Page 51 of Play Along With Me
She shrugs, a slight blush coloring her cheeks. "Sometimes. My roommate is from Rhode Island, so she's a Saints fan. We occasionally catch games on her days off."
The thought of Jessica watching me play from afar is... confusing. We didn't exactly part on speaking terms. Our last conversation involved her telling me that long-distance never works and that we wanted different things in life. I spent the next year trying to forget her.
"That's... thoughtful," I manage.
"I was always your biggest fan," she says with a small smile. "That hasn't changed, even if other things did."
My parents exchange meaningful glances that they probably think are subtle. My father winks at me. Actually winks. I resist the urge to slide under the table.
"Speaking of fans," my mom says, somehow making the transition sound natural when it's anything but, "Jake has tickets to tomorrow's game. Jessica, you should join us!"
"Mom, I didn't—" I start, but Jessica interrupts.
"I'd love to come to the game," she says with a smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes. "It's been ages since I've seen you play in person. Not since college."
My stomach drops. This is rapidly spiraling out of control. "But don't you have work? Hospital stuff? Surgeries to perform?" I'm grasping at straws.
"Actually, tomorrow's my first day off in two weeks," Jessica says. "Perfect timing."
"Perfect!" my mom echoes, clapping her hands together like a child who just got exactly what she wanted for Christmas. "We'll all go together! Jake's first home game as a Saint!"
"Well, I've already given away my comp tickets," I try, searching for any excuse. "And the game's probably sold out by now..."
"Oh, don't worry about that," my dad says, waving away my concern. "I already bought three tickets this morning. Section 112, just behind the bench. We can see all your water bottle passes up close."
They've thought of everything. Of course they have. This is clearly a coordinated attack.
"Great," I manage, forcing a smile. "That's... great."
The waiter arrives with our food, and I've never been so grateful for pasta in my life. I immediately shove a forkful into my mouth to avoid having to speak further.
"So, Jessica," my mom says, picking up her fork, "tell us about your residency. Still planning to specialize in orthopedic surgery?"
"That's right," Jessica nods. "Sports medicine, specifically. Working with athletes."
My mom's eyes light up. "Like hockey players with injuries?"
"Among others," Jessica says. "But yes, hockey injuries are particularly interesting from a surgical perspective. All those knee and shoulder reconstructions."
"Jake had that shoulder surgery his sophomore year," my dad reminds her, as if she could have forgotten. "You were there for every physical therapy session."
"I remember," Jessica says softly, her eyes meeting mine briefly. "You were a terrible patient. So impatient to get back on the ice."
"Some things never change," my mom sighs. "Always pushing himself too hard. You should see him now—first one at practice, last one to leave."
"That's how you make it to the NHL," I say, slightly defensive.
"And stay there," my dad adds supportively. "Work ethic matters."
The conversation shifts to safer topics—my dad's retirement plans, my mom's book club, Jessica's horror stories from the ER. It's almost... normal. Pleasant, even, in a surreal way.
"Remember that time Jake tried to cook you dinner in the dorm?" my mom says suddenly, and we're back to awkward memory lane.
Jessica laughs. "How could I forget? The fire alarm went off, and the entire building had to evacuate."
"In the middle of February," I add, finding myself smiling despite everything. "Below zero temperatures, and everyone had to stand outside for an hour while they made sure the building wasn't going to burn down."
"You were so determined to make that risotto," Jessica recalls. "Even though you'd never cooked anything more complicated than ramen before."
