Remember Me
A Marshmallow
The dinner table at the Dupuis household was filled. People were squished around the long, round table and plates were clattered in front of them. Everyone was happily devouring their long awaited meal. Alyssa, however, was carefully watching everyone else eating, rather than eating herself. The men from her uncle's hockey team seemed to throw away their manners as soon as the plates of food were placed in front of them. They dived straight in, and started shoveling the turkey and stuffing, and cranberry sauce and gravy into their mouths. It was like watching a food eating competition.
"You eat?" One of her uncle's teammates questioned curiously from beside her, his accent was thick and Alyssa processed it for a moment, trying to decide where he was from. Her best guess would've been that he was the really good Russian on the team, but she couldn't remember for sure. She had never really met the entire team before, only Max and Kris when she was really young and they were in Quebec visiting during the summer. But that was a long time ago, and she wasn't the scronny, extremely skinny and tall girl anymore. She had filled out a little bit more - she was still tall and skinny, mind you - and her hair looked a lot better than it did before. "Eat," he repeated with a goofy smile.
"I'm not that hungry," she responded with her own smile. "Did you want more?" Laughing, Aly offered him some off her own plate and he took a few seconds to make sure she was serious, before scraping off some of her mashed potatoes.
"So good." he muttered, his mouth full of food.
"Yeah, Aunty Carol's an awesome cook," she laughed.
"How you know?" he teased, and Aly tipped an imaginary hat his way - telling him he had a good point. Picking up a piece of turkey from her plate, she dipped it in as much cranberry sauce as she could get onto her fork and took a bite, overly exaggerating the motion just for her friendly Russian sitting to her right. He nodded his head, happy to have gotten her to eat.
** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** **
After dinner ended, Marc-Andre had excused himself from the table of men trying to talk hockey, and their significant others arguing not to speak business at the dinner table. It was a usual argument - one he had heard many times, but this time he wasn't up to cracking jokes. Instead, he picked up his plate and went to take it into the kitchen. He had to admit though, that was just an excuse to get to the dessert before anyone else could.
To get into the kitchen, you had to pass by the usual dining table of the Dupuis family. It was smaller, and squared. The perfect size to fit the family of six, plus the new addition, during normal family meals that weren't of the formal kind. The small table, for tonight, had been made into the kid's table. Gathered around it, Marc was able to name off the kids one-by-one: Duper's kids, Craig Adams' son - his daughter had been left with a babysitter, for she was only one and they weren't willing to risk her missing her bed time - and Matt Cooke's children. Most of the team were there, but some hadn't brought their kids and had left them with a babysitter.
But there was one girl who stood out. She was taller, and didn't fit the age range to be sitting there, but her smile was brightly colored and she was playing with the kids. This was a new side to her, for him to be seeing. He had seen the rude side, and the trying-too-hard to be 'badass' side, but Marc hadn't seen that smile before. The one that shined bright, much like her eyes he had noticed the first time he had seen her.
"Noo," one of the little boys whined. "Lyss is on our team."
The girl being argued over just laughed, throwing her head back in amusement. "Kody's right, I promised I'd be on his team for tonight. Sorry girls," she smiled. The topic at hand, was the video game tournament that was going to be commencing after dinner. The game? NHL '11.
As the girls claimed unfair teaming, Marc decided it was his chance to step in and announce his presence. "That's okay ladies, Marc-Andre will be on your team." he offered his assistance. The news was well accepted by most - some of the boys complaining how that would be unfair, but pushing it aside when Rhys Adams said they were girls (like that was supposed to prove something) - but Alyssa just glanced up at the older male. Her face gave it away - she hated the idea.
** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** **
"Booom!" Kody was quick to exclaim as Alyssa scored on Marc's team. "I warned you Flower, she's good." He had a satisfied smile on his face, one that was not reciprocated by the opponent he was saying 'I told you so' to. Marc's face was concentrating on the television screen, as they began the faceoff proceedings.
"Lucky shot," he muttered underneath his breath, reaching off to the side quickly to shove a minced-meat tart into his mouth.
"Oh, what was that?" Alyssa picked up, smirking proudly. "Does that mean I've had, what, four lucky shots now?" She giggled, pressing a few buttons on her controller to gain possession of the puck in the game.
"Flower's getting killed!" The exclamation showed there was a new person watching, and the players, who refused to look away from the screen, were quick to find out who it was.
"She's not a girl, Staalsy." the little Adams boy told the giant, as Jordan picked him up and stole his spot in a large recliner, sitting the boy's body on his lap. He just chuckled, whilst loud clicking noises overcame the room and Fleury jumped into the air in pride.
"Man, you got one goal; don't be celebrating yet." Jordan teased his teammate, and Aly laughed quietly. It was quick for the situation to reverse on Marc, and suddenly the buzzer in the game rang out and Alyssa mocked the professional hockey player's own celebration, wearing a smug smirk the entire time. That same smug smirk Marc found himself wanting to wipe off her face, yet somehow he felt glad to see her enjoying herself, rather than being a depressed twenty year-old.
"Sure you don't want to just forfeit now, and save yourself the embarrassment?" she asked, pushing the ragging limits on her opponent.
She could definitely hold her own in a game of chirping on the ice, he decided, shaking his head as a response to her question. "Nobody just gives up in the middle of a game," he added.
Once the game ended, Marc had managed to shoot in a couple more goals, but it wasn't enough. The final score was 6-3, and Alyssa won the celebratory high-fives from everyone that had been watching in the room. Jordan led the long line of kids, as he headed up the stairs to spread the word on the slaughter Aly had just placed on his teammate; leaving Marc and Aly alone again.
"I think you're the first girl to know how to play, not to mention beat me." Marc said, breaking the silence as Aly put the controller off to the side and turned the gaming console off.
"My brother," the hesitation in her voice made Marc wonder why, but also it told him asking would be the wrong thing to do. "He was big on video games. And Uncle Cal taught me everything I know about hockey." There it was, that smile and that laugh that caused him to lose all sense of his surroundings.
"Gotta say, though," she began again. "You're the first guy not to throw a bitch fit when a girl beats him." Marc noted the smug smirk on her lips as she spoke the sentence. She obviously got a lot of joy out of kicking people's asses at games.
I like that in a girl, he thought, looking at her once she sat back down on the other side of the black leather couch. "It just means we're going to have another rematch."
"You sure your ego can handle that?"
He laughed, "Don't get so high and mighty on yourself over one game. That's how people get caught being satisfied, and playing sloppy."
"Satisfaction just means you're fine with the way things are; there's nothing wrong with satisfaction." Marc watched as Aly raked her fingers through her locks, pushing strands behind her ear and out of her face.
"Just that you become complacent." he shot back, firmly disagreeing with what she was trying to sell.
"It's better than being disappointed." she muttered, getting back up off the couch. "Take my aunt and uncle for example: they expected the old, seven year-old version of me that sang songs for a piece of pie. They were disappointed. Having high expectations only leads to disappointments. Instead, they got me - the Wicked Witch of the West." Marc caught himself wondering why she would call herself the wicked witch, or whether it was something others had named her. He decided she would just prefer it if people saw her that way.
"I don't believe that," he shook his head in disapproval. But still, he had that smug smirk playing on his lips again. "I think deep down, you're just a marshmallow. A lonely, sad, marshmallow waiting for someone to come along and see right through the charade you put on." Alyssa's eyes followed the twenty-six year-old as he stood from the couch and walked over to her.
"Well guess what? I see through it." He chuckled, having leaned in close to whisper in her ear. His facial hair scratched against Aly's cheek, but she couldn't complain. She'd be the first to admit to anyone who wasn't going to hold it against her, she liked it. "I see who you are, Alyssa. Une guimauve."
"You eat?" One of her uncle's teammates questioned curiously from beside her, his accent was thick and Alyssa processed it for a moment, trying to decide where he was from. Her best guess would've been that he was the really good Russian on the team, but she couldn't remember for sure. She had never really met the entire team before, only Max and Kris when she was really young and they were in Quebec visiting during the summer. But that was a long time ago, and she wasn't the scronny, extremely skinny and tall girl anymore. She had filled out a little bit more - she was still tall and skinny, mind you - and her hair looked a lot better than it did before. "Eat," he repeated with a goofy smile.
"I'm not that hungry," she responded with her own smile. "Did you want more?" Laughing, Aly offered him some off her own plate and he took a few seconds to make sure she was serious, before scraping off some of her mashed potatoes.
"So good." he muttered, his mouth full of food.
"Yeah, Aunty Carol's an awesome cook," she laughed.
"How you know?" he teased, and Aly tipped an imaginary hat his way - telling him he had a good point. Picking up a piece of turkey from her plate, she dipped it in as much cranberry sauce as she could get onto her fork and took a bite, overly exaggerating the motion just for her friendly Russian sitting to her right. He nodded his head, happy to have gotten her to eat.
** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** **
After dinner ended, Marc-Andre had excused himself from the table of men trying to talk hockey, and their significant others arguing not to speak business at the dinner table. It was a usual argument - one he had heard many times, but this time he wasn't up to cracking jokes. Instead, he picked up his plate and went to take it into the kitchen. He had to admit though, that was just an excuse to get to the dessert before anyone else could.
To get into the kitchen, you had to pass by the usual dining table of the Dupuis family. It was smaller, and squared. The perfect size to fit the family of six, plus the new addition, during normal family meals that weren't of the formal kind. The small table, for tonight, had been made into the kid's table. Gathered around it, Marc was able to name off the kids one-by-one: Duper's kids, Craig Adams' son - his daughter had been left with a babysitter, for she was only one and they weren't willing to risk her missing her bed time - and Matt Cooke's children. Most of the team were there, but some hadn't brought their kids and had left them with a babysitter.
But there was one girl who stood out. She was taller, and didn't fit the age range to be sitting there, but her smile was brightly colored and she was playing with the kids. This was a new side to her, for him to be seeing. He had seen the rude side, and the trying-too-hard to be 'badass' side, but Marc hadn't seen that smile before. The one that shined bright, much like her eyes he had noticed the first time he had seen her.
"Noo," one of the little boys whined. "Lyss is on our team."
The girl being argued over just laughed, throwing her head back in amusement. "Kody's right, I promised I'd be on his team for tonight. Sorry girls," she smiled. The topic at hand, was the video game tournament that was going to be commencing after dinner. The game? NHL '11.
As the girls claimed unfair teaming, Marc decided it was his chance to step in and announce his presence. "That's okay ladies, Marc-Andre will be on your team." he offered his assistance. The news was well accepted by most - some of the boys complaining how that would be unfair, but pushing it aside when Rhys Adams said they were girls (like that was supposed to prove something) - but Alyssa just glanced up at the older male. Her face gave it away - she hated the idea.
** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** **
"Booom!" Kody was quick to exclaim as Alyssa scored on Marc's team. "I warned you Flower, she's good." He had a satisfied smile on his face, one that was not reciprocated by the opponent he was saying 'I told you so' to. Marc's face was concentrating on the television screen, as they began the faceoff proceedings.
"Lucky shot," he muttered underneath his breath, reaching off to the side quickly to shove a minced-meat tart into his mouth.
"Oh, what was that?" Alyssa picked up, smirking proudly. "Does that mean I've had, what, four lucky shots now?" She giggled, pressing a few buttons on her controller to gain possession of the puck in the game.
"Flower's getting killed!" The exclamation showed there was a new person watching, and the players, who refused to look away from the screen, were quick to find out who it was.
"She's not a girl, Staalsy." the little Adams boy told the giant, as Jordan picked him up and stole his spot in a large recliner, sitting the boy's body on his lap. He just chuckled, whilst loud clicking noises overcame the room and Fleury jumped into the air in pride.
"Man, you got one goal; don't be celebrating yet." Jordan teased his teammate, and Aly laughed quietly. It was quick for the situation to reverse on Marc, and suddenly the buzzer in the game rang out and Alyssa mocked the professional hockey player's own celebration, wearing a smug smirk the entire time. That same smug smirk Marc found himself wanting to wipe off her face, yet somehow he felt glad to see her enjoying herself, rather than being a depressed twenty year-old.
"Sure you don't want to just forfeit now, and save yourself the embarrassment?" she asked, pushing the ragging limits on her opponent.
She could definitely hold her own in a game of chirping on the ice, he decided, shaking his head as a response to her question. "Nobody just gives up in the middle of a game," he added.
Once the game ended, Marc had managed to shoot in a couple more goals, but it wasn't enough. The final score was 6-3, and Alyssa won the celebratory high-fives from everyone that had been watching in the room. Jordan led the long line of kids, as he headed up the stairs to spread the word on the slaughter Aly had just placed on his teammate; leaving Marc and Aly alone again.
"I think you're the first girl to know how to play, not to mention beat me." Marc said, breaking the silence as Aly put the controller off to the side and turned the gaming console off.
"My brother," the hesitation in her voice made Marc wonder why, but also it told him asking would be the wrong thing to do. "He was big on video games. And Uncle Cal taught me everything I know about hockey." There it was, that smile and that laugh that caused him to lose all sense of his surroundings.
"Gotta say, though," she began again. "You're the first guy not to throw a bitch fit when a girl beats him." Marc noted the smug smirk on her lips as she spoke the sentence. She obviously got a lot of joy out of kicking people's asses at games.
I like that in a girl, he thought, looking at her once she sat back down on the other side of the black leather couch. "It just means we're going to have another rematch."
"You sure your ego can handle that?"
He laughed, "Don't get so high and mighty on yourself over one game. That's how people get caught being satisfied, and playing sloppy."
"Satisfaction just means you're fine with the way things are; there's nothing wrong with satisfaction." Marc watched as Aly raked her fingers through her locks, pushing strands behind her ear and out of her face.
"Just that you become complacent." he shot back, firmly disagreeing with what she was trying to sell.
"It's better than being disappointed." she muttered, getting back up off the couch. "Take my aunt and uncle for example: they expected the old, seven year-old version of me that sang songs for a piece of pie. They were disappointed. Having high expectations only leads to disappointments. Instead, they got me - the Wicked Witch of the West." Marc caught himself wondering why she would call herself the wicked witch, or whether it was something others had named her. He decided she would just prefer it if people saw her that way.
"I don't believe that," he shook his head in disapproval. But still, he had that smug smirk playing on his lips again. "I think deep down, you're just a marshmallow. A lonely, sad, marshmallow waiting for someone to come along and see right through the charade you put on." Alyssa's eyes followed the twenty-six year-old as he stood from the couch and walked over to her.
"Well guess what? I see through it." He chuckled, having leaned in close to whisper in her ear. His facial hair scratched against Aly's cheek, but she couldn't complain. She'd be the first to admit to anyone who wasn't going to hold it against her, she liked it. "I see who you are, Alyssa. Une guimauve."