Page 76 of Snowballed

The airport is slammed with Christmas visitors. We go over to international arrivals and wait.

Chi sees him first. “Hey! Hotshot NHL rookie! Over here,” she yells and waves both arms.

Adam grins as he makes his way over to us. People stare at him, but nobody seems to know who he is. Angelenos are not the biggest hockey fans.

“Hey, guys,” Adam says.

“Group hug,” Chi orders, and we hug awkwardly.

“Thanks for the shout out, squirt.” Adam yanks down the brim of Chi’s ball cap; she only laughs and readjusts it.

“I thought you’d be used to people recognizing you. Doesn’t everyone in Vancouver love their new rookie?” Chi asks.

“Someone recognized me at the airport when I got there for rookie camp—before I’d even made the team. It’s cuckoo there,” he admits.

“Don’t worry, you’re just another nobody here,” Chi assures him as we walk to the car. “You’re not even the most famous person in our house yet.”

Adam whistles at the SUV. “Did Dad get a new car?”

“No, it’s Mom’s.” It’s a red Alfa Romeo Stelvio, and it is pretty sweet. I open the hatch, and Adam slings his large suitcase in.

“That’s a lot of luggage for two days,” I say.

Adam flushes. “I’m having a little trouble with laundry, so I’m hoping Stella can fix me up.”

Chi snorts. “By fix you up, do you mean teach you how to operate a washing machine? What did you do last year at school?”

“My girlfriend did my laundry,” Adam says.

“Jesus, you’re a brat,” Chi says.

Adam calls shotgun and sits beside me as we head home. After making up with Dad, my driving privileges have been reinstated.

“I haven’t heard from you much,” he says. “Have you had a chance to watch that interview I sent you last week?”

“Oh, sorry. I’ve been busy,” I reply.

“Busy squeezing tits,” Chi pipes up.

“Oh yeah. I heard you have a new girlfriend,” Adam says.

“Chi. Zip it.” I turn to Adam. “She’s talking about the fact that I now know how to milk goats.”

“Goats? I didn’t even know they had milk. What a weird skill. Does it help with hockey?” That’s the bottom line at our house—we could get away with anything if we could prove it helped with hockey. Even breaking my mother’s Italian glass lamp while playing mini-sticks.

“Now that you mention it, I think my wrists are stronger.” I flex one wrist and realize that my hand strength has improved.

When we get home, Bachan is waiting to greet Adam with snacks. I can hear him sweet-talking Stella into laundry detail. Knowing Adam, he’s probably been buying new underwear for months.

With a guilty start, I remember the video that Adam mentioned. If I’m being completely honest—which seems to be my default this holiday—I’ve been envious of my little brother. But now that I’ve settled things with my father, that whole jealousy thing has receded. Maybe it wasn’t Adam making the NHL that bothered me, but the fact that he made our dad so happy. Now that I know Dad supports me too, I’m not bothered.

I pull out my phone and find the video. It’s an interview with some Vancouver reporter. Softball questions about how Adam felt when he found out he had made the team for real (stunned and thrilled) and how he likes living in Vancouver (loves it, the city is beautiful, and the fans are great.) PR gurus have gotten to my little bro and pumped him full of clichés. Adam is a goof and a partyer, but right now he sounds like an NHL clone. But when I watch his face, there’s still a spark about him, like he’s half-winking at the camera.

“Adam, your father is legendary NHL defenseman, Gary Goodwin. Has he been a big influence on you and your hockey career?”

“Absolutely. I wouldn’t be here without my father. He’s taught me so much about the game, and all the work that it takes to get to play at this level.” Adam grins. “He also taught me not to bring the puck into the zone with my head down.”

The interviewer chuckles. “Many an NHL player learned that from Gary the hard way.”

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