Page 34 of He Has It All (Boston Brawlers Hockey)
“Fuck you.”
He laughs.
“I haven’t been with a woman in a month. Since the playoffs.” I say it just as much to let him know it’s serious as I do to force myself to get it, to comprehend that the growing dissatisfaction with my life is a real thing.
“You shitting me?” He’s truly shocked. It’s as if I’ve told him I’m the son of an alien being.
“Not one fucking bit of shit in that statement.” I own up to it now, fully grasping it for myself.
“Fuck,” he says, looking away from me for a beat. “Well, we can solve that problem this weekend. There’s plenty of eligible women here to pick from.” He clears his throat and I’m about to tell him what I think of his suggestion, when he adds, “Any one of them is eligible—except Chelsea.”
“What the fuck? Why is Chelsea off the table?” I should admit that she’s the only one I would consider, but I’m not ready to admit that even to myself. My emotional bravery has been extended as far as it can go in one day.
“You kidding? You definitely need to stay away from her. After that kiss last night, Maggs is worried about her—besides, she’s a frigging broadcast gossip columnist.” He laughs and I see that he’s kidding—at least about the gossip columnist part. He doesn’t say that she’s the girl next door who must not be touched by the jaded player.
“Seriously, I see how you look at her. I’m embarrassed for you, feel like I need to follow you around with a napkin to wipe up your drool.”
“Yeah. Don’t worry. I can hold out another night without a score, until I sort things out. Figure out why I’m so restless.”
“No mystery, my friend. You need to find a connection with a special someone. Hard thing to do for a man in your position, when all the connections are about as solid as a wisp of cotton candy.”
“Don’t give me another one of thoseit’s time to settle downspeeches.”
“Why not? We both know you agree.”
I laugh. “We agree on someday, but not which day. Besides we both know it’s not that simple.”
“You got some challenges, I’ll admit. But nothing we can’t overcome with some creativity and determination.”
“Thanks for the pep talk.” I slap his back. “Right now, let’s focus on you and your wedding.”
“Done deal.”
I drain my coffee, belatedly wishing I’d asked for a shot of whiskey to go with it. But then, if I want life to be harder, more real, then I ought to face it—or at least today—without the aid of a shot of whiskey to start me off.
* * *
The wedding ceremonyat the Siasconset Union Chapel, which is decked out in hundreds of white roses, is equal parts beautiful and brief. Levi and Maggs look euphoric and, as they say their vows, I renew my vow to make sure they remain ecstatically happy for the rest of the weekend. No drama from my camp. I’m on my best low-profile behavior. Chelsea looks as gorgeous and as glowing as the bride, but I may be prejudiced since the bride is my sister and Chelsea is most definitely not, if my overactive libido is a clue. No matter how often I tell myself I should think of her as a sister, that I’m supposed to think of her as a sister.
After the ceremony, in the grand ballroom of the Nantucket Hotel & Resort in the grand ballroom, guests are gathering. The director of photography wants to continue taking photos, but Levi demands that the team taking pictures give us a few minutes to have a drink before the punishingly endless photo sessions continue.
The wedding party and family parade to the separate garden area attached to the Grand Ballroom, the Breeze Terrace, where a bar is set up for us and some food is laid out. None of the cheese and crackers shit like at some events. The Browns are serving legit gourmet appetizers including shrimp, lobster tails and steak tartar. There are vegetables too, but I’m a meat eater and that’s what I go for, right alongside Levi.
“I love your mother, man,” I say, because I know she’s responsible for the menu. My mom relied heavily on his mother to plan the wedding, only partly because it was taking place on Nantucket which may as well have been the moon as far as Mom was concerned. Also partly because Levi himself was footing the bill for the entire affair. I offered to pay for half on behalf of Maggs—a secret I’ll carry to my grave before I tell her—but Levi laughed at me, then remembered to be gracious as he turned me down. So Mom got cheated out of a lot of the planning as mother of the bride and I felt bad for her though she never complained, pretending she was grateful not to have all that work.
One of these days, far into the distant future, I would let Mom plan my wedding, no matter what the fuck my bride says. Great attitude, I know. But since she was an imaginary future bride, I didn’t give a fuck. It was all a fantasy, the kind you’re pretty sure will never come true, like winning the lottery.
Like winning the Stanley Cup or league MVP used to be.
Now what?
Now I pay attention to the present as I slide up to the bar next to Chelsea as she orders a margarita.
“I thought you were never going to drink margaritas again after the other night?”
“That was Maggs, not me. How easily you forget.”
“I didn’t forget,Cinderella.”
