Page 43 of Must Love Hockey
“Right. This means I should be wearing my NYU garb to games.”
“No, baby. This means something bigger than that. Two people, each with a closet full of purple clothing. It’sdestiny.”
She giggles. “Must love purple. And hockey.”
“I’d put hockey first, but sure.” She laughs again, and the sound of it melts me so much that I make a truly wild offer. And I hope I won’t regret this. “Emily, what if you came over for Sunday dinner this weekend? We have it at two in the afternoon.”
“With your family?”
“Yeah, and I’m honestly a little terrified to have you meet them. But I really want to see you. The food is really good, too. Just saying.”
She’s quiet for a second. “You want me to meet your family.”
“My aunts and cousins,” I clarify. “It doesn’t have to be a huge big deal.” I’m lying out of my ass right now because my auntwilltry to make a big deal out of it. But that’s on her. That woman loves drama.
“But I’m not an easy guest,” she says slowly. “I don’t want to offend anyone if I just eat the salad.”
“Well, Sunday dinner has, like, a dozen dishes on the table. There will be pastas and vegetables and sides of all kinds. And, sure, a ham or something. But I’ll just tell Aunt Luna that you don’t eat red meat and she won’t bat an eye. Swear to God.”
“Okay,” she says after a beat. “I’d love to come. What can I bring?”
“Just your pretty face,” I say, my voice pure gravel, because I’m thinking about kissing her. “I’ll pick you up at one thirty?”
“I’ll walk over myself,” she says. “And I’ll see you on Sunday.”
I tell her that I’ll be counting the minutes, and we sign off.
And now I have to tell Aunt Luna that I’m bringing a guest on Sunday.
She’s going to flip out.
* * *
Emily
I told myself that it was too soon to date anyone. Because it is.
Yet here I am, climbing the steps up to the front porch of James’s auntie’s three-story home, carrying a steamer basket full of three dozen chicken and cabbage dumplings that my mother and I made.
These dumplings are my absolute favorite thing in the world, and we hadn’t made a batch in quite a long time.
But last night I’d confessed that I was going to a midday meal where I would meet the extended family of the man I’d just begun dating.
My mother’s mouth had opened and closed several times in quick succession. “Where does he live?” she’d finally asked.
I’d seen the question for what it was—an attempt to figure out what sort of guy James is without seeming to pry. But neighborhoods can be very telling. Bensonhurst, for example, is home to a Chinese population along with quite a few Jews and Russians.
“He lives just over in Midwood. It’s a big Italian family.”
“Mmm,” she’d said in another shocking display of discretion.
I’d almost laughed. “He’s twenty-three years old, and he has a really neat job with the Brooklyn Bruisers hockey team. Which means he’s on the road with them a lot of the time, and since I have to work tonight, Sunday afternoon is the only time this week I can see him.”
“Hockey?” my mother had said, a pained expression on her face. “Don’t they fight?”
“Hedoesn’t, Mom. He’s very sweet. With lovely manners. You might even like him.”
She’d pursed her lips, and I’d braced myself for another lecture about Charles. “Is he a nice boy?” she’d asked.
