Inside Out

A soft sigh escaped my lips as I unlocked the door to my childhood home. It was exactly as it always was; a cacophony of contrasting noises, warm and inviting with the smell of chocolate chip cookies wafting through the house. My dad was in the living room to the left of the front door, the TV on an old action movie from the seventies while my mom was busy in the kitchen, humming along to Billy Joel.

“I’m home,” I called as I dropped my keys in the bowl by the door. “I’m just going to get changed and then head to Frank & Lola’s.”

If either of my parents heard me they didn’t make any effort to reply. It was typical of my weekends at home: both of my parents acted like I was around all week until it was time for me to leave on Sunday night. On the rare weekend that one or both of my brothers were around it was even worse, with an even bigger meltdown before we all had to separate. Denis was playing hockey in Europe while Mike was playing hockey for the University of Wisconsin.

After dropping my bag into the laundry room I took the stairs two at a time and all but dove into my old bedroom. It was just as I left it; painted Islanders’ blue with posters lining all but one of the walls. But now it was weird. The John Tavares poster my dad bought me last summer was staring at me like it could actually see me and I felt dirty as I changed.

“Bren?” My mom peeked into my room. “Are you staying for lunch?”

Shaking my head, I choked out a soft laugh. “Um, no, I’m heading to Frank & Lola’s. I haven’t been since before the lockout ended.”

My mom nodded. She was smiling but I didn’t miss the slight frown that graced her lips before she covered it up. The legend was that she was excited when I was born because after two sons she desperately wanted a daughter. Someone she could shop with and tease about cute boys. But as my dad says, I might as well have been another boy – when I was little I did everything my brother’s did and I always wanted to be with my dad. My mom and I never recovered and now we dance around each other at best.

“Well alright hon, if that’s what you want.”

I nodded as a soft sigh slipped past my lips. Following her out of my room, I bit my lip to keep from speaking out, from offering to stay and have lunch with her. Outside of our shared love of hockey we had nothing in common – talking to her about boys was just weird and shopping with her was impossible if I wanted to finish with my brain still intact.

“Alright well I’ll be home later,” I called after her as I slipped out the front door.

Frank and Lola's has been my go-to sandwich shop since I was twelve. It's just a short walk away from the coliseum but it's a blink and you'll miss it kind of place, buried on the corner of two of the busiest streets in Uniondale. Which is exactly why it's my favorite; not a lot of people seem to know about it. Unless it's before or after an Islanders game, it's generally pretty quiet.

Pushing the door open, I slipped into the sandwich shop. The smell of fresh bread and meats cooking greeted me as Frank, one of the owners, glanced up from where he was working and gave me a wave. Being at NYU meant I was an hour away from my family, the place I grew up. That included Frank and the shop. Normally my weekends and whenever I didn't have a class the next day meant that I'd head home but with my internship I was now seeing less and less of Long Island.

“Hey, Bren, where ya been,” Frank asked as I reached the bar and slipped into my usual seat at the end. It was right in front of where he was always working and it was the same spot I'd been sitting in since I first discovered the place with my dad after an Islanders game. “We've missed you 'round here. Even named a sandwich after you like I said we would.”

My eyes flitted up to the handwritten menu mounted on the wall above him. There I was, underneath the sandwiches named after Islanders greats; The Brenna Campbell. It was exactly the same as a Bryan Trottier except they added my two favorite things: pickles and Swiss cheese. I shook my head as a laugh fell from my lips. Frank placed a plate in front of me as I opened my mouth to order and I couldn't help but smile. Even though it'd been a good couple of weeks I was obviously still his favorite.

“Thanks Frank,” I laughed as he set a bottle of orange soda in front of me. He went back to work and I turned to my sandwich. It was the Brenna Campbell and Frank made sure to put extra pickles on the side. But my mom couldn’t understand why I loved this place, why always wanted to spend my time here. Even if you took away the fact that I’d been eating for free since I was fourteen, it was still an amazingly quiet place. Those kinds of places are unheard of in the city.

Pulling a book from my bag, I crossed and uncrossed my legs as I settled into the barstool. It was a little less comfortable than I remembered it but the last few times I was sitting in a barstool they were padded and fancy. The little ding of a new customer barely registered as I flipped pages, trying desperately to get into a biography about Sidney Crosby. It was boring – the guy was absolutely boring. It irked me that someone so phenomenal on the ice could come across as dull off it.

“Pick up for John.”

The voice yanked my attention from my dull book. Since when did Frank & Lola do pick up orders? Glancing up, my eyes grew wide at who I saw standing just a few feet away in front of the cash register at the other end of the bar. Snapping my attention back to the book, I desperately tried to act as though I was thoroughly engrossed. But I couldn’t help but overhear the exchange.

“It’ll be just a few minutes,” Frank said, flipping something on the grill that made a sizzling noise.

“No problem,” John replied. “Sorry for the short notice.”

“No, I’m sorry for not having it ready.”

I smirked into my book. Leave it to John Tavares to turn a big strong man into a stumbling, bumbling mess of polite manners and sweetness. Frank was a sweetheart at his core but I’d also heard him tell people where they could shove it if they complained or gave him lip.

“But hey, while you’re here my girl Brenna is a walking encyclopedia of Islanders trivia. If there’s anything you’ve ever wanted to know you should ask her.”

Keeping my eyes on my book as Frank hyped me up was near impossible. My fingers were shaking and I was chewing on the inside of my cheek to keep from saying anything. It’d been a few weeks since our last encounter, enough time to make me just confident enough that he wouldn’t remember me. But not nearly enough for me to be absolutely sure.

“Is that right?” John asked and I couldn’t keep my head down any longer without being a terribly rude bitch. And it’s John Tavares. Shaking my head slightly, I glanced up and put my best smile on. His brown eyes nearly bugged out of his head and I couldn’t help but bite my lip to keep from laughing.

“We have a trivia contest, open to all ages every year. Brenna’s in the hall of fame,” Frank raved as he jerked his thumb in the direction of the pictures. They were lined up on the wall to my left and the picture was, thankfully, from last year after I made Frank update it. “You only have to win three years in a row for that – Bren’s won the last seven.”

I shifted awkwardly as I pushed a piece of hair behind my ear. “Hockey’s kind of a big deal in my family,” I offered as I watched John inspect the pictures. His gaze turned to me and I could feel my face flaming under the scrutiny of it. He looked a lot like he remembered me and a lot like he was trying to connect overconfident me to the girl sitting in front of him, cowering in a corner and mildly embarrassed over her fanaticism.

“Last cup win?” He asked, an eyebrow quirked as he leaned against the bar.

“Eighty-three,” I answered easily. “A sweep of the Oilers and Billy Smith was MVP. Mike Bossy scored the series winner, Denis Potvin was captain and Al Arbour was the coach.” I smirked at him, confidence once again oozing from my pores. Alcohol gave me the confidence to do stupid things, work gave me the confidence to approach people, but I didn’t need anything to spout off the facts I knew about the Islanders.

“Impressive,” John nodded, a small smile playing at his lips. He opened his mouth to say something and I leaned forward, hooked to whatever he was going to say. But Frank came over then, sliding a plate and a drink across the bar in front of him with a knowing smirk. John smiled in return as he slid into the chair next to mine.

His presence was overwhelming, and despite the fact that there were a good couple of inches between us I could still feel him there, within a little leaning distance. We ate together in silence, my mind reeling. I set my book down by my plate and John coughed a little as he gave me a questioning glance. I shrugged in reply, and nodded at the look he gave me, a sort of half nod towards the book like he was asking if he could pick it up.

I watched as he carefully wiped his hands on a napkin before picking it up and flipping through the pages. “Crosby, eh?” He wondered as he set it back down and picked his sandwich up again.

“He’s amazing,” I sighed. “But that biography is totally dull. Like, how can someone so phenomenal on the ice be so boring off of it? I understand he’s probably like, guarded or something ‘cause everyone’s eyes have been on him since forever but would it kill the guy to crack a joke once in awhile?”

John laughed before shoving the final bite of his sandwich into his mouth. He didn’t say anything for a while as he chewed and I mildly wondered if I overstepped and said too much. Maybe they were friends or maybe he just didn’t take kindly to people kind of trashing other guys in the sport.

“I’d hate to hear what you have to say about me,” he said finally as he took a sip of his water. “It’s been said that I’m a worse interview than Crosby.”

I laughed, shaking my head as I pulled the last pickle from my sandwich and pushed it away. “Really now? I had no idea,” I shot back before popping the pickle into my mouth. “I thought you were just an awful human being that liked to be mean to the media.”

John paused for a moment, just staring at me like he was trying to figure something out before laughter bubbled from his lips. It was a nice sound and I couldn’t help but smile in return as I hopped down from my seat and took my plate to the nearby trash. John was stretching when I returned and I quickly shoved my bottle of orange soda and Crosby biography into my book to keep from staring at the sliver of exposed abs.

“I’ll see you tomorrow Frank,” I offered as I slung the bag over my shoulder.

“Try not to let NYU keep you from me too much,” he called back, a knowing smirk on his lips.

John and I walked out of the restaurant together and I tried to hide how awkward it felt. The first time we met I thought it was going to be the one and only time. The second time I saw an opportunity to make my dad happy with an autograph and really thought that would definitely be the last time. But now we were standing next to each other as we left Frank & Lola’s and I couldn’t help but feel like the universe was trying to teach me some kind of lesson about karmic retribution.

“So you’re not a redhead.” It was the first thing out of John’s mouth when we hit the sidewalk. Tripping over my own feet, I stumbled forward and nearly hit the ground before John grabbed my arm and pulled me upright. “And apparently you’re uncoordinated.”

“Ha,” I scoffed, shaking my head as I brushed imaginary dirt from my thighs. “You just caught me off guard. But no, I’m not a redhead. My hair just looks like it has some red in it when I’m in the sun sometimes.”

“And your name is real name is Brenna,” he stated. The look on his face clearly read as confused and it made me feel confused. “I just don’t get it. You had this confidence about you when we first met and then you ran the table on me at that event at the NHL store.”

“Get what?” I asked nervously. “We met in a bar, on Valentine’s. I was a little buzzed and feeling way too confident and I saw an opportunity and I took it. Then, a few weeks ago at that event I saw another opportunity and I took it again. I’m not that girl though.” I shrugged as I ran my fingers through my long brown locks. “I mean, I am. Just… not usually.”

John’s brown eyes met mine and we stood there for a moment, openly staring at each other before he nodded and took off his Mets cap. I wanted to ask if it was the same one as the other two times we met but I kept my mouth shut as I watched him. My eyes were glued to his fingers as he ran them through his hair before pulling the hat back down onto his head.

“Can I get your number?”

The question caught me off guard. My stomach dropped and I bit my lip. I nodded quickly, barely hesitating to take the phone he was holding out to me. “Why though?” I wondered, genuinely curious as I punched my number in and made a new contact.

The guy in front of me smiled. “You’re confident and sexy as hell,” he said, his cheeks flushing pink as he did. It set a warm tidal wave through my body and I couldn’t help but beam at him. “But obviously a little shy too and I wonder how that can be.”

“Guess you’ll just have to call me and figure it out,” I offered, my confidence surging. With one last smirk, I turned away from him and headed back to my car, quietly wishing that I had a girl best friend to talk to.