Page 146 of My Merry Mistake
We find our seats in the arena, and I put myself between Poppy and Eloise and try to pretend I’m not searching the ice for a glimpse of Finn—the real reason I agreed to come to this game. As if seeing him will be enough.
Can I microdose a person?
The day after the kiss, I woke up full of regret, not because we kissed but because I pushed him away. It’s been two full days of replaying it, and every time I get to the second I told him to go, my stomach wrenches.
I screwed up.
But I can’t figure out how to fix it. What would I even say?
I screwed up. I’m sorry. That was the best kiss of my life, and it scared me. Did you still want that chance because?—
Some of the women who came to the market file into the row behind us while Monica takes a seat on the other side of Poppy. We all say our hellos, and I listen as the conversation turns to kids and husbands and things that don’t involve me. I try to pay attention because I need the distraction, but it’s hard.
After a few minutes, Eloise shoots me a look. “Are you okay? You seem tense. I mean, more than usual.”
I fold my hands and watch as the Comets take the ice for their warm-up. “I’m just trying to figure things out now that I’m back,” I say, which isn’t a lie but also not the whole truth. “It’s hard not to fall right back into the same schedule.”
Poppy squeezes my arm. “I like that you’re lightening your load. Sometimes it feels like you think you have to conquer the world instead of just, you know, living in it.”
I study the players on the ice, searching for Finn’s number—twenty-two. Most of the guys are out there hamming it up with the fans, exactly the kind of thing he’d want to be doing.
So where is he?
Dallas throws a puck up in the air and catches it on the end of his stick. Then he skates to the other end of the ice, serving the puck like it’s on a platter to a kid holding a big sign that says, “Can I get a puck, Burke?” The kid takes the puck and holds it over his head, a huge grin on his face. Dallas smiles as he starts back down the ice for some pregame drills.
I squint, scanning the area around the ice, still searching for Finn.
“For someone who hates hockey, you sure are engrossed,” Eloise says. “They’re not even playing yet.”
“What else am I supposed to look at?” I keep my tone light, but I feel caught. I don’t want to be teased about this—it feelsmonumental to me—but they don’t know anything about how I feel about Finn and my conflicted emotions. I haven’t told them.
Why?
Just tell them you’re happy. Tell Finn you’re happy. Tell Finn he makes you happy.
Why is that so hard?
Because I’m supposed to be independent? Because I’m supposed to take care of myself?
Is that it—am I afraid of needing someone else?
I go still.
I’m afraid of needing someone else.
I’m afraid of needing someone who might change his mind about me. Someone who might leave. I’ve always been good on my own—why is Finn messing with that now?
The swirl of thoughts and emotions pinballing around my brain make me feel fidgety from the inside out. I hate when things aren’t cut and dry. I hate that none of this makes sense.
Why don’t emotions make sense?!
My knee bounces as I watch the guys start to file into the tunnel, a bunch of pucks still on the ice until Dallas shoots them all into the goal. Gray is all business and skates off without looking back, followed by Crosby, Krush, and Kemp, who all wave at the fans as they go.
Jericho and Junior each take off in opposite directions, do one last lap around the ice, meet in the middle in some sort of strange, testosterone-fueled ritual, and then the ice is clear.
“Raya, since we’re all friends here—” Kari leans forward, but it’s clear whatever she’s about to say is not meant just for me. “Can we ask what’s going on with you and Finn?”
There’s a collective“Ohhhh, and my face lights on fire.
