Page 50 of Her Goal
“Is that real?”
When we take a break in the warm room, voices rise and fall and a swarm of people pass through the doors. As far as I knew, we had the ice to ourselves, then I see Jack, Pierre, and Liam followed closely by Ella, Cara, and Jess.
And let’s not forget the combination of my family, including Chuck, Valentina, cousins Benny, Lincoln, and Logan, along with several aunties, and uncles Isaac and Anthony.
“There’s our girl!” Dad cries as if he’s never seen me come off the ice after a big competition.
“What are you all doing here?”
“Well, hello to you, too.” Abuela stumps in with her cane alongside Grandma Dolly, Jess’s grandmother. She comes to most games and, as part of the Deaf community, has taught me a few signs, including the one forCongratulations, which I receive now, followed by several more.
Jess interprets. “They say, what do a couple of old broads need to do around here to see some abs?”
I swallow thickly. “He’s wearing a shirt.”
“Do you want me to take it off?” Hudson asks with a smirk.
“No!” I shout, rubbing my temples.
Valentina says, “We’re babysitting and thought the boys might like to check out the ice.”
Abuela mutters, “And the men on the ice.”
I gaze at the ceiling. “Why is this my life?”
Hudson juts his elbow at me. “Come on, let’s give them a show.”
“You’re keeping your clothing on.”
“I mean we’ll show them what you taught me today. I’ll be the hockey player and you be the goal.”
“You are the hockey player. Wait. What? You want me to pretend to be the goal?”
“I’ll skate around you.”
“But I’m the figure skater.”
His eyebrows bob. “So you want to show ‘em what you’re made of?”
“More like show off,” Chuck mutters.
“I’d like to see you lace up,” I challenge my brother.
Uncle Anthony says, “For a guy who’s employed by one of the top hockey players in the league and whose sister made the figure skating world championship, I’ve never seen Chuckie in skates.”
“I still say you were better than that girl from Belarus—or was it Bulgaria?” Uncle Isaac says.
Valentina taps the air with her forefinger. “He has a point.”
And my parents did not when they claimed they wanted Hudson and me to get married because they miss kids, considering they’re surrounded by children of all sizes—and ages.
Hudson is stripped down to a T-shirt and beckons me toward center ice. Under the cotton, his muscles form a striking silhouette. My throat bobs on a swallow. The grannies are goading us now. The competitor in me cannot resist as the refrain from the song, “Anything You Can Do,” originally performed by Ethel Merman and Ray Middleton, choruses in my ears.
I didn’t get a lesson plan from Badaszek and while my roommates were having a snoring contest last night, I thought about what figure skating elements could help a netminder improve, so we worked on precision movements rather than floppy puppy dog motions.
Back out here with a purpose, soon, my frustration fades and it’s just the slick surface below us, Hudson, and me. I try toexplain weight distribution across the blades of his skates when that’s really something you have to feel, but he’s just not getting it.
“When you think of hockey, what two words come to mind?” I ask.
