Page 115 of One Good Puck
“Mom, why are you crying? I thought you’d be happy,” Emma says, confused.
“I am happy, honey. Sometimes when I’m really, really happy, I cry,” Abby says.
I notice Xander’s mom and Del’s mom are wiping at their eyes. So is Sam’s sister.
“You made all the moms happy-cry, Emma,” Sophie says.
“I wrote stuff down for you too, Gavin,” Emma says brightly. She grabs her paper and starts reading again. “I’m thankful for Gavin and his really cool house that he let me and my mom live in. Thank you for letting me use your really awesome pool.”
Around the table, everyone laughs softly.
“Thank you for being so nice to us. Thank you for having girl dinner with me. Thank you for hanging out with me so much. You are a really cool guy. And my mom likes you a lot.”
Emotion bubbles up inside of me at Emma’s adorable and heartfelt words.
She steps over and hugs me. I wrap my arms around her, my eyes misty.
“You’re welcome, kiddo,” I say softly.
She runs back over to the kids’ table.
Abby dabs at her face. “Sorry to get emotional, everyone,” she says.
“Oh, honey. Don’t be sorry,” Del’s mom says. “Every time my kids would write me a sweet message in a card when they were little, I’d fall apart.”
“Me too,” Xander’s mom says. “It’s impossible not to cry when your baby does something like that for you.”
Abby chuckles. “So true.”
Sam’s sister dabs at her eyes with a napkin. “The first time the twins were old enough to write me a Mother’s Day card, I sobbed.”
Her husband wraps his arm around her while everyone chuckles and nods along, then we all dig into dinner.
After a minute, Abby turns to me. “I’m thankful for you, Gavin,” she says softly.
I smile at her and reach down and give her hand a squeeze, my heart feeling full in a way it hasn’t in a long time.
Chapter 45
Abby
Nerves crackle in my tummy as I carry my gift for Gavin downstairs. I walk up to him as he finishes wiping down the kitchen counter.
Everyone left to go home an hour ago. Gavin and I cleaned up the kitchen, and then I got Emma ready for bed.
When he looks up and sees me, he smiles.
“This is for you,” I say. I set the slim gift-wrapped box on the marble countertop.
He washes his hands, unties the ribbon wrapped around the box, and then opens the top flap.
When he sees what’s inside, his smile fades, and his eyes widen the slightest bit. His mouth is a straight line as he stares at the framed artwork I’ve made for him.
It’s an oil pastel work of that framed photo of him holding Sophie when she was a toddler, right after his team won the Stanley Cup.
I hold my breath, my nerves going haywire at the unreadable expression on his face. The longer he’s quiet, the more I start to doubt myself.
Maybe he thinks it’s weird that I turned his favorite photo of him and his daughter into art.
