Page 125 of Hockey Halloween
She looks around the restaurant as a server makes his way to our table.
“Might as well eat,” she mumbles resignedly.
We both order the dinner special and settle into the booth.
Unexpectedly, Ligaya speaks in a serious tone. “What you said at the auditorium a few days ago, it was really nice. One of my students broke his leg in a skateboarding accident so he didn’t make the cut at his local hockey team. You inspired him.”
I blink a few times, surprised that something nice is voluntarily emerging from Ligaya’s mouth.
“I’m no superstar compared to my teammates, but I’m glad someone found that story useful.”
“We always hear about the superstars, don’t we?” she states thoughtfully. “My students are bombarded with everyone’s better clothes, better house, betterlife. It’s refreshing to hear about struggles. That’s what I try to teach my drama students. It isn’t about being a star on the stage. It’s about occupying a character with all their strengths and flaws. The real story is always in the struggle.” She stops abruptly, looking embarrassed.
That’s something else I forgot about her. She’s whip-smart and thoughtful and passionate.
“You’re great with them,” I say.
The lasagna arrives and we dig in, neither of us knowing how to continue the uncharacteristic niceties yet unwilling to resume our typical barbs.
“My parents say hi,” she states, breaking the silence.
“I’ll get them Mavericks tickets, if they want.”
“Popping into the laundromat to say hi would be enough.”
“I should have come by sooner.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“Honestly? I’ve been back to do the obligatory visits to my parents but leave as soon as I can. They don’t exactly inspire the best memories.”
“I’m sorry. They haven’t changed?”
“Grayer and older but still masters of the silent treatment.” Talking about my parents is turning the food bitter. I scramble to change the subject.
“You know what I’ve ways wondered?” I begin. “How the hell did you shrink my boxers?”
She’s mid-drink and has to release a small cough before speaking. “I didn’t shrink them. I swapped them out for smaller ones.”
“God, you’re sneaky.”
We both chuckle at the memory.
At the height of our prank war, I’d stay up at night thinking of ways to get back at Ligaya. She drove me up the wall. Yet there was admiration for her cleverness, too.
And a sense of being, I don’t know,chosen.
She spent a lot of time and energy on her revenge tactics. The more elaborate the prank, the better. In a weird way, the silliness distracted me from my bleak home life after Olivia died.
“How’d you sneak in?” I ask.
How Ligaya got into my room to swap my boxers—hell, how she got into my house to mess up other things—remains a mystery.
“My mom kept your house keys as a memento of Olivia.”
My mouth falls open. Knowing why Cathy had those keys makes my eyes prickle. She took care of my sister during those last difficult months. Even when she wasn’t housekeeping, she’d drop byto tempt Olivia to eat a little something or to sit and watch television with her.
“I know it’s terrible,” Ligaya says. “My mother is so sentimental about Olivia. I should apologize.”
