Page 35 of The New Guy
I’d never expected to get married. Eddie had shocked me by getting down on one knee by the fire pit in his backyard one night after Jordyn was asleep in her toddler bed. Even when he asked “will you marry me?” I almost demanded that he repeat the question.
Nobody—except maybe my sister—had ever loved me the way Eddie did, warts and all. My parents spent my entire childhood trying to mold me into someone like my father—a driven man without a sense of humor. They told me I lacked focus. That I lacked ambition. That I was too easily distracted. And when I came out to them at eighteen, it only got worse. It was like a confirmation of their worst fears.
Like I was some kind of alien they’d been sent by mistake.
But Eddie chose me. He looked at this messy, distracted, fun-loving guy I’d become and said—that’s the one for me. He called me “wild-hearted” instead of distracted. He called me “energetic” instead of unfocused. “I love your creativity. You are never boring,” he’d said.
Eddie, on the other hand, was all the things my parents wanted in a son. He was focused and quiet and rational. He was a doctor, for fuck’s sake. But he was also the kindest man I’d ever met. He was spontaneous, too, once he trusted you.
He was basically a perfect human, although my parents never met him. They didn’t approve of me, my sexuality or my marriage. They didn’t attend our small wedding at a ski resort in the White Mountains.
Eddie’s parents did, though, even if they didn’t approve of me. Eustace never accused me to my face of being a gold-digger. But shedidtell me that I was too young for Eddie. And that my post-grad program in athletic training was frivolous.
Nothing could take away my happiness, though. We had a fun wedding weekend, with everyone skiing—including Jordyn. She was our ring bearer at our ski-lodge ceremony. At three years old, she made it down the aisle without losing our rings, and then spent the rest of the ceremony perched on Eddie’s hip.
When the officiant had said, “you may kiss your husband,” Eddie had kissed me, and then Jordyn had cried out “me too!” to a round of laughter. In our wedding album, there’s a photo of Eddie and me kissing either side of her round face.
After Eddie’s death, I still wore my ring. I took it off only to do dishes, or to shower. There were exactly two places I was willing to put it down—the kitchen windowsill, and the medicine cabinet.
But then, during the difficult winter after Eddie’s death, I took Jordyn skiing at the same resort where we were married. I guess my hands got cold, and the ring slipped off one of the dozens of times that I took off my gloves to help five-year-old Jordyn with her gear.
When I got home that night, it was just gone. I called the resort, frantic, and gave them a complete description, down to the inscription inside the band. They didn’t find it. I went back myself the following week and looked around, by the lifts, but no such luck.
It was just gone. Like my husband.
New Hampshire gave me Eddie, and then it took him away again. He chose me, and then he left me, and that’s just the way it is.
Life isn’t fair. The best you can do is enjoy it while it lasts.
I take a deep breath of the salty Florida air. And I try to do just that.
TWELVE
Gavin
“Ice time!”Jimbo says as he refills the last of a dozen water bottles and sets it into the caddy. “You need anything last minute?”
“Don’t think so. But thanks.” The day has been a ten-hour blur, and we’re just getting started.
Jimbo and I arrived at the arena in the morning to set up. Then the players arrived for their morning skate, which meant that I taped elbows, knees, shoulders and ankles. I massaged stiff muscles and handed out ice packs.
Then, after lunch, Jimbo and I headed back to the arena to set up for the second wave. Before gearing up, players do a lot of stretching out and body-activating exercises. So I ran laps between the trainer’s table and the stretching mats. I re-taped every single elbow, knee, shoulder and ankle that I’d seen earlier in the day.
Then, when the athletes moved into the dressing room to put on their skates, I checked and rechecked all my gear for the game. I’ve prepped several different kinds of ice packs. I’ve got pain relievers and glucose tabs and various antibiotic creams and sprays. I’ve got multiple kinds of tape, bandages, gauze and gloves.
I’ve given out protein bars in four different flavors, energy drinks and gallons of water. My table is ready for intermission adjustments. My on-bench bag is packed.
“Let’s go!” Jimbo says, shouldering a dozen hockey sticks. “Best seats in the house, man. Metaphorically speaking. We can’t actually sit down.”
I’m probably too nervous to sit down anyway. I grab my emergency kit and follow him through the dressing room, where the last of the players are filing out into the tunnel beyond.
That’s when the roar of the crowd hits us. Man, that isloud. And when we reach the end of the tunnel, I look up at the rows of seats. And up, and up. I’ve been to rock concerts with smaller crowds.
So this is what they mean by the big leagues.
“This way,” Jimbo says as he steps onto the freshly resurfaced ice.
I follow him. And even though I’m wearing special grips on my shoes, I still say a little prayer.Please, Lord, let me not fall down in front of fifteen thousand people.
