The Man Who Can't Be Moved

“Like looking in a mirror, isn’t it.”

I glance up from the array of cookie sheets spread across the granite topped island situated in the middle of Vero and Flower’s massive country style kitchen -how I’d ever been suckered into being the one to attend to the food and make sure all of the guests (especially the boys) were properly fed, I’ll never know- as my brother sidles up to counter, a bottle of Bud pressed against his lips and his eyes narrowed as he watches and listens to the gaggle of women gathered around the table across the room. He’s got balls of steel walking into the proverbial witches’ coven; this many females in one place isn’t safe -both mentally and physically- for any man. And I have to give him serious props for having the stones to break away from the safety of the basement -where the rest of the guys are drinking and cursing like sailors and trash talking each other as they play video games and talk as crude as humanly possible- and wandering upstairs completely unarmed.

Women are catty, vicious bitches when we’re all together; we’re sugar and spice and everything nice when someone is face to face with us, but the second they leave the room, we’ve got our claws and fangs out and we’re ripping the unsuspecting female to shit. It’s in our DNA to be like that, I suppose. We’re bred to be competitive and to feel threatened and offended by the slightest put down or the simplest of dirty looks. Especially when it comes to men. Get a guy involved and all hell breaks lose. If a woman even suspects one of their friends of having the smallest bit of a ‘thing’ for her man, the fur is going to fly.

“What are you talking about?” I ask, as he takes a swig of his beer and I return to dropping various appetizers on the handful of plastic plates to my left.

“I’m talking about little Miss Sunshine over there,” Tyler nods in the direction of the table where Sid’s new girlfriend Carlisle -the youngest daughter of a steelworker father and a Sunday school teacher mother, she‘s apparently a political science student and a part time model and Miss Pennsylvania hopeful- is holding court at one of the table with Brooks Orpik’s significant other Erin -Icky Erin, as Vero loves to call her- and my brother’s newest squeeze, a bubbly, pretty blond named Kelsey.

“She seems like a very lovely girl,” I comment, and give a disinterested shrug. “She’s perfect for Sid, don’t you think? They seem to have a lot in common.”

“Like what?” Tyler laughs. “What do they possibly have in common? She doesn’t even know shit about hockey! She calls periods quarters and she’s constantly yapping Kelsey’s ear off at games to explain the different penalty calls to her and constantly needs someone to go over the rules about icing and off sides.”

“There’s more to life than hockey,” I point out. “There’s more to life than knowing the ins and outs of the game. Chances are she’s from a long line of Steelers fans and she’s been brought up knowing everything there is to know about first and second downs and pass returns and field goals and all of that other crap. Why does she have to be a hockey aficionado?”

“Because she’s with Sidney fucking Crosby,” my brother states. “Because she’s kicking it and knocking boots with possibly the most famous hockey player on the face of the earth. Don’t you think if there was ever a time to get into hockey this would be it? Could you imagine dating someone like Derek Jeter and knowing fuck all about baseball? Or someone like Lebron James and knowing nothing about basketball?”

“There’s more to Sidney than hockey,” I say. “I know it doesn’t seem that way to people that don’t know him personally…”

“Personally or intimately?” Tyler inquires. “Because we all know him pretty personally and we all know he’s practically married to the sport. He’s like Jesus, Em. Jesus was hitched to God and Sid’s hitched to hockey, Simple as. Now if we’re talking intimately…well there’s only two people in this room who know him that well, right?”

“Well I’m not interested in sharing sex secrets with her,” I declare, and snag my own drink -a lemon drop martini- from the counter. Flower‘s a hell of a bartender; he can mix drinks with the best of them and has even come up with creations of his own that are beyond delicious and addicting. And he‘d done the women that are present a serious service by whipping up martinis and margaritas by the jug full and filling the entire top shelf of the fridge with a variety of alcoholic beverages. “It’s not like we’re going to sit down and compare notes,” I add, and sip my martini. “It’s not like I’m going to take her out for coffee or invite her over so we can talk about what kind of lay Sid is.”

“Well if you did, you’d be the only one talking,” Tyler says. “’Cause she’s not sleeping with him. She’s not putting out.”

I nearly spit an entire mouthful of booze clear across the counter, and I hold up a hand to signal that I’m fine as all laughter and conversation across the room comes to an abrupt standstill and every pair of eyes focus on me as I cough and sputter noisily and my brother’s pounds the palm of his hand against my back.

“Way to kill me…” I wheeze, and take another sip of my drink.

“You think I’m joking? About Sid’s girl being the big V? Come on, Em. Look at her. Doesn’t she remind you of some girl that should be wandering some religious compound somewhere with one of them lacy veils on her head? Carrying a bible in one hand and a rosary in the other? Do you really think that cross around her neck and those ‘What Would Jesus Do?’ bracelets are just for show? Do you really think she’s joking when she tucks bible verses into Sid’s equipment bag or that she was fucking around when she gave him a dude version of an abstinence ring?”

“Give me a break,” I roll my eyes and return to preparing the plates of food. “Quit screwing around, okay? I don’t know what you have against this girl, but she seems very sweet and she’s very cute and she and Sid seem really happy together. And I refuse to believe that they’re not sleeping together. Who wouldn’t put out for Sidney Crosby? That’s just plain stupid.”

“She even wanted him to go to church with her and go through this sort of baptism thing that would proclaim him a born again virgin,” my brother continues, and helps himself to a jalapeno popper. “He drew the line at that, though. He said he wasn’t going to pretend he was something he wasn’t for anyone.”

“Are you honestly serious about all of this?” I eye my brother warily. “You’re for real not yanking my chain?”

“I swear on her WWJD bracelets and her cross and her sacred virginity that I am dead serious,” Tyler declares. “They haven’t slept together. I don’t even think Sid’s gotten past second base. Apparently she believes that God will tell her when the right time is to have sex with him.”

“Hmmm…” my eyes narrow as I suspiciously eye the tiny brunette in question. “….I guess that’s…I don’t know…admirable. I mean, I don’t know if God is in control of my hormones, but something told me to sleep with him after only a week. I don’t understand how she can go within a foot of him and not want to have sex with him. I mean, those lips and those shoulders and those arms and those thighs…” I have to take a drink in order to suppress the shudder and the X-rated memories that sweep through me.

“Not everyone is a skank like you though,” Tyler teases, and then jumps sideways to avoid getting an elbow in the ribs.

“Well I have to hand it to her if she really is a virgin,” I say. “Because I honestly couldn’t hold out for that long. It’s a dangerous thing in a way though. Guys like Sid…I just can’t see guys like Sid waiting around forever, you know? I don’t care how much they say they love you or how much they say they respect you and that they’ll wait for when the time is right. He’s a professional athlete. You know what the life is like, Tyler. You know all the temptation that’s out there; all the girls that are throwing themselves at all of you night in and night out. And as pretty and as sweet as she is…”

“You can only take so many cold showers. And it’s damn hard for a guy to walk around with a constant hard on or incessant blue balls,” my brother concludes, and then gives an unapologetic shrug when I sigh and roll my eyes.

“I’m just saying that I hope she knows what’s doing,” I down the remains of my drink. “And I hope she knows what she’s getting herself into. This isn’t just some normal guy off the street. This isn’t some banker or account or regular Joe Blow computer programmer or some other shit like that. This is a guy that can’t even scratch his ass or go to the corner store without it being national headlines. And then there’s Troy and Pat and Mario to put up with. Not to mention all the obsessive, nasty fan girls that talk about you constantly and rip you to shreds every chance they get. Nice, sweet girls don’t survive that kind of life.”

“They also don’t survive when the guy they’re in love with is in love with someone else,” Tyler casually mentions.

“Let’s not even wander down that particular path,” I retort. “It’s been five months. Closer to half a year. He’s gone on and I’ve gone on and…”

“He hasn’t gone on,” my brother argues. “Settling for someone isn’t going on. Picking someone that is practically a dead ringer for your ex girlfriend or fiancée or whatever the hell you were, isn’t going on. That’s called obsessing over someone. It’s called holding onto that one little shred of hope that things are going to go back to the way they were and that…”

“Things will never go back to the way they were,” I interject. “Ever. That’s never going to happen. I’m a different person now, Tyler. The Emma-Leigh Kennedy that existed back then is gone. She’s dead; I left her in the past. I’m not the same girl that Sid was with and he’s not stupid and I’m sure he realizes that I’m not who he was with. Or who he wants. Not to mention I’m married now. I’m someone’s wife. And if he can’t accept that…”

“He’ll never accept it. He’ll never accept that you’re with someone else. Especially when that someone else is Max.”

“Well that’s his fucking problem, isn’t it,” I state.

I don’t know why I feel so damn defensive every time someone brings up the possibility that Sid might still have feelings for me; why it actually fills me with both a hint of satisfaction that I may have that kind of power over him. And I certainly don’t know why I give a shit about his sex life with his girlfriend; I could honestly care less if he’s sleeping with her or not and as far as I’m concerned, with her flawless complexion, perky personality, wholesome looks and even more wholesome upbringing, the two of them are perfect for each other.

She’s perfect. In every way. And in the same way I’m the farthest from perfect you can possibly get. And maybe that’s what makes me just the tad bit jealous; that makes me feel as if this girl has some kind of superiority over me.

**********

“Who are we gossiping about?” Vero inquires, as she waddles her way across the room and leans over the counter top. “Who are you two talking about? Better not be me; better not be talking about how fat my ankles are and how chubby my face is. I look like I’m storing enough nuts in my cheek for five winters.”

“Vero with nuts in her mouth,” I slyly remark. “That’s not at all a common occurrence.”

“Now that’s the Emma-Leigh I missed!” she cries, and picks up a mini quiche from one of the plates and tosses it at me. “I missed your smart mouth! I missed all your sarcastic comments and your moments of total perversion. Those are only going to get worse you know. Now that you’re married to Max, your mind and your mouth is always going to be in the gutter. And you’ll be spending more time on your back with your legs in the air than…”

“Don’t!” Tyler wails, and places his hands over his ears. “For the love of fucking God, don’t!”

“Who are we talking about?” Vero lowers her voice and her eyes sparkle mischievously. “We’re talking about Carlisle aren’t we. We’re talking about how bubbly and sweet as apple fucking pie she is. About how she probably spends all of her free time rescuing abandoned animals and serving food at soup kitchens and knitting sweaters and booties for preemies. She’s just a regular goddamn Mother Teresa, huh?”

“Don’t be so catty,” I scold. “She seems very nice. Not that I’ve really gotten a chance to talk to her…”

“She won’t talk to you,” Vero gives a dry laugh. “Are you kidding? You’re the enemy. You’re a serious threat. Why would she talk to you? And don’t give me this shit that she’s nice. She’s a pain in the goddamn ass. She’s annoying and I want to bitch slap her into the middle of next week when she starts trying to drill her beliefs and her morals into us. Everyone lives their lives differently. She’s not better than any of us. No matter what she thinks. I mean, look at her…” she glances over her shoulder and gives a derisive snort before turning back to Tyler and I. “…shouldn’t she be on some farm somewhere? Milking cows and breeding chickens for a living? Can’t you just see her in a pair of overalls with piece of straw between her teeth? She’s just so damn…”

“Wholesome?” I offer.

“Boring,” Vero concludes. “She’s so damn boring. I honestly don’t see what Sid sees in her. At all. And I can’t understand how he could call you a glass of milk when…”

“He called me a what?” my eyes narrow. “What the fuck did he call me?”

“A glass of milk,” Tyler says. “It was this sex talk that all of us guys were having a couple of weeks ago and Sid was a little drunk and he talked about how once he hit it with Carlisle she was going to be a wild child between the sheets and…”

“And how it would be a hundred times better than what he had before,” Vero continues. “Which is you. He said that being with you was like a glass of milk. You know, how milk is nice and all that but it’s as dull as shit and totally predictable.”

“He actually fucking said that?” I turn a steely gaze towards me brother and silently demand either an explanation or an admittance that he’s just fucking with me.

Part of me wants to just wave Sid’s comment off and chalk it up as something ridiculous and foolish he’d busted out while intoxicated; God knows he doesn’t handle his alcohol well and is a loud mouthed, obnoxious drunk at best. It’s definitely something he wouldn’t say if he was sober; he’s a notoriously private person and had always respected me and what we had and never treated me as locker room gossip. And both of us know that we’d had a pretty incredible sex life. He got laid whenever and wherever he wanted and I was always willing to be adventurous and wild. I wasn’t above ‘going beyond the call of duty’ to make sure he was happy and satisfied and I certainly indulged in things I’d sworn I’d never let a man do to me.

The more irrational side of me wants to rush downstairs and smack him around and kick him in the balls and demand to know why the hell he’d ever say something like that about me in the first place. I understand that I’ve hurt him, but I’ve never gone around talking shit about him.

“What do you want me to say?” Tyler asks with a shrug. “It was guys night and we were all drinking and…”

“Why didn’t you defend me?” I snap. “Why didn’t you stick up for me and…?”

“I didn’t get the chance to!” my brother exclaims. “Max knocked him out before I could do anything and…”

“Whoa…whoa…” I hold my hand up to silence him. “Max did what to who?”

“You honestly think he’d put up with someone mouthing off about his wife?” Tyler inquires. “Come on, Em. Guys do have limits, you know. Sure, we talk a big game in the dressing room and we all boast about getting laid and we all love to share the dirty details, but there’s certain lines you don’t fucking cross. And one of them is talking smack about a dude’s wife. Once that ring goes on your fingers, shit changes. It’s a whole new ballgame.”

Vero nods in agreement and helps herself to a barbeque chicken wing off one of the plates.

“I know I wasn’t completely on board with this whole rush marriage thing and I’m not exactly thrilled about Max being my brother in law, but even I have to give the guy props for defending your honour,” my brother continues. “Earned serious brownie points with me when he showed he wasn’t above knocking out the team captain and hockey’s prodigal son for wagging his big, drunk mouth.”

“Well I don’t think there’s a doubt that he’s completely and utterly devoted to you,” Vero says. “He’d do anything for you. Anything. He even offered himself up on the chopping block after the whole scandal broke and told Mario to trade him. There’s not a lot of men who would go to that extreme. Sacrifice what he loves for who he loves.”

“What in the hell are you talking about?” I can’t seem to wrap my head around all the information being tossed at me. “When did he tell Mario to trade him? When did this happen? How come I don’t know about that? Or about him punching Sid out? How come I…”

“Honestly Emma-Leigh, it’s probably best you didn’t know any of this at the time,” Vero pats me on the back as if she’s excusing me for being so dense. “I mean, you were very sick and all he cared about was wanting to get you better and home with him where you belonged. He was a miserable bastard without you; totally insufferable with you so far away.”

Tyler nods in confirmation.

“He probably never mentioned any of it to you because he didn’t want to upset you and make things worse,” Vero continues. “He’s all about protecting you, you know. All about doing what’s best by you and making sure that you’re okay. Don’t fault him for that. And as far as Little Miss Priss goes…” she jerks her head in the direction of the table. “…ignore her. She’s part of Icky Erin’s coven of wenches. Unfortunately, the poor girl is too naïve and sweet to realize she’s being sucked in….”

“Still say it’s like looking in a mirror,” Tyler pipes up. “Still say she looks just like you.”

“You have had way too much to drink,” I declare. “She looks nothing like me and…”

“Well maybe she doesn’t look like you know because you’ve gone ahead and put the blond in your hair,” Vero says. “But if your hair was like it was before…”

“Lots of guys do shit like that, you know,” Tyler snatches a plate of food for himself and then hops up onto the island and settles himself on the edge of the granite countertop. “Date girls that look just like their exes or make their new women change their appearance to resemble the old one. Elvis did it after his marriage to Priscilla busted up.”

“And OJ Simpson always dated women that looked identical to Nicole after their divorce,” Vero adds.

“You guys are so reaching,” I laugh. “Comparing Sid to the King of Rock and Roll and an ex football star turned double murderer? He’s about as far from the two as someone can get. You’re both reading way too much into things. There’s lots of brunettes in this world. Sid likes brunettes. No big deal. Guess he vowed to stay away from blonds after Abercrombie and Bitch.”

“You are so damn delusional,” Vero sighs. “Face it, Em. He’s still in love with you. No…scratch that. He’s still obsessed with you.”

“That baby is fucking with your mind,” I inform her. “It’s messing you right up. Sid doesn’t still love me and he isn’t obsessed with me. In fact, I’m pretty sure he hates me with a burning passion and wants to…”

“He hates Max,” Vero interjects. “Not you. He doesn’t blame you in the slightest. In fact, he told a whole bunch of the guys that he forgave you because of how sick you were and how you weren’t in the right frame of mind to make the right choice.”

I look towards my brother for confirmation once again.

“Like it or not, the guy has a point,” Tyler says. “I mean, you were pretty fucked up and Max sort of did capitalize on this really insane time in your life…”

“Max was the only person who gave a shit during that really insane and fucked up time in my life,” I angrily point out. “He was the one that was there to pick up the fucking pieces and try and put me back together again when no one else wanted me. Sid sent me away because he didn’t want to deal with the bad stuff; he wanted someone that was picture perfect and low maintenance. And you know what? I don’t hate him or blame him for that. I can’t fault him for not being able to handle it and I certainly won’t stand here and talk shit about him. Because regardless what you think of me for what I did to him, I did love him. And I still care about him. But it didn’t work for us. We weren’t right for each other and we learned that the hard way.”

“You didn’t get the chance to find out if you two could get through all of it and if Sid could cope,” Vero says. “Maybe if you had have been in the right frame of mind and you hadn’t have been so sick, you wouldn’t have made the choices that you did. Maybe you wouldn’t have…”

“I wouldn’t have what? Married Max? Give me a goddamn break. I married him because I love him and I want to spend the rest of my life with him. And I chose him. I fell in love with him and he was the one that I wanted to be with. It’s as simple as that. And if you think I’m going to stand here and let you trash talk my husband, you’re the one that’s fucking delusional.”

“No need to get so defensive…” Vero holds her hands up in surrender. “Maybe if you weren’t so jealous of Sid’s new girlfriend and you didn’t still have feelings for him you wouldn’t be so damn testy about things. If you’d really gotten him out of your system and put him in the past…”

“I’m not listening to this,” I huff, and begin gathering up as many plates as humanly possible in order to carry them downstairs.

“Well you know what they say…” Vero gives a shrug. “…the truth hurts. Like a bitch.”

GIving a derisive snort, I shake my head in a mixture of disbelief and disdain and storm out of the kitchen.