Page 55 of Undone

“Oh. Um . . .” No, we do not. But I’m just now realizing it. We just had one in my house growing up, and it always showed hockey. As a kid I’d been convinced it was somehow only able to show hockey. “Actually I forgot—”

“It’s okay,” Paloma says. “I’ve got my laptop. You’ll just have to be cool with getting really close and personal with me.”

I nod. I could be cool with that.

She disappears upstairs for a quick moment, before her feet tap down the stairs again. I’m still sitting on the couch, swinging my feet, when she scoots in beside me and yanks down one of the blankets.

“Okay—we’ve got options ’cause I signed up for a free trial with a new email on Netflix. So . . . which one are you in the mood for?” Paloma lists off about five different movies that I’ve never heard of and know nothing about—before eyeing me expectantly.

“You pick! Do you want a snack? I forgot I made something earlier.”

“Oooo yeah! Or popcorn.”

I’m halfway to the fridge before I freeze, nodding rapidly despite my stomach sinking. Popcorn. For movies. Makes sense and is a lot easier than the ridiculous cheese board I worked on this morning—dried apricots, fancy snooty cheeses, and all my favorite little bites.

“I can go buy popcorn,” I say, turning back toward her. “I don’t think we have any.”

Paloma’s brow wrinkles, but she’s still smiling. “What did you make for us, Lily?”

“A charcuterie board,” I say. “It’s, like, cheese and—”

“That sounds amazing,” she says with a hum at the end of her words.

I’m beaming when I return with my carefully presented board of cheeses and meats, all finger food—though I’m armed with napkins, forks, and knives. Just in case Paloma is also like me and hates to touch food with her hands.

The movie she starts on the small screen of her laptop is called Mystic Pizza, which feels like a weird title for a movie, but Paloma swears I’ll love it.

“Trust me, it’ll be a new favorite. And you’ll be asking me to watch it again every time we have movie night.”

I play it cool but there’s too much excitement rolling through me not to shift at least slightly on the couch. Every movie night.

Smiling, I settle back in under the blanket even closer to her. I think she’ll be my friend. A real one.

Chapter 23

Lily

“I’m surprised you didn’t mention it.”

“Hmm?”

We’re at the arena as one of the practices finishes up. At my dad’s insistence after our morning meeting, I hung close to Paloma, watching her do a few things around the offices before we ventured out toward the ice . . . which inevitably led to the reveal of Coach LaBlanc as my father.

Paloma’s hand waves in my face, pulling my eyes from the navy-and-white-painted concrete block wall. “Did you hear me?”

My cheeks burn because, no, I did not hear her. But she doesn’t know that, or anything about my hearing. Because I haven’t told her.

She’s on my right side and I’m not wearing my hearing aid. Which, this time, was entirely an accident. Usually I do wear it when I go running; I got a new one last year and it plays my music for me and everything. So usually, unless I’m distracted, I remember it for runs.

“Um . . .”

She’s asking about my dad, I’m almost positive, but what about him? I don’t trust myself enough to answer her without clarification, too distracted by the image still in my head from earlier observing hockey practice, the emboldened number 13 darting easily around the ice. Mesmerizing. Beautiful.

My stomach swooped, a mini free fall, the same way I’ve felt watching Toren from the plexiglass my entire life. I wanted to press my hand to it or knock it to grab his attention . . . for what?

“Your dad?” Paloma asks as I kick my foot back into my hand and stretch my hamstring. “Coaching here?”

“Oh,” I say. “Yeah, sorry.”