The Boy Next Door

“Miranda....we got married!”

I nearly crashed the car. “...Come again?”

“We’re married!”

“I know, I heard you the first time, but...what??”

Driving alone along the Highway 417 in downtown Ottawa, I was trying to keep my eyes on the road and not have a complete and total freakout. I was on the phone with my best friend and former roommate, Leslie, who had married her NHL hockey-playing boyfriend, David Rundblad. I tried repeating that sentence in my head several times to myself, but every time, I couldn’t bring myself to finish it. “Explain, please!”

“Well, since I was able to move to the US on an employment visa, but I had to leave my job when Dave was sent to play for the AHL team in Portland. We only had one option left to keep me here. So we got married!”

I was in complete and utter shock. My knuckles whitened as they gripped the steering wheel tightly. Leslie was married. Married. To the guy who, in October and November, I had been dating.

But that’s not what had me so shocked. It wasn’t that I had feelings for Dave; it was that in a magical six-month span, Leslie ended up with a fairytale ending. She’d married the perfect man, she’d run away with him, and she had a perfect life ahead of her. Knowing Leslie, she’d never let Dave’s salary keep her from living a life of her own, but if she wanted to, she didn’t have to lift a finger. Leslie had that life when I could have been in her shoes, and there I was, driving back to the suburbs with my entire life stuffed in a couple of cardboard boxes.

I was moving back in with my parents. Once Leslie had moved out, I couldn’t afford to pay the rent all on my own. I was completely broke. With student loans and no summer job, I had no choice. I said goodbye to the city life, with cocktails and dancing, and hello to the suburbs, with barbecues and mini-vans.

A few years ago, I wouldn’t have pictured my life to be anything like it was. All throughout high school and through my first two years of university, I’d had it all. I was prom queen, I got straight As, and I always had men at my beck and call. Now I was living with my parents, without a dime to my name. At least I still had my boyfriend, Grey. I’d been with him for almost seven months, which was the longest relationship I’d ever been in. Before Grey, to me, men were like a game. As soon as I’d won a guy over and we were tangled under the sheets, it was game over. It all hinged on recklessness and abandon. Now, Grey was one of the only sources of security I had left.

“Miranda? Miranda??”

I cleared my throat, adjusting my Bluetooth on the overhead mirror. “Yeah, I’m here, sorry. I was just...caught a little off guard there.”

Leslie sighed on the other end. “Look, I can’t even express how sorry I am about everything that’s happened these past couple months...”

“Are you kidding, Leslie? None of this is your fault. It’s not your fault that you fell in love and followed your heart. It’s not your fault that I didn’t get off my ass and start making a living. I brought this upon myself. And now I have to pay the consequences.”

“I still feel like there’s something I can do. If you ever need any money – ”

“Absolutely fucking not! I’ll find a job, get my student loans sorted out and...and I’ll figure it out. Just trust me, Leslie.”

Another sigh. “Okay. Dave’s waving, he says hi and good luck.”

“Tell him thanks. I’ll really need it.” I looked in the rearview mirror, the downtown skyline a mere speck in the distance. “I’m almost home, Leslie. I gotta go.”

“Okay, well call me tomorrow. Let me know how the move went and say hi to Bev and Rinaldo for me!”

I suppressed a laugh. “My parents will be so glad to hear about you. Sometimes I swear they would have tossed me off a cliff to have you as their daughter.”

She scoffed. “Don’t be ridiculous, they adore you.” Suddenly Leslie giggled into the phone.

“Dave, stop it!” I heard Dave mumble in a low voice in the background. “Dave!” She shouted again, in a high-pitched voice, giggling even more.

I grimaced. “I think it’s time for me to go now.” I heard a full-bellied laugh escape from Leslie right before I turned off my Bluetooth and slumped into my seat.

My arms hung limply from the steering wheel, and I glanced at the cardboard box that sat in the passenger seat. It was all the loose decorative items from my bedroom. On top was a picture of Leslie and I from high school. We had our arms around each other’s waists, wrapped in a hug, with our heads turned to the camera. It was the middle of the night, and we were standing barefoot in the middle of the road right in front of the house I was about to pull up to. Returning to my house this time, I wouldn’t be in high school. I wouldn’t be with my best friend. I wouldn’t be having the time of my life. This time, I’d be starting all over again.

When I pulled into the driveway, the front door of my house flew open. My mother emerged, her dark brown pixie cut shining brightly in the June sun. My flip-flops thwapped on the asphalt as I hopped out of the SUV, and my mother inched towards me slowly with her arms wide open. I hugged her tightly, closing my eyes and resting my cheek on her shoulder. “Welcome home, Mimi.”

“Thanks, Mom.” I replied into her shoulder. She released me, and just as I stepped back, my dad rounded the corner. He gave me a quick nod, heading straight to the car and carrying my boxes in the house. Having grown up in Italy in a large family proud of their accomplishments, my dad wasn’t very accepting of his 21-year-old freeloading daughter. He’d barely spoken five words to me since my mom agreed to take me back in, and I couldn’t say I was heartbroken.
“Brock! Help your sister with her things!” My dad shouted into the house, his booming voice causing the earth to practically vibrate.

“Okay, okay!” he replied, thumping down the front stairs. Every time I saw Brock, it took me a moment to remember that my little brother wasn’t a ten-year-old dweeb anymore, and he was now a tall, strapping eighteen-year-old. He towered over me, and his shoulders were practically broader than the width of the SUV. Despite his toned build, he still had the framework of the lanky teenager I once knew.

“Going to the gym, I see?”

Brock shrugged smugly. “Gotta keep it fresh for the ladies. Plus this summer I’ll be roofing all day for Dad’s business. It’d be like the gym, I’d get a tan, all I’d need to do is my laundry and I’d be like a full-blown guido,” he laughed.

I somehow managed to smile and grimace at the same time. “Always a pleasure, lil bro.”

He tipped his Texas Longhorns cap to me and leaned forward to grab the box from the passenger seat. He eyed the picture sitting on top and took one hand from the box to lift it to his face. He turned it to me, motioning towards Leslie. “Damn. I would have tapped that.” My gag reflex felt weak.

“Brock! Don’t talk about her like that,” my mom barked as she took a box from the car.
Turning to the house with my suitcase full of clothes, I looked to the ground, inhaling deeply. Now was as good of an opportunity as ever to break the news about their second daughter. Making a scene over it wasn’t necessary. “Doesn’t even matter. She’s a taken woman. She’s...married.”

The box from Brock’s arms crashed to the ground, the contents tumbling out and the photo on top floating gently to the asphalt. My mom was planted in place, gaping at me. They were looking at me was as if I had just announced something far more serious than marriage. It was as if I had announced Leslie had immigrated to the Australian Outback to live amongst the kangaroos. As Brock cursed at himself and gathered my things back in the box, my mother collected herself. “M...married? To David?”

My father had come back around the corner with stitched brows and a serious look of disdain on his face. He wagged his thick index finger at me. “See, that Leslie is going places. She’s making a life for herself.”

I rolled my eyes. I wasn’t in the mood to argue with him. I was never in the mood to argue with him. And most of the time, it wasn’t even arguing. It was always a long speech about everything I was doing wrong with my life, and not what I was doing right. I already knew what was wrong with my life. I didn’t need my father, someone who was supposed to love me and support me no matter what, reminding me.

As soon as all of my boxes sat on the floor in my room, I flopped down on my small twin bed. I stared at the heaps of boxes, willing them to magically unpack themselves. I grabbed a pillow, pulled it down to my face, and groaned loudly into it.

I heard a knock at the door. “Come in,” I shouted through the pillow.

The door squeaked open, and my mom’s face peeked through the crack. “Mimi, sweetheart, there’s a neighborhood barbeque later this afternoon that I’d really like you to go to. A lot of our neighbours that haven’t seen you in a while are going to be there and I’m sure they’d love to see you!”

I detached the pillow from my face and plunked in on the floor. “I’m kind of tired, Mom. I don’t really feel like it.”

“Oh come on, just stop by for an hour. Some of them haven’t seen you for years! Do it for me. Please, hun?”

I sat up in bed, my long chestnut waves tumbling over my face. Her brows raised, and she had an earnest look on her face. It was the least I could do for her after what she’d done for me. I glared at her through my lashes, and sighed deeply. “Maybe in a couple of hours.”

My mom beamed, cupping her hands to her chest. “Oh good, I’m glad!”

When she shut the door, I flopped back down on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. It was plain. White. Blank. If I had to visualize my summer, the ceiling would have served as a perfect depiction. I’m sure the neighbours (or at least some of them) were friendly people, it couldn’t hurt. Maybe I could ask around, figure out if anyone was hiring for the summer. I couldn’t mope money into my bank account, so I needed to get off my ass and do some work. The first step was unpacking my boxes. I took another glance at the daunting number of boxes, and settled back into my bed. Maybe I’d take the first step a little later.

On my nighttable, the picture of Leslie and me sat there, staring at me. “Don’t look at me like that, Leslie,” I droned, flipping the photo face down.

* * *

All the boxes unpacked, I exhaled triumphantly and looked at myself in the floor length mirror. I fixed my thick waves over my green long-sleeved Henley, fixing up my mascara and eyeliner. As I pouted my lips and applied a dab of lipgloss, I went over my game plan. I’d get in. I’d mingle. I’d use my girlish charm, and bing bang boom, I’d maneuver my way into a summer job...somehow. Then I’d get out.

As the sun hung in the middle of the sky in the late June afternoon, I approached a throng of people standing around barbeques and folding tables scattered across the field of our local park. I weaved through the crowd in search of a familiar face. I recognized a few faces from around the neighborhood, but no one in particular that I could approach. I grabbed a Coke from the refreshment table and stopped for a moment, casually scanning the crowd. My gaze stopped on a head that poked above the crowd, in the middle of a casual conversation with my brother. He was a mixture of man and adolescent, with a man’s build, but a youthful face. He was incredibly handsome; who was he? And what was he doing talking to my goofball brother?

“Oh, Miranda! Miranda!” I was broken out of my trance by my mother’s shrill call, waving her hand from side to side in front of my face, as if capturing and abusing one of my five senses wasn’t enough. “So glad you came! You remember Donna, right?”

My mom motioned to the woman beside her, who had golden, fluffy shoulder-length hair and a warm smile. The woman beamed at me, putting her hand on my forearm. “My, haven’t you grown into an absolutely beautiful young woman!”

I racked every corner of my brain, trying to remember who this cheery lady was. I smiled back politely, but she sensed the doubt in my face. She cleared her throat and straightened up. “I’m Donna Gudbranson, Erik’s mother!”

Erik. Erik Gudbranson. Growing up, he lived across the street from me. He and I would play road hockey with Brock and the other neighbourhood kids until the streetlights came on almost every day after school. As we started growing up, and hormones started to rage about, our relationship became...awkward, and non-existent. The final straw was when he moved to Kingston to play for the Frontenacs, and was then drafted by the Florida Panthers. We’d completely lost touch. Now, we were adults, and I hadn’t seen him for years.

“Right, Donna! Of course! It’s so nice to see you!” She pulled me in immediately for a hug, and she squeezed the breath right out of me.

She smiled cheerily at me, folding her hands over her mouth and shaking her head. “Boy, you certainly grew up. Erik will take one look at you and forget why you ever lost touch!”

I laughed at the thought. The last I remembered of Erik was a scrawny little brace-faced kid with a bowl haircut. Since he’d played in the NHL, I couldn’t imagine he was scrawny anymore, but all I could picture was a 20-year-old version of that same brace-faced kid fumbling over his words and blushing as he spoke to me.

“...Miranda?”

I turned in the direction of the deep voice that called my name. When my neck craned to meet the eyes of the tall, muscular man who stood behind me, a wave of shock hit me almost as hard as I imagined his body to be. When he smiled and hugged me before I even had a chance to react, I felt just how hard that body really was. His arms easily circled the circumference of my waist, and I gently placed my hands on his back, the cotton of his thin grey v-neck barely serving as a barrier between my fingers and his solid back muscles. I felt his scruff on my cheek, and I had to steady myself as he released me from his grip. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

“...Erik?” I had to ask the question. I had to make sure that this man truly was Erik Gudbranson, and not some imposter. I thought at any moment he might unzip his costume, and the old, awkward gangly Erik would hop out and surprise me.

“Of course! Who did you think I was?” A Greek statue? A model who’d gotten lost on the way to the Abercrombie & Fitch photoshoot?

“Certainly not the Erik Gudbranson I remember. You have guns!” Why did I want to reach out and touch them so badly? I rid my mind of the thought and forced myself to focus.

He laughed, flashing a bright, straight, grin. Focus lost. Those braces had certainly done the job. I was slipping further and further into a state of disbelief as every second passed. “I guess they’re the product of a year of hard work!”

I nodded. “I can’t believe you’re in the NHL! Thinking back to when I could take you when we were younger, makes me wonder why I’m not right up there with you.”

“Frankly, I’m not impressed, Miranda. What happened?”

I shrugged, and instinctively felt my hand begin to rise towards my brown waves to twirl one around my finger, but I quickly stopped myself. I couldn’t revert back to my old ways; a few months ago, I would have fluttered my eyes, flipped my hair, flashed a naughty grin his way, and he’d be in the palm of my hand. My instinctive nature was trying to rip itself out of me. It was cruel for a man this good looking to be dangled in front of me with nothing I could do about it.

But what was the harm, really? With my life unraveling at the seams, it would have been good to know that I still had it. That I still had something. After all, summer was all about letting loose, wasn’t it? And Grey wouldn’t have found out. What he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.
I glanced behind me at our mothers chatting to each other, beginning to walk towards one of the tables of food. I turned back to Erik and cocked a brow. “You sure do look like you’ve worked hard. How about you show me some of your new moves?” I gazed up at him through my thick lashes, placing my small hand on his forearm and gently resting it there.

He nodded gently, his brows angling in thought. “You know, that’s actually a great idea! We should get Brock and all of the guys out and have a good game of road hockey just like old times!”

My hand slid right off his forearm, falling limp at my side, and I blinked hard. There was no way he missed the cue. He played in the fucking NHL, he probably dealt with women throwing themselves at him left and right on a daily basis. I had thrown the bait, and not even a nibble.
At that moment, my iPhone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out, Grey’s smiling face on the screen, waiting for me to pick up his call. Erik watched as I pressed the ignore button, shoving my phone back into the pocket of my jeans. He looked at me expectantly and I gave him a smile. “That’s actually not a bad idea. Got any plans tonight?”

“Yeah actually, I’m going out with a few buddies of mine that I haven’t seen since Christmas. Why don’t you come along?”

I bit my lip and looked down at my iPhone in my pocket, as if it’d shock me if I gave the wrong answer. “I don’t know, I don’t want to impose. And I kind of have a lot to sort out at home. I’m a little tired from the move.”

“Move?”

“Yeah, I...I moved back in with my parents.”

“Oh.” His voice rose a little, but expression was unchanged. He wasn’t judging me or reacting; he simply continued the conversation like we’d been talking about the weather. “Well it’d be in the spirit of catching up with old pals! If you want to stay in I understand, but I’d really like you to come. I’d love to catch up.” His deep brown eyes were alive with hope, his hands into the pockets of his shorts. Suddenly, I was tired no more, and I forgot about the move. What move? But I didn’t forget about Grey, and I didn’t trust myself if alcohol, insecurity and this 6 foot 4 hunk of man were all going to be involved.

I tried justifying saying no, I tried flipping through the Rolodex of reasons in my head to politely decline and walk away. But saying no wasn’t in my nature. Turning down an evening of possibility and the unknown was everything I was against. Life is all about living in the moment, and in that moment, Erik Gudbranson was standing in front of me, with puppy-dog eyes and his dark brown hair adorably standing up on end, willing me to spend an evening with him. “You know what? You’re right. I need a night of fun. But I’ll be one busy girl tomorrow ‘cause of you. You’d better not disappoint, Gudbranson.”

His smile slowly grew and his eyes narrowed slightly. Finally, I was extracting some kind of reaction out of him, rather than his diplomatic smiles as if his mom had been watching the whole time. “I won’t. I promise.”

We quickly exchanged numbers, discussed details, and then he disappeared into the crowd, absorbed by a neighbourhood of hockey moms and dads itching to talk to him. I felt like a teenager again, eager with anticipation over what the night might hold.