Page 67 of Slap Shot Surprise
“I saw the replay.” Xander set my plate on the island. “Dude can shoot, I’ll say that for him.”
Dakota began to fuss again, her little face wrinkling up in fury. “Guess I’m not the only one who’s hungry.”
“I’ll take her.” Xander reached for his daughter and carefully placed her over his shoulder. She looked so tiny against his massive chest, his wide hand spanning her flannel-wrapped bum. The look on his face was pure adoration as he kissed her head and patted her. “Let’s change your diaper, huh? And then I’ll take you to Mommy for a snack.”
“Tell Kelly I’d love to see her if she’s up for it,” I said, taking a seat at the island. “I’ve got something for her and for the baby, and I brought gifts for Serena and Jolene too. I didn’t want them to feel left out.”
“I’m sure they’ll all want to see you,” he said. “But you need to eat first. Just come upstairs when you’re done.”
“Okay. Thanks for the sandwich.”
“You’re welcome.” Then to the baby, he said, “Your Aunt Mabel needs her big brothers to look after her, Dakota Mae. And the lesson is, don’t ever go out with any hockey players, okay? Actually, don’t ever go out with anyone. You’ll break my heart.” He left the room, snuggling his little daughter tightly against his chest.
I wondered if Joe would be like that. And what it would do to me to see it.
In early November, my belly began to pop a little. My pants grew tight. I started unbuttoning them at work and in the car, and once I forgot to do them back up again, and I taught an entire class with my pants undone.
Later that night, while I was online shopping for some maternity clothes, I got a text from Joe.
How’s my little avocado?
I laughed. Joe had found this website that kept him informed of the baby’s size by comparing it to different fruits or vegetables. We’d been through cherry, fig, lemon, and peach.
Your little avocado is fine.
I read that at 16 weeks, they can make a fist. Good practice for future hockey fights.
Stop.
What are you up to?
Shopping for maternity clothes. My pants don’t quite fit anymore.
Really?
Yes. I need some elastic waists and bigger shirts.
A week later, I got a package from Joe in the mail. Excited, I ripped it open. Inside I found a Chicago jersey that said Lupo 19 on the back, size L. I squealed with excitement and put it on. After snapping fifteen selfies, I sent the best one to Joe.
Thank you!!!! I love it!
Glad it arrived safely.
My very first hockey jersey.
Call it a sweater. Then everyone will think you’re old school.
Lol okay! Are you excited for the game tonight?
Yes. But I might have to play a little rougher than usual so don’t be surprised if you see me drop my gloves. And don’t worry, I’m fine.
Be careful! I’ll be watching and wearing #19. Maybe I’ll be your good luck charm.
Well, charms. There are two of us in here.
I’ll take all the luck I can get.
That night’s game was rough, just like Joe had warned, the two teams intent on settling old scores. I watched from my couch, wearing my new shirt, as promised, shouting at the refs, cheering for the players, crossing my fingers and murmuring prayers when the action was down in front of the Chicago goalie. In the end, Joe scored in OT on a breakaway, and I jumped off the couch, clapping and shrieking with joy. Cleo took off running for the kitchen, spooked by the noise.
