Page 20 of Must Love Hockey
“Ilikehockey,” I yelp. “And I’mnotgoing to an art opening.”
“It was on the calendar!”
“Yourcalendar,” I shriek. “I’m not your secretary. It’s not my job to look at the calendar every fifteen minutes to see if you’ve shifted something.”
He sighs like I’ve disappointed him. “Emily, we’re both so busy. I need you to be the kind of girlfriend who shares a calendar. We lead busy lives.”
I need you to be… I’m so tired of those words.
“But maybe I'm just not that person,” I say curtly. “Maybe you need to be the kind of boyfriend who doesn’t run our relationship like it’s another one of your spreadsheets.”
That’s my anger talking. But I feel like being his girlfriend is a role I've been auditioning for since middle school. “He’s going to be a great man, Emily,” my mother often says. “He might run the world someday.”
Right this second, I can’t even remember why that ever seemed important. I don’t want to run the world. I just want to watch some hockey.
“You’re angry,” says Captain Obvious.
“Yes, I am,” I admit.
“Then maybe we should take a break,” he says.
My mouth falls open.Oh my God. Charles is breaking up with me? Over a calendar miscommunication?
“We’ll talk tonight, when we’re calmer,” he says.
I exhale. Of course he’s not breaking up with me. “Okay, we’ll do that. I’m going to this hockey game.”
“So you’ve said. Call me before you go to bed.”
“Okay,” I clip. “Goodbye.”
He disconnects.
I rejoin the security line. There’s still an hour before the puck drops, because I wanted to get here in time to scout out a meatless meal and to watch warmups.
But that also means the organization might be able to use this extra ticket. So once I’m inside, I find the customer-service window, and I hand it over to the woman behind the desk. “James—the equipment tech—gifted me two tickets. But I only need one.”
A blonde woman standing behind the desk clerk perks up when I say this. She leans over and takes the ticket from the clerk. “Ooh! I could use this, Marilyn, if you don’t mind.”
Marilyn shrugs.
“And—wait—you must be Emily!” the blond woman says.
“Uh, yes?” Do I know her? She does look a little familiar, although I’m not the best at remembering faces. She’s wearing a name tag that saysHeidi Jo. I’m sure I don’t know anyone by that name.
“Oh, this is awesome. Have a good game!” She grins at me.
Puzzled, I thank her and head for the turnstiles.
* * *
Armed with a falafel and a beer, I make my way to row D. I’m so close to the ice that I can see every player’s expression during warmups.
This is amazing. I can’t believe Charles didn’t want to come. I leave the aisle seat empty so that whoever arrives won’t have to climb over me.
My seat is right above the Bruisers’ bench, and I’m so close to the action that I’ll be able to see the sweat on the players’ faces.
Just before the game begins, the starters line up for the anthem. The rest of the team files into place on the bench, including staff.
