Page 52 of Play Along With Me
"I wanted to impress you," I admit. "Backfired spectacularly."
"It was sweet," she says, her expression softening. "You were always trying so hard to make everything perfect."
There's a weight to her words that feels like more than just reminiscing about burnt risotto. A layer of meaning that my parents, thankfully, seem to miss as they launch into their own story about cooking disasters.
After dinner, as we wait for the check, Jessica excuses herself to the restroom. The moment she's out of earshot, I turn to my parents.
"What were you thinking?" I hiss. "Ambushing me with my ex-girlfriend?"
"We weren't ambushing," my mom defends. "We were... facilitating a reunion."
"A reunion no one asked for," I point out. "Jessica and I broke up five years ago. For good reasons."
"But you're both in Boston now," my mom argues. "Both established in your careers. The timing issues that caused your breakup are no longer relevant."
"There were more issues than just timing," I say, though I don't elaborate. My parents don't need to know about the fights, the fundamental disagreements about priorities, the growingdistance that started long before the physical distance became an issue.
"Well, I think she's still interested," my dad says confidently. "The way she looks at you—"
"Dad, please," I interrupt. "Stop. This isn't helping. And for the record, I've invited someone else to tomorrow's game."
My mom's eyes light up. "A girlfriend? Who is she? Tell me everything!"
"She's just a friend. A new friend. Who I invited because she's only been to one hockey game before."
"What's her name?" my mom presses.
I hesitate, knowing I'm opening Pandora's box. "Audrey."
"Audrey," my mom repeats, testing the name. "What does she do? Where did you meet her? Is she pretty?"
"Mom, please," I groan. "It's not like that. And even if it was, inviting my ex-girlfriend to the same game is not exactly helpful."
"I'm sure they'd get along," my mom says with complete confidence and zero evidence.
"That's not the—" I start, but stop as Jessica returns to the table.
"Everything okay?" she asks, glancing between us.
"Perfect," my mom says cheerfully. "We were just talking about tomorrow's game. Should we all meet at the arena, or...?"
"I can take an Uber," Jessica offers. "No need to coordinate."
"Nonsense," my mother dismisses. "We'll pick you up. Give me your address before we leave."
And just like that, it's settled. Tomorrow, I'll be playing—well, sitting on the bench—in my first home game as a Boston Saint, with my parents and my ex-girlfriend watching from behind the bench, while somewhere else in the arena, Audrey will be experiencing her first hockey game ever.
What could possibly go wrong?
We say our goodbyes outside the restaurant, my parents heading back to their hotel while I offer to walk Jessica to her car.
"I'm sorry about that," I tell her once we're alone. "If I had known they were planning this..."
"It's fine," she assures me. "Your mom means well. She always has."
"Still," I sigh. "It was weird. And you must have better things to do than have dinner with your ex and his overeager parents."
Jessica stops walking and turns to face me. "Actually, I asked to come."
