Perfect Symmetry

The Penguins won their game in New York in overtime, and Jordan was playful and cocky about it when I interviewed him about it. He mentioned that he was going to get dinner with Marc and James Neal, and I was welcome to come if I wanted to ask Marc a couple sibling questions. I didn’t really want to go out anywhere but I sucked it up and dressed nicely and everything.

When we got to the restaurant, Marc was already sitting in a large booth waiting. I had always thought that Eric and Jordan looked very much alike compared to Marc. Marc had broader features, with hazel-ish eyes and almost ginger hair that was very different from the Scandinavian blonde hair, blue-eyed look that Eric and Jordan had going. He had a bright smile on his face despite the loss.

“Hey little bro,” Marc greeted as Jordan embraced him.

“Hey loser,” Jordan riffed, punching his brother in the arm. “This is Jazz Patil; she’s the Penguins on-call writer and she’s writing some fluff about our sibling rivalry. And that’s Nealer, you know him. He just wanted a free meal I think.”

“Nice to meet you,” Marc shook my hand politely before clapping James on the back jokingly. “I think we were both on the ice at the same time.”

“And how many times did I get past you?” James asked pompously.

“Once-and that was because I tripped,” Marc retorted in amusement. “And you didn’t even get the shot off, if I remember correctly.”

James reddened slightly. “Oh shut up, we won the game.”

“I was a plus three tonight,” Marc added brightly. “But yes, my baby brother’s team beat me.”

“He’s not a sore loser like Eric,” Jordan explained as we all slid onto our seats and got ourselves situated.

“Yeah Eric’s pretty bad,” Marc added, smiling broadly. “But tell me about your writing, Jazz. I don’t think Jordan’s mentioned you before; how long have you been in Pittsburgh?”

“I’ve only been here for about a month. I was in Chicago for a long time, working for an advertising company, but I was offered this job with the Penguins and I just took it,” I rattled off the usual story that I gave to people who didn’t know me too well.

“Oh yeah! You did that whole anti-bullying thing with some of the NHL players. It was great! I don’t know why I wasn’t invited,” he teased.

I blushed. “Well I could only pick a couple people and I figured the league’s eastern conference bias is so obvious that you guys could handle one team being left out of a silly little ad.”

My answer had started off civil but in the end I just went for it. What did it matter? Besides, Marc had three boisterous brothers, so I was sure he could handle a little jab.

James burst out into laughter and Jordan soon joined him. “Sorry,” I added as I took a sip of water. “It’s been a long week.”

“No, you’re right. There is a bias,” Marc admitted after laughing along with James and Jordan. “But seeing as I play in the east, I have no problems with it.”

I rolled my eyes but I clinked glasses with him anyway as a sign of reconciliation and forgiveness.

“So do the Staal brothers get together a lot? Given that you’re all just a few states away from each other - and in the east that’s nothing,” I smiled wryly and took out my notebook discreetly to take notes.

“When there’s a game we usually do stuff like this. Dinner and lots of ribbing,” Jordan replied with a grin.

“With a side of ribs,” Marc chirped, looking very proud of himself.

I scribbled that exchange onto a page in my notebook before smiling at Marc’s very obvious joke. We chatted about their childhood for a bit before I shoved my notebook back into my bag and flagged down the waiter.

“I need a margarita, I think. A large one,” I said decisively.

James looked eager. “Make that two, please!”

The Staal brothers both looked bemused, but Jordan eventually asked for a beer and so did Marc. James noticed a couple of pretty girls at the bar and after a couple drinks, he was brimming with confidence so he left us. Jordan soon joined him to play wingman and then it was just Marc and I. I was apologetic about all the questions and the snarky remarks but he was very sweet and understanding.

“Don’t you want to go play second wingman with the boys?” I asked, pointing to where the boys were hovering at the bar.

“No, I think I’d rather be here with you,” Marc managed to get the words out but blushed along the way.

I smiled. “You’re a nice guy, Marc. I wish more guys were like you.” The words were slightly slurred, since I had drunk most of James’ second margarita.

“I think we need to get you back to your hotel,” Marc reasoned, his face serious.

“I like you better than Jordan,” I whisper-yelled as Marc helped me out of the booth and waved to James, who wolf-whistled and waggled his eyebrows at me as we left.

I gave him the finger, although I’m eighty percent sure it was my ring finger and not my middle one. Marc was shaking with laughter as he wrapped my jacket around my shoulders and guided me towards the exit.

The cool New York air and the harsh sounds of the traffic cleared my head slightly and I blinked a few times, my vision still a bit blurry. Marc’s face, however, was in full focus.

“I think I’m a bit tipsy,” I said solemnly.

Marc bit back a smile. “Yes, I think you’re right. How are you feeling?”

“Drunk. And a bit disgusting. I might vomit soon,” I mused rather unconcernedly.

“You barely drank anything!” he furrowed his brow.

I shrugged. “I guess I’m a lightweight.”

Marc was saying something but I didn’t hear him because my head was spinning and sweat was breaking out on my face. Before I knew it, I was bent over and retching, making a bit of a mess on the street corner. I was red hot with embarrassment and I glanced up furtively to see if anyone was looking at us.

“You’re fine,” he assured me, handing me a few tissues. “No one saw. Come on, I’ve got some water in the car.”

I felt weak, but much more clear-headed as he put his hand lightly on my shoulder and matched my stride. We moved slowly, but luckily he hadn’t parked far. He opened my door for me and once he was settled into the driver’s seat, he pulled out a bottle of water from the cubby in between our seats.

I drank quickly, eager to ease the acidic taste in my mouth but was careful not to spill as Marc looked over his shoulder and pulled into the busy street, deftly turning on the radio as he drove.

Some old Jimmy Eat World song was playing and I closed my eyes for just a moment, or at least that’s what I thought. I woke up to Marc’s hand gently touching my arm.

“Hey, you fell asleep and I wasn’t sure what to do so I brought you back to my place. I hope that’s okay,” he explained anxiously.

I nodded. “Of course it is. I can’t believe I fell asleep; that’s so rude. I’m sorry Marc.”

He waved me off. “Don’t worry about it; we’re not far away from that restaurant. I called Jordan to ask where you were staying but...he didn’t answer.”

“Yes, I’m sure he was plenty preoccupied at the bar,” I smiled wryly, stretching and following Marc to the front door of his building.

He waved at the doorman who nodded back.

“Tough loss tonight, eh?” he remarked cheerfully as he held open the door for both of us.

Marc shrugged. “Yeah, Jordan’s never going to let this one go...but maybe it wasn’t so bad.”

I was too busy studying the large chandelier hanging from the roof to pay attention to their little exchange. In fact, I wasn’t really conscious of much, since after a few moments of ogling at the chandelier, my head began to spin again, and my vision blurred.

“Marc, I think I need to lie down or something,” I swayed on my feet. Marc quickly grasped my waist and we walked to the elevator.

I don’t remember anything past floor 10, and when I woke up, I was covered in a blanket and surrounded by fluffy pillows. I pulled myself up, still wearing the clothes from last night, and shuffled towards the sounds of the television.

“Morning Jazz,” he smiled. “You’re welcome to some toast, I made about six slices. There’s orange juice, or I can make coffee?”

“I need a shower,” I said weakly.

Marc seemed to realize that I felt disgusting.

“Right! The guest bathroom’s just behind you. There are towels and stuff in there. As for some clothes...I think everything I have would drown you.” He bit his lip thoughtfully. He looked just like Jordan when he did that.

“Honestly, it’s fine. Just give me an old Rangers sweatshirt, that’ll drive Jordan mad,” I requested saucily.

Marc grinned devilishly and walked into his bedroom and returned with an oversized sweatshirt and a pair of plain black boxers.

The shower was good. I felt like layers of grime were finally coming off and I lathered my hair in whatever shampoo Marc had available. After a good fifteen minutes, I towelled off and pulled on the clothes Marc had loaned me.

The sun was shining this morning, but I could tell it was still cold; people were wearing coats. But they were smiling. The sun had that effect on people...but not on me. I wanted it to rain. I wanted it to storm. I loved the sound and smells of a good storm. Rain slamming on the window, wind echoing through the room...

Pushing these thoughts to the side, I walked out of the bathroom after drying my hair with my towel a touch more. Marc was still lounging on the couch and I clutched my clothes and my phone in my hands as I sunk into the seat next to him awkwardly.

“Hey, does Jordan know where I am? I wouldn’t want him to think I was lost in New York,” I remarked as the TV blared.

“Why, is Macaulay Culkin in town?” Marc riffed jokingly. “Don’t worry, he and Neal both know. They’re on their way to pick you up now.”

I nodded. “Hey, thank you again for all your help last night. I don’t know what happened to me; usually I’m not that much of a lightweight.”

“I had a sip of the margarita’s; they had twice the amount of tequila they’re supposed to have. It’s not your fault, and you weren’t that bad...once you had thrown up on the sidewalk,” he added with a grin.

I groaned in embarrassment. “Oh God, I had forgotten about that. Well, I’m glad it was you who saw me in my hour of need rather than James or Jordan. Both of them would hold it over me for weeks on end.”

“Probably months,” Marc added sagely.

We chuckled together and I rubbed my bare face and fingered my wet hair self-consciously. My phone buzzed loudly. After glancing at the screen, I cleared my throat.

“Neal’s in a cab just outside,” I announced.

“I’ll walk you down,” he offered politely.

The elevator ride was silent. What are you supposed to say to a man you don’t really know who is extremely nice and took care of you while you were drunk? Nothing, I decided. You say nothing.

“Well it was very nice meeting you, Marc Staal,” I said decidedly, turning around to smile at him properly.

“It was...very interesting meeting you, Jazz. I liked it. And if you’re ever in New York again, you have a friend, okay?” he replied sweetly.

“Ditto if you’re ever in Pittsburgh...or Chicago,” I agreed.

We hugged warmly, my head barely reaching his shoulder. “Oh! I’m still wearing your clothes!”

“Keep them,” Marc insisted. “They look better on you anyway.”

He winked at me and then walked back inside. I hurriedly clambered into the cab as the cold air was hitting my mostly bare legs. I closed the cab door and was met with loud catcalls.

“What a surprise, Jordan is here too,” I remarked sardonically.

Jordan stuck out his tongue out at me rather half-heartedly. In fact, he looked just as uncomfortable as I felt, if not more. James was on the attack, teasing me about the Rangers sweatshirt I was wearing and especially about my bottoms, which were quite clearly his boxers. He spoke rapidly and jeeringly, not allowing me to defend myself.

James was roaring with laughter when Jordan finally spoke up.

“Did you...did you really sleep with my brother?” he looked pained.

I must have looked annoyed, because he saw my face and immediately jumped to defend himself. “Not that there’s anything wrong with you sleeping with whoever you want! Especially not my brother, actually, since he’s spent the last few months out of a serious relationship and could probably have used your help.”

“I didn’t sleep with him!” I shouted in frustration.

James looked shocked. “Why didn’t you say so?”

“You wouldn’t let me get a word in edgewise you idiot,” I scowled at him.

“Well appearance-wise, it definitely looks like you two spent the night together,” James replied defensively. “But, I did get a little excited, so I’m sorry about that.”

“He was very sweet, but I was drunk, and he was nice enough to let me...which reminds me, why was my drink so strong, hmm?” I cast both of them suspicious glances.

James Neal coughed rather loudly and shot Jordan a meaningful look. Jordan looked a bit guilty now which I loved.

“Okay I really am sorry about that; I just thought you would loosen up and then you and Marc could hit it off,” he shrugged.

I pursed my lips. “And how exactly would that have worked? We live in two different cities, separated by quite a few states.”

“Well I wasn’t planning on it being a long term thing,” Jordan smirked. “You’re both out of serious relationships and I thought you could help each other out.”

I smacked him. “That’s gross, and I find it really weird that you think about that kind of stuff when it comes to your own brother. Also, I find that manipulating and insulting and I’m quite mad at you both.”

“Both?” James looked shocked.

“You were a compliant accomplice,” I hissed before turning away from them.

“Our flight’s in an hour, but since you’ve not been here to pack you can meet us on the plane in 45 minutes or so,” James informed me as we arrived back at the hotel.

I rolled my eyes. “I packed last night. I’ll be in the lobby in ten minutes.”

Jordan snorted with laughter and James turned a bit red with embarrassment.
~
“So I heard you had a little fun with Marc Staal in New York,” Sidney remarked quietly as he flicked through a magazine rather disinterestedly.

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. The reason I had chosen to sit next to Sidney on the flight back to Pittsburgh was that I had been sure that he wouldn’t bring up Marc.

“Whatever Jordan and James told you is probably wrong,” I retorted coolly, not bothering to look up from my book.

“Well so what happened then?” his tone changed almost imperceptibly.

“Nothing. I don’t owe you an explanation,” I replied.

“Okay. But nothing happened?” Sid continued.

I sighed. “Nothing happened. I really would like to stop talking about it now.”

Sid smiled. “Okay then.”

The rest of the flight was quiet, but I didn’t finish the chapter in my book that I wanted to read. I was too busy thinking about how easily that conversation had ended. I threw sidelong glances at Sidney too, who was falling asleep in his chair and I pondered how much my life had changed in a couple months.
~
Routines were good. I had one down. I wrote about the team, hung out with the team, and watched the team. It was nice. Soon, however, I had a lot of writing about the collective and not enough about the individuals. That’s what Jack told me, anyway, when I emailed him my most recent installments. He wanted me to start on the individual profiles of the players. March was in winding down and April was just around the corner, so I agreed.

I figured the most logical person to start with was el capitan, so I called him first. He answered after the first ring. He almost always did. Usually I knew that if he didn’t answer after the first ring, he had left his phone somewhere or couldn’t hear it.

“Hey Jazz,” he answered a little breathlessly.

“Are you walking somewhere? I can call you back,” I said quickly.Not exactly a power move, Jazz, I chastised myself.

“No, no. I’m just walking up my driveway. What’s up? You want to grab some dinner or something?” he asked curiously.

“I...I actually can’t tonight. I’ve got a date with my laptop; I need to edit some of the pieces I submitted to Jack this week,” I explained. “But the reason I was calling was that I’m starting my individual profiles of players this week and I was hoping I could start with you.”

There was a short pause. “Of course Jazz. Will tomorrow work? We have an afternoon practice so it’ll have to be in the evening I think.”

“Don’t you have a game this weekend?” I queried.

“Not until Sunday. Friday evening is totally free,” he assured me.

I frowned. “I don’t want you to give up your Friday night, Sid.”

“Yeah, like I’d be doing anything with it if you didn’t,” he replied sardonically.

I laughed. “Okay. Tomorrow evening it is. My place?”

“Why don’t you come over here? You’ve never seen my house,” Sidney suggested.

It seemed strange, but it was true. I had never visited his house. Everyone usually just came to my place, since it was close and everyone knew how to get there.

“You’re right,” I remarked brightly. “Okay I’ll come there. Text me your address and I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Looking forward to it,” he murmured.

I shivered involuntarily.