Page 73 of Play Along With Me
Ambroz: Enough. Anyone want to discuss our power play?
Bless Ambroz for trying to maintain some professionalism, but it's a lost cause. Once the team gets hold of personal gossip, they're like dogs with bones.
Horak: Boring, Adam! Marshall, details. How'd you meet? She know anything about hockey?
Me: Neighbor's party. And no, not really, which is refreshing.
Saunders: Love that. My wife still asks why there are three periods instead of four quarters. Ten years together.
Balcerzak: My girlfriend thinks icing is when someone hits another player with their stick. I've stopped correcting her because her version is more interesting.
Me: Audrey called defensemen "the flat stick guys" and the penalty box "timeout for adults."
Horak:??????keeper!!!
Ambroz: I give up. Send me tape on Willington's forecheck when you children are done discussing girlfriends.
Culkin: Someone's jealous because his wife is still in Finland...
Ambroz: Someone's about to get extra laps tomorrow...
The chat devolves into typical locker room banter, but I can't help but smile at how quickly the guys have embraced the idea of Audrey. It adds another layer of complexity to our fake relationship—now it's not just my parents I'm lying to, but my teammates as well.
The web gets more tangled by the hour.
Sunday arrives with perfect Boston fall weather—crisp, clear, and sunny. I arrive at the Fairmont fifteen minutes early, partly from habit (punctuality is drilled into athletes from day one) and partly to prepare mentally for what's to come.
My parents are already there, of course. My mother has never been merely "on time" to anything in her life.
"Jake!" she calls, waving enthusiastically from a prime table near the jazz trio. "Over here, honey!"
As I make my way through the elegant brunch setup—complete with the promised chocolate fountain that had so enticed Audrey—I notice my mother has already arranged the seating: my father on one side of the table, two empty chairs on the other. Subtle.
"You look handsome," my mother approves as I sit down. "Did you use the new shirts I bought you?"
"Yes," I confirm, fingering the collar of the button-down that had appeared in my closet yesterday. "It fits great, thanks."
"Audrey's not with you?" she asks, glancing toward the entrance.
"She's meeting us here," I explain. "Coming straight from her apartment."
"Wonderful! I can't wait to really get to know her better. The other night was lovely but so rushed." My mother leans forward conspiratorially. "I have so many questions."
"Mom, please don't interrogate her," I plead. "This is supposed to be casual brunch, not a background check."
"Interrogate! As if I would! I just want to learn about the woman who's making my son so happy."
My father gives me a sympathetic look over his menu. "I'll do my best to run interference, son, but you know how she gets."
"I'm sitting right here, Robert," my mother huffs. "And I'm perfectly capable of having a normal conversation without—oh! Is that her? Oh my goodness, she is stunning!"
I turn to see Audrey entering the restaurant, and my breath catches slightly. She's wearing a simple sundress with a light cardigan, her hair loose around her shoulders. She looks... beautiful. Not in the polished, Instagram-perfect way that Jessica always did, but in a warm, approachable way that somehow fits her personality perfectly.
Our eyes meet across the room, and she gives me a small wave and an exaggerated "help me" expression that makes me laugh despite my nerves. As she approaches our table, I stand automatically.
"Hi," she says, slightly breathless. "Sorry if I'm late. I got distracted by the chocolate fountain on the way in. It's everything I dreamed it would be."
"You're right on time, dear!" my mother exclaims, standing to embrace Audrey like a long-lost daughter rather than someone she met yesterday. "And you look absolutely beautiful. Doesn't she look beautiful, Jake?"
