Retrouvailles

Loren stood in the center of her living room, hands on her hips. Paint swatches were taped to the wall: the source of her disarray. She’d spent the better part of her morning at Ikea, ready to obliterate her credit cards on Swedish furniture. However, she realized on her way to the ground floor that she hadn’t painted yet. Not knowing what finish to buy her furniture in was too great an obstacle and she rerouted her GPS to take her to the closest Home Depot instead of back to her apartment.

“Which one looks best?”

Sarah, her neighbor, shrugged. “I don’t know. Depends what color your furniture’s going to be.”

Loren scoffed. “What a fucking catch-22.”

“What?”

“I didn’t buy any furniture because I didn’t know what finish to get it in. Now you’re telling me I have to buy furniture before I decide which color to paint the walls.”

“I’m not telling you anything. I’m simply suggesting.”

“I thought this was your thing!” Loren shrieked. “Aren’t you in charge of doing this shit for rich people?”

“I’d be more than happy to decorate your place—”

Loren held up a hand. “I’m not paying you.”

“Fine,” Sarah shrugged again. She moved around the nearly-empty living room with an obvious vision in mind. Unfortunately for Loren, that vision was a secret…unless she wanted to drop a few hundred bucks. “How long have you been here and you still don’t have furniture?”

“Three weeks,” she answered. “And I have furniture, thank you very much. I just don’t have living room furniture.”

Loren moved through the place easily, having nothing in her way, until she reached the kitchen. The inside of her refrigerator was pathetic: a six-pack of both Bud Light and Cherry Pepsi, half-empty takeout containers, and a gallon of orange juice. She grabbed two cans of soda and rejoined Sarah in the living room.

“What is this?” Sarah asked, eyeing the can.

“It’s Pepsi.”

“Wow, great observation skills, Loren. I’m so glad I have you around.”

Loren rolled her eyes. “Would you like something else?”

“Something with alcohol would be great.”

Sarah Kelly was, for lack of a better word, different. That was fine by Loren; after what had transpired in Pittsburgh, she didn’t want to associate with anyone who reminded her of someone else. In particular, she forbade herself from speaking to anyone who acted or even looked like Rhea. While Sarah may have shared Rhea’s adoration of alcoholic beverages, they were nothing alike otherwise.

“Better?” Loren asked as she surrendered one of her beers.

“Perfect.” Sarah cracked hers open and raised it in the air—a toast to god knows what. Knowing her, probably furniture or a good deal at the art supply store on Broad Street. Loren was thinking of the bigger picture. She hoped for better days at work and the memories of Pittsburgh to suddenly be erased from her mind. “So how’s the job coming along?”

“Awful.”

“Still only friends with the janitor?”

“Yep.”

Sarah laughed. When she’d come over to welcome Loren to the apartment complex, she noticed the employee laminate hanging from Loren’s neck. Not that she cared; she hated sports and cursed her parents for raising her in Philadelphia because of it. Loren had briefly explained she formerly worked for Sidney Crosby before being fired. Sarah asked her if Sidney Crosby was on the women’s gymnastics team or something and their friendship blossomed from there.

“Didn’t you say that Saibot guy used to play for Pittsburgh?”

“You mean Talbot?”

“Whatever,” Sarah replied. “He’d probably be way cooler if he was a Mortal Kombat character, anyway.”

Loren laughed to herself. “Yeah, he used to play there.”

“And what? You too busy making a scene with famous athletes to make friends?”

“I had a job to do. I only had one friend and that was Kris. Everyone else just sort of tolerated me. It’s not like Max and I had sleepovers and went on dinner dates.”

“Shame,” Sarah answered. “You think he might find it weird you’re here? Like you followed him from Pittsburgh like a stalker or something?”

“Why would he think that? It’s not like I was planning to get fired.”

Sarah shrugged. “I’m just saying. All of you hockey people are out of your fucking minds. I don’t know how your brains work.”

“I could say the same about you.”

“About me? Really? Innocent little me who does nothing but sit at her computer drawing up designs for houses I’ll never decorate? Do you know how many games of The Sims I’ve abandoned just because I only wanted to decorate my house then ran out of money?”

Loren stared at the woman in front of her without an ounce of expression on her face. “You know there are cheat codes for that sort of thing, right?”

“Are you—No, no, I’m not going there. Those were dark times in my life. Back to you and Max.”

“There is no me and Max.”

“Well, if you’re both from Pittsburgh—”

“He’s French-Canadian.”

“Eh?”

“He’s French—” Loren stopped and sent Sarah a look. “Very funny.”

“Who cares if he’s Swahili? You both came here by way of Pittsburgh. You both know this Cosby kid—”

“Crosby.”

“Stop interrupting me!” Sarah threatened. “All I’m saying is you should get off your ass—which looks great in those pants, by the way—and make an effort to be friends with the guy.”

Loren made her way back into the kitchen to fetch more drinks. If Sarah was going to keep hounding her for the rest of the night she’d definitely need a beer. She sighed as she closed the door and saw the picture hidden under a magnet for the Indian takeout restaurant a few buildings down.

“It’s just—Everyone there is so judgmental,” she explained as she rejoined Sarah in the empty living room. “They all look at me like I’m there to get laid rather than to do my job.”

“They’re jealous. Maybe if they spent more time ironing the wrinkles out of their panties instead of judging you, they’d get laid too.”

“I don’t know,” Loren finally relented. “Sometimes I think I’m better off with no friends.”

Sarah feigned hurt. “Are me and Arthur not good enough for you?”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“I know,” Sarah answered. “You’re at least worth keeping around for the free beer. Speaking of which, who’s on the fridge?”

“What are you talking about?”

“The picture, moron. I noticed it earlier when I was ogling your marble countertops. Great choice, by the way. Personally I would’ve gone with—”

“It’s my mom,” Loren interjected.

“Yeah? She’s a real stunner. You look just like her.”

Loren forced a smile. “Thank you.”

Her change in demeanor did not get by Sarah. The topic obviously struck a nerve and she instantly felt awful for bringing it up, even if she didn’t know better.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

“No, it’s okay. You’re actually the first person to ask me about it. I used to have a copy of that picture on my desk in Pittsburgh.”

“Did something happen?” Sarah asked slowly. She was now swimming in shark-infested waters. One wrong move and she’d be eaten alive.

Loren nodded. “When I was eleven. Everything had been weird around the house for a few days but no one would tell me what was going on. One day I came home from school and the neighbor was there to get me off the bus. She told me Mom was in the hospital and that my dad had told her to watch me until they got back.”

Sarah didn’t know what to say. She’d never been good in awkward situations, which it had quickly become. Her and Loren were practically strangers; she didn’t know how much of the story Loren was comfortable telling. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to hear it—she didn’t mind Loren confiding in her—she just didn’t know what to say.

However, she didn’t have to worry about a response, as Loren took a deep breath and continued her story.

“My neighbor drove me to my aunt’s house. I stayed there for three days. My dad didn’t want me going to the hospital because he thought I was too young. All I remember is crying because I missed my mom and I still had no idea what was going on. My aunt finally sat me down and told me she had stage-four breast cancer and that she probably wasn’t going home—”

“Are you serious? What a shitty thing to do to a kid.”

Loren shrugged. “I was just glad someone told me, y’know? Still, I was scared out of my mind. The next day I skipped school and used my lunch money to take the bus to the hospital. My dad was pissed when he saw me but he understood. My mom, however, looked awful. I kept asking everyone who walked in how it happened so quickly but no one knew.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Loren smiled sadly. “She died two days later. I’ve never seen my dad such a wreck. She was his everything. When she died he did, too. It’s been thirteen years and he’s still a mess.”

Sarah didn’t say a word, just grabbed the remaining beer from the kitchen and brought it into the living room. She grabbed her cell phone and dialed her favorite Chinese restaurant, all but ordering the right side of the menu, before asking if they knew of a liquor store that delivered. They didn’t, of course, but that didn’t deter her. After reassuring Loren she’d be back “in a jiffy,” she returned to her apartment and grabbed various bottles from her liquor cabinet just in time to meet the deliveryman at Loren’s door. Sarah handed him a fifty and told him to keep the change.

“I hope there’s something in here you like,” Sarah said as she began unpacking the large paper bag. “I probably should’ve asked before I ordered it.”

“This is great,” Loren replied, smiling appreciatively. “Thank you.”

Sarah glanced at the clock. “Hey, I think the game’s on if you want to watch it.”

Loren shrugged and carried her plate of food back into the living room. The flatscreen television had been mounted to the wall but that was it, save for a few boxes. She thought nothing of it as she sat cross-legged on the floor and turned the channel to Comcast Sportsnet. Sarah had just joined her when a graphic flashed across the screen that nearly caused Loren to have a brain aneurysm: Arthur and his wife, Nancy, with none other than Claude Giroux. There was a banner behind them that thanked Arthur for his work and wished him and his wife a happy anniversary.

Sarah grinned. “Well, would you look at that.”


Hours later, Loren laid in bed, drunk and on the verge of tears. She hadn’t talked about her mother in years. Most people never asked; if they didn’t notice the picture they simply never realized Loren’s mother was never brought up in conversation. Not even Rhea, one of Loren’s closest friends, knew about her mother’s death. They hadn’t met until their freshman year of high school. Loren was mostly out of her funk by then but still wasn’t ready to talk about it. Not to anyone.

She was twenty-four now. Thirteen years had come and gone since her mother passed away and still Loren had days she didn’t want to get out of bed in the morning. Her mother had been her everything: her rock, her reason to smile, her confidant. Her father tried his best, god knows he did, but there were certain roles he’d never be able to fill. Rhea’s mother taught her how to use tampons, her aunt Michelle took her to buy her prom dress, and she spent every Mother’s Day with her grandmother and a Whitman’s sampler.

Work was a distraction, much as it always had been. Loren worked hard so she wouldn’t have to think. Thinking only got her in trouble, made her remember. She’d committed her mother’s image to memory but couldn’t bring herself to remember anything else about her.

Loren had never been religious. Before her mother died they used to go to church every Sunday but she didn’t really know what was going on. She was too scared to leave her parents to go to Sunday School so they didn’t make her. Her father still went after she died but Loren refused. She couldn’t believe someone would willingly take her mother away from her. If that person truly existed, Loren decided, she didn’t want anything to do with them. Now, after having more than half of her life to adjust and mature, she wasn’t so sure what she believed.

She believed in luck. She believed in working hard and being good to everyone, even those who weren’t so good to her. She believed in standing up for what was right even when it wasn’t popular and she believed in always trying to be the better person. Most importantly, she believed, wholeheartedly, in love. Her parents had never given her a reason to doubt it.


Kris Letang was having a horrible night.

After his dishwasher decided to implode, he dropped his phone in the toilet. Since it was nearing midnight he couldn’t run out to buy a new one and would have to wait until the following morning. That would’ve been great had he not blown a tire on his way home from practice. Now he had no car, no phone, and no dishwasher. Luckily the All Star break was on the horizon and he could spend a few days unwinding in Ottawa.

He grabbed his laptop and took a seat on the couch. The television was turned to NHL Network but muted. Most people would think he would’ve had enough of hockey by the time he went home at night but that usually wasn’t the case. Hockey was his life. That didn’t stop or go away just because he wanted it to.

Sid,

Car broke down. Don’t have a phone. Can you pick me up for practice in the AM?

Kris

He sent the email and waited for a reply—if he was even going to get one. Sidney was notorious for not answering emails. That’s what Loren had been for, but ever since she’d been fired the last seven messages Kris had sent to him had gone unanswered. None of the guys were particularly great at checking their inbox, but he knew Sid’s got pushed to his phone. He was the most likely to see his SOS.

The NHL was anal-retentive about the players being familiar with the press before they did anything. Kris was barely allowed to breathe until he knew exactly who he’d be speaking to once he got to Ottawa and when he was expected to do so. Saturday, 2pm, press conference. He knew his schedule for the upcoming weekend like the back of his hand. Still, the league insisted on sending him another email just to make sure.

The catchy subject made his eyes roll: IMPORTANT: MEDIA UPDATE! Kris sighed. He hated the media. He hated speaking to them, he hated indulging in their bizarre fantasies about being well-known by association, he hated them trying to pry into his personal life. He lived quietly for a reason. He’d never been the type of player to generate the type of buzz that Sid or Geno did and he liked it that way. The media kept out of his way and he kept out of theirs.

He scrolled through the names of reporters and associated media outlets without much of an interest. Dan Potash would be accompanying the selected Penguins and that’s all Kris really cared about. None of the other reporters even rang a bell until he was midway through the list.

Hamilton, Loren: Media Relations, Philadelphia Flyers
hamiltonloren@media.flyers.com

Kris had never died before but he was certain he did just then. The grounds surrounding Loren’s dismissal had been kept secret. Mario et al. didn’t think it was anyone’s business and Sid was in too much of a funk to talk about her. Truthfully, Kris was fine with that. No one except Jordan had taken notice of his minor infatuation with her and he wanted to keep it that way. If Sid had any idea he’d been after her until things went sour, he’d lose it. There were already talks of him being out for the remainder of the season—again—and Kris thought it best if he didn’t have personal bullshit to deal with on top of that.

He quickly deleted the email and made sure it hadn’t been sent to anyone with loose lips. Jordan had told him after practice that Sidney had no idea where Loren had gone to. Until he received the email he could only speculate. The perks of being who he was meant nothing was really a secret unless he wanted it to be. Some of his friends in low places threw a few teams at him: Anaheim, Chicago, and finally Philadelphia. Most of them placed their wages on the latter and Kris had just assumed it as truth. Now there was proof that Loren was only a few hours away.

Goddammit.

Kris was the token good guy on the team. His partying was kept to a minimum and his shy demeanor earned him comparisons to a fluffy kitten or various woodland creatures. It was always a shock when he got into a fight and god forbid he ever got hurt. His teammates would always joke that you could hear the breath getting sucked out of Consol every time he went down. He didn’t mind these things. Most of the time it came as a relief. He wouldn’t know how to handle having a reputation like Max’s or Jordan’s.

What did bother him, though, was that he had a conscience.

C’est vraiment des conneries.

He shut his laptop without waiting for a reply from Sid. That would only make keeping his secret harder…now that he had two of them. Somewhere deep down he knew he should tell him about the secret crush on his former publicist he’d been harboring but he couldn’t justify doing it now, of all times. However, nothing was keeping him from telling Sidney where she was. He knew he’d be on the next plane to Philadelphia as soon as he did—and maybe for good reason. Without Loren, Sidney was a mess, and anyone with two eyes and a braincell could see that.

As he climbed into bed and tried to drift off to sleep, he only had one thought: I really, really hope Dan doesn’t notice I’m not at practice.