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Henri tried not to sigh. He only caught himself after he’d drawn in the breath, so he held it in to stop himself. His cheeks puffed up with the trapped air. He felt like a chipmunk.

“They talk about you. The commentators,” his father continued. “I think the team is very happy with you there, and you seem happy there.”

This was a safer approach, and Henri appreciated that his father had shifted tack. “It’s a good fit,” he admitted. “I work well with my line and the PK team. The coaches and I understand each other, I think.” It was the most cohesive his time in the NHL had been. He knew what the coach wanted from him, and it was within his skill set to deliver it. And they gave him the right opportunities to showcase that. A proper line, good minutes, appropriate matchups against other centers.

“You’ve been doing so well, I’m hoping they keep you in Albuquerque.”

Henri smiled at how his father said Albuquerque. He hadn’t yet made the connection that it rhymed with turkey.

“Me too.”

“Did you know there’s a fan account that only posts pictures of when you smile?”

Henri choked on his coffee. “What?” he sputtered.

“The neighbor showed it to me. Apparently it’s been around since you were drafted, but it hasn’t been very active until this season.” He looked pointedly at Henri.

“What do you mean?”

“You don’t smile much. Never did, even as a little boy. But you always smiled at hockey. That was how your maman and I knew you loved it. I didn’t think about it, but I checked the account, and there were years and years they barely posted at all because you barely smiled at all. And now you do.”

Henri sat there, feeling exposed. He had known the gist of this. He’d been criticized for his resting bitch face on multiple occasions, and knew his default expression was more scowl than it should be. Just like he knew he was happy with the Turkeys. It would make sense that he would smile more, that his face would’ve remembered to relax.

He didn’t think anyone would notice, though. Especially not some stranger, some random fan who’d followed his career and seen pre-Turkeys Henri and caught the shift when he moved to Albuquerque.

The only good thing was that it was attributed—at least by his father and certainly by anyone else who’d seen this account—to the team. His second (third? fourth? final?) chance in the league, his safe haven from all the shit that’d been said about him.

Because it didn’t take much self-reflection on his part to know the real reason was Dylan.

“And now I do,” Henri agreed softly. “I would like to stay and keep smiling.”

His father reached over and put his hand on Henri’s shoulder, giving a gentle squeeze. “I know, ti-loup. You are doing so well there, really you are. I think there’s a good chance. Especially if you make the playoffs. You’ll be able to show them you’re worth a long contract.”

He gulped. The trade deadline loomed in the back of his head, as it did every January through March. If I make it through. If we make the playoffs. If I can keep the points coming. Then yes, maybe. Maybe.

“I’ll try, Papa.”

“I know. You always do.” He patted Henri’s shoulder. “Should we order some chocolate croissants before we head home, or do you think it’ll spoil our dinner?”

“I think we’ll manage.”

lhbaptiste (January 31, 2024): @luc-henri-sourit my father just showed this account to me. I’ll try to smile more. Here are a few selfies from Saint-Jérôme…

[Three pictures of Henri smiling with distinct buildings from Saint-Jérôme in the background.]

↪ luc-henri-sourit: OMG

57 FEBRUARY 2024

Dylan (February 2024)

You land yet?

Nover

Yeah but the kids are cranky from the flight

How’s the hotel?