piles of popcorn, “for someone who came over to watch the pre-screening of my documentary, you’re awfully judgy. This is my moment in the spotlight.”

“Oh honey,” she mocks. “That’s so sad. This is you in the spotlight? Not a good look. Maybe you need to rethink a few things. Like wardrobe.” She pauses and watches in horror, as popcorn spills out of my mouth and down my sweatshirt. I pick the fallen pieces up and pop them back in my mouth. “And hygiene.”

“Whatever. I’m going through something, okay? You wouldn’t understand.”

“Pa-lease,” she pops out, shaking her head. “As if I haven’t experienced heartbreak before. You think Travis and I just magically got together and everything was just peachy? Baby sis, you are delusional. Every relationship has its own unique ebb and flow. You’ve just hit a rough patch.”

I snort, seriously doubting that this is a rough patch.

“I was basically told that I can either have a career in sports reporting but not a relationship with the man I love or be with the man I love but not be taken seriously ever again as a sports reporter.”

“That’s not what she said.”

“It is what she said!” I cry, popcorn flying everywhere when I fling my hands up. “Bruna Rose is one of the most influential sports reporters of our time. And she’s one of only a handful of women who have made it to prime time and run a broadcasting network. She’s what I have always aspired to be. What I always wanted to be.” My voice is quiet at the end.

“And now? Do you still want that?”

I don’t know how to answer that. The first thing that comes to mind is no.

“From what I know,” Suzanne continues, “and this is only what I’ve read in the tabloids. Bruna Rose is all the things you say she is. She’s successful and powerful. She has a seat at the table that’s mostly dominated by men. Add to that she’s rich and dresses to perfection.” My sister gives a chef’s kiss to the air, and I shake my head at her dramatics. “But I also know she’s never been in a long-term relationship. Never been married or has any extended family. Hell, she’s rich as sin and doesn’t even have a small dog to take around with her everywhere. How insane is that?”

“Pretty insane,” I agree.

“Yet even with all that stuff, do you think she’s happy?”

It’s a fair question but one I can’t answer. It does make me think about what I want my life to look like years from now. I do want to achieve all the things that Bruna has led the way on, but I also want to break barriers on my own too.

The motto of keeping professional and personal lives separate does make sense. But maybe for me, the motto adapts…changes. Max has been a part of both sides of my life for a decade now. Even if we didn’t get together, he’d still be my friend. My best friend.

Maybe there is a possibility of having it all. I’d just have to be brave enough to try. That would be the first barrier I’d break through.

I just need more time to think about what I want to do next.

“Look. The livestream is starting.” I point to my laptop. Suzanne reluctantly comes to sit beside me, wedging a blanket between us.

I throw a handful of popcorn at her, and she shrieks like she’s been shot. The laugh that comes out of me is demonic and so joyful.

“You’re a turd,” she tells me, yanking popcorn out of her hair.

“You’re a turd,” I parrot back to her. Thus begins our elbow-nudging war until loud intro music begins to play. My heart pounds in my chest, nerves making me feel a little sick.

The first time my face pops up onscreen to introduce the docuseries, Suzanne and I squeal. It’s so surreal to see your face on TV. The show has been expertly edited, making all the days we were together and all the get-to-know-you-questions blend in a beautiful flow of engaging information. There are a couple of parts I wasn’t a part of—like his gym routine and practice on the ice—but everything else I smile at hearing again.

Max looks good. So good through the entire documentary. I also didn’t realize, even in the beginning, how often Max was looking at me when I was unaware.

Then we get to a part near the end that has me confused. Max is sitting on the couch, in the same outfit he was in on our last day of filming, but he’s talking to someone else.

“I think by now, fans and viewers are going to know how much I love hockey and some of the reasons why. The sport is in my blood. It’s been my passion and my life’s goal since I was young enough to know you could play hockey for a living. But I think one thing that was missed in the documentary, and it’s my fault for not bringing it up sooner, is that if it weren’t for one very important person in my life, I might have given it up entirely.”

I’m on the edge of the sofa, utterly confused by this line of questioning. What the hell is happening?

“Did you know about this?” Suzanne asks, eyeing me.

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