Page 42 of Hockey Bois
Nick groaned even before turning to look at the TV.
Pens goal.
“Boo!” Nick said loudly over Brady’s cheer. When Brady started thumping the table to drown him out, Nick cupped his hands over his mouth and continued to boo. “Boo, Pens. Boooo!”
Brady threw a fry at him. Nick picked it up off the table and ate it in defiance; Brady laughed and threw another one.
All in all, it was a good night.
Even if Nick spent the days afterward wondering if he could count it as a date… and if a date with Brady Derek Jensen would actually be all that much different.
*
“Put your bags in your room!” Nick’s mom called from the general direction of the kitchen. It was bold of her to assume he’d come home for Thanksgiving with the intention of staying the night. He had, partly because he knew he’d be tricked into staying anyway, but still.
Nick kicked the front door shut behind him and dumped his bags by the front closet. He would get them to his old bedroom eventually, maybe even before his mom had to nag him about it. Right now, though, he had more important things to do.
On the front table there were three jars, each with a label taped on.
Air Hockey.
Foosball.
Egyptian Ratscrew.
It was a Duffy-Porter family tradition to have games at any family gathering, and Thanksgiving was no exception. What better way to show your love and support of family than by tearing them apart in not-so-friendly competition?
His parents were hosting dinner, which meant they’d see a return of the battered air hockey and foosball tables in the basement, ones that had been well-loved during Nick’s childhood but largely abandoned after he’d gone to college. It also meant Nick stood a chance of winning those games, since they werehistables. He knew the weird dents and grooves on the surfaces better than anyone.
It was also family tradition to include a card game; when either of his uncles hosted, that usually meant poker or gin rummy. No such luck for his “adult” family members this year. His motherlivedfor trolling her older brothers, so she only picked childish, offbeat games that would piss them off. The last time they’d hosted (or was it the time before that?), there’d been a two-hour long Go Fish tournament. Nick hadn’t won, not by a long shot, but he’d stayed to heckle and cheer on the rest of his family until Grandma Pauline was finally declared winner.
He looked forward to the same shitshow this year for Egyptian Ratscrew. He wondered if there was a pool for who’d walk away with a broken hand after that one.
There were an assortment of pens and colored flashcards for people to write their names and enter themselves into one (or all three) of the tournaments. There were a few folded-up papers in each jar already, even though he was fairly certain only his parents were here. Nick added his own to all three.
“Mom?” he called. “Dad? Anything I can help with?”
“Keep me company while I make the stuffing?” his mom suggested as he came into the kitchen.
“I can’t peel potatoes or something?” Without waiting for permission, he grabbed the pile of potatoes and set to work.
“No offense, Nick, but you’re terrible at cooking.”
“It’speeling, Mom. I can peel. I would also like to think of myself as a mediocre cook. I’ll have you know I’ve only set off my smoke detector five times.”
“Well, I’ll be impressed if you can do it while peeling.”
It was another layer of tradition that eased them into the holiday—Nick insisting he could help, his mom saying it wasn’t his job since he was technically a guest, the eventual acceptance of Nick cutting or peeling or cleaning since preparing dinner for fifteen wasn’t easy. They talked, catching up on the minutiae of each other’s lives. It seemed they only ever got the broad strokes until holidays came up, and then they overwhelmed each other with details to the point where they needed the reprieve the rest of the year provided.
“I don’t know why Aunt Chelsey cares,” Nick said. He didn’t normally get involved with the family gossip, but he knew his mom needed the outlet. “It’s Grandpa’s money.”
“And she wants him to save it so she can inherit it. Like he didn’t earn it himself from decades of hard work. Like managing a farm is easy.” She tsked his absent aunt, the loud sister-in-law who always managed to tick off the family.
“She even gonna get much?”
His mom waved a dismissive hand. “I don’t know, and I don’t like speculating since it means talking about your grandpa dying. Get that water boiling and tell me about your life.”
“Work is still both good and frustrating. I like the challenge, but the coworkers make me want to gouge my eyes out.”
