Page 54 of Her Goal
I wave, but for some reason, I don’t want to see him go.
16
LEAH
It’stime to take matters into my own hands. First, I have to air my grievances.
While Mirin and Branch have their weekly beard waxing ceremony while smudging the kitchen with sage and playing steel drums, I reply to Hudson’s last email. My weird roommates are the least of my problems.
I have to funnel this angst somewhere. Things have gotten complicated!
from:
to: Hudson Roboveitchek
date: Sept 23, 11:29?PM
subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Revenge bedtime procrastination
Dear Toad Slime,
You’re like a terrible pun. A joke told without a punchline. A wish forgotten and unfulfilled. Next time you’re in public, if the person in front of you lets the door slam inyour face, I hope it makes your nose feel like you swallowed spicy saltwater. Then, when you’re at a work party, you have an allergic reaction and break out into hives. Ooh. Even better. I hope the hives don’t come until you’re in full goalie gear, so that way you can’t scratch them.
Thankfully, I didn’t have to go to the doctor, but I had urgent care on speed dial while I watched your game.
You stink.
Actually, I bet you literally stink in all that gear and have such bad breath you scare away pretty ladies and children. Dogs too. Maybe someday I’ll reveal my identity to you. In the meantime, just know that there’s someone out there wishing you ill.
Until then, have a miserable day!
And good luck figuring out who I am, sucker!
Coldest regards,
Your Secret Adversary
I click sendwhen I realize I changed the sign-off line. Whoops. Though I suppose it doesn’t matter. There’s no way for him to figure out my identity.
That night, sleep is an elusive thing while Mirin and Branch play Jenga with their friends—instead of wood blocks, they’re using their actual friends—Lloyd snores like a chop saw that repeatedly hits a knot in the wood, and Julius Cheeser’s kingdom wages a battle against an envoy of termites.
If I were getting married, which I’m not, I would entertain moving home for a while to save money and make planning easier.
Also, to sleep a little more, not that I’m complaining. I wanted my independence and I got it, by Jove! Who’s Jove, anyway? I’m about to look it up online when I get distracted by a lively social media debate about pizza toppings. It’s midnight, munchy hour, after all. The best and worst two are pineapple and anchovies.
The next day, I practically crawl into Cobbiton on fumes for Gracie’s weekly Tuesday morning coffee and tea tasting with a BYOB policy. As in bring your own baked goods, which include but are not limited to pastries, muffins, and scones. Much like my family, the girls bring the treats. Whit has cookies, Jess has Bundt cakes, Cara brought oatmeal raisin bars, and Ella made muffins that resemble, dare I say, hockey pucks.
Everyone in town is invited, but mostly, it’s a version of our book club, minus the paperbacks and ebooks. Occasionally, Sophia Snodgrass-Schuster shows up when the gossip around town is especially juicy.
I anticipate her rolling through the door any moment.
When we settle in on the assortment of cozy chairs and at the bistro tables, Gracie asks, “So, how are figure skating lessons going?”
I glance around, hoping none of the local nosy nellies are hiding behind a bookshelf.
“It’s silly because obviously Hudson already knows how to skate.”
Heidi raises and lowers her eyebrows. “Do elaborate.”
