The Right Thing

I knew the games would be getting more physical as the playoffs progressed and their series with the Senators didn’t disappoint on that level. It was a terrible time for my television to die in a traumatic packing accident. Even worse, my internet service had come to an end because my contract had expired and they weren’t willing to give me a month by month extension. My option was stealing internet from a neighbor and it didn’t make for good game watching.

It led me to gathering with a few friends to watch game one at a local sports bar where I had to pretend not to be anything aside from a dedicated fan. I certainly couldn’t appear to be a concerned girlfriend of one of the players. That was still a secret. It wasn’t easy when the other team all seemed so intent on doing some sort of damage to the man in the special helmet. It was painful for me to watch and my self-control was barely existent. By the time I saw Neil go after him, I was on my feet protesting as vocally as I could.

I looked and sounded like a crazy person.

I began stringing them together, cursing like a sailor on shore leave. I would have made Sidney proud, or perhaps a tad embarrassed. But he would have been impressed by my grasp of locker-room vernacular. That was undeniable.

The other patrons didn’t appreciate it and I excused myself early and used my phone to keep updated on the game. I explained it to Sidney later after he’d asked if I’d watched the game. His reaction was one of amusement.

“So glad you’re enjoying my discomfort,” I snarled.

“I’m the one who got socked in the jaw.”

“Bionic jaw. You didn’t even feel it, you said so yourself.”

“Which is why you shouldn’t worry when I get knocked around a bit.”

“I’m always going to worry.”

“I love that about you, but as long as you’ve got me in your life to worry about, remember that it comes with the territory. I’m pretty sure it says it somewhere in the job description.”

“I don’t want them to ruin that pretty face of yours.”

“Shallow.”

“I’m dating the Face of the NHL. The Face of the NHL needs to be a pretty one or it scares off the rich people who can afford to buy good seats on a regular basis. If they don’t buy the tickets, the Face of the NHL takes a pay cut and then who will buy me pretty things?”

“So we get to the real issue,” he chided.

The way his voice rose when he was smiling made me ache for him.

“I miss you,” I muttered.

“Then stop putting off the inevitable and come back. You can finish the whole moving thing when the season is over. Your stuff will still be there.”

“Not if the season runs into the end of June. My lease is up on the first of July and I won’t have enough time to get everything sorted.”

“Even better reason to get the hell out.”

“It’s not nice to peer pressure your girlfriend. Especially not during her birthday week.”

“You can’t pull the “it’s my birthday” card before the actual event. Your birthday is in three days, and I clearly haven’t forgotten so you can stop dropping hints. Besides, I know damn well that you hate birthdays almost as much as you hate those singing Hallmark cards.”

“Those are terribly annoying,” I muttered.

“I will pressure you every day this week aside from your birthday.”

“Sid…”

“Fine. Not pushing, but don’t pretend it isn’t a viable option. We both know that it is.”

“What if I don’t want to live in Mario Lemieux’s guest house?”

“You’ve never complained about the living arrangements before.”

“I just—“

He cut me off. “Here’s the deal. If we power through and get to the finals, I want you there for every game. Not cursing like a sailor in some bar in Boston, sitting with my folks and getting rowdy with my mom. I want to be able to see you when I look up there. I want to be able to know that you will be there after the game, win or lose.”

“Finals?”

“Finals.”

It seemed like a fair arrangement, a good compromise given the harsh stance I’d taken since the first time he’d asked me to move in months earlier. They didn’t make it that far, but during their series with the Senators, that wasn’t a clear issue.

He didn’t pressure me as the series progressed. They played game two on my birthday and I spent the time leading up to the game on the phone with Taylor. We’d been talking more often since seeing each other at their grandmother’s funeral.

I enjoyed our conversations, but she worried about her brother almost as much as I did. She had fun teasing him, especially about the lisp that his missing teeth had caused, but she worried just like I did about other things that he could lose when he was vulnerable. He wouldn’t hear of it, wouldn’t even let it into conversation, but we could discuss it as two people who cared about him.

Her final exams were fast approaching and Sidney would have likely felt the need to remind her that she needed to be studying, but I knew she was aware. I also knew that she read history notes during intermissions and tended to do all of her math homework right after practice when she was still pulsing with a bit of adrenaline; otherwise it was apt to make her tired.

“Why didn’t you tell me it was your birthday?” she asked as the pregame show began.

“What?”

“Sidney and I were texting earlier. He said it was your birthday.”

It was, in fact, the twenty-fifth anniversary of the day I was born. I didn’t put much stock in it. It felt like any other day. I didn’t feel older or wiser.

“Twenty-five.”

“You sound so enthused,” she kidded. “Not a fan of birthdays?”

“I haven’t made a big deal about them in a while. Not since my mom died. She always made these huge plans and went too far with the gifts. She’d excuse me from school and we’d go shopping and out for lunch and a movie. It was this little form of rebellion that I found dangerous. After she died, I just missed her more on my birthday than I did on regular days. Guess I just never got past it.”

“Did Sid get you anything?”

“He sent a box that’s roughly the size of my oven.”

“He sent you a box?”

“I assume it has things in it, I just haven’t opened it.”

“And let me guess, you never looked around the house before Christmas when you were are kid in order to find the hidden presents?”

“And you did?”

“Didn’t have to, when I was old enough to know the whole Santa myth, Sid told me where all the best spots were. He acted innocent when mom caught me in the attic too.”

“I don’t like gifts.”

“He’s told me. But you see, my big brother, he likes to give people gifts and the more he loves you the bigger and better they tend to be. He pays my tuition and bought our folks a car, and supports them so they don’t have to work anymore. But you know all about that.

“Sid’s generous, it’s just his way. You’re going to have to figure out how to smile and take the gift without making it seem like you don’t like or want whatever it is he’s chosen to give you.”

“He gave me a goddamn room for Christmas.”

“He went through with that, huh?”

“He did.”

“Bold.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Open the box.”

“I’m not officially twenty-five for another hour.”

“Come on, there’s been a slight shift in the earth’s axis in the last quarter of a century. Between that and leap years, I’m sure there’s a spare hour in there somewhere. Hell, you’ve probably been twenty-five since noon yesterday or something.”

So much like her brother it wasn’t even funny.

“Do you know what it is?”

“Nope. He never said a word.”

“Yet he consulted you about my art room?”

“Mentioned the room. But he was off and we talked more. You know how it is, he can’t talk to me or mom on game days and I can’t talk to him on my game days. It’s complex scheduling, I only hear his voice once a week and then we have better things to talk about than your birthday present.”

“Then why are you so concerned about it?”

“I’m just curious about it. Plus, it will fill time until they get the game started.”

I had to admit that she had a point.

“Give me a minute,” I muttered as I headed for the kitchen in search of a knife. So much of the apartment was packed away that I was lucky I had enough outside of the boxes to live my everyday life. There were a few things that I realized too late I shouldn’t have packed. But I refused to unpack any of the boxes and totes and thus had to make do with what I had available.

It was a good thing I was living alone. Two people never could have coexisted in the mess that I was living in.

“Okay. I’m cutting it open.”

“Edge of my seat.”

I groaned as I looked inside the box.

“What? He didn’t send you a puppy and forget to poke holes in the box, did he?”

“Is that a Sidney type of thing?”

“Nope, just wondering.”

“He Russian Nesting Dolled me?”

“What?”

“Big box filled with a bunch of little boxes.”

“Is there a card?”

“Is the Pope Catholic?”

Sidney was a card first sort of person. It was fine with me; I’d been raised in much the same way. My mother had always made sure that I opened the cards first, read them thoroughly, and then went on to open the gifts. And Sidney was the same way. He knew that I’d see the card in its turquoise envelope and open it first.

Personally, I’d never been good at adding my own sentiment, hoping the writers that got paid by Hallmark were good enough to capture the essence of what I might want to say to the recipient of said card. It was a weakness.

“Read it.”

“Aloud?”

“Well, keep it rated G, please.”

I tore open the envelope and read the contents to myself. I knew that Taylor had no real expectation of me sharing her brother’s words with her. She knew the gist of it before she even knew about the appliance-sized box in my living room. She knew because her brother had thought my birthday important enough to share with her.

The front of the card was simple, just a basic Happy Birthday wish scrawled out on a cartoon cake. The inside was filled with Sidney’s handwriting. He’d clearly taken his time, making sure that the words were all legible.

- Wyn,
Happy 25th. I wish we could have spent it together, but I promised no pressure. Especially not on your birthday.
I know you don’t like to make a big deal out of things and you’re pretty bad at accepting gifts, but I decided to send you some things anyway. So sue me.
I like to call the contents of the box your “No Sid, No Problem Survival Kit.” Each gift contained inside this box has its own meaning and purpose and I know that all of them will get some use.
I miss you.
I love you.
Love,
Sidney.

“He says the gifts are my survival kit.”

“What are you surviving?”

“His absence.”

“Humble guy.”

I laughed and went for the first box. My phone had become cumbersome and wound up on the sofa on speaker, making our conversation sound distant and echoey. He hadn’t wrapped any of the gifts, just put them in boxes and surrounded them with packing peanuts. He knew I hated them, the fact that they stuck to everything. I’d had a terrible time with them while packing my dishes into a number of totes and he knew all about it.

He really thought he was funny sometimes.

“And the first gift is…”

I rummaged through the packing peanuts and pulled out a thin box. I read the note to myself and peeled it away from the box.

-Teas of the world. I know you drink tea during games and you have a lot of game watching to do. Just try to drink it and not get so invested in the game that it gets cold, you waste it, and curse yourself over it later.

“Teas of the world,” I announced. “They’re in pretty glass vials.”

“Tea?”

“I like tea.”

“But as a birthday gift?”

“You bitch about it if he buys you tea, but I like it.”

“Boring.”

She feigned a yawn and I set it aside moving onto the next box.

-To keep you warm since you keep the ceiling fan running and the windows open even when you’re freezing cold. I swear you do it just so you can use your toes to suck the heat out of my legs.

I laughed as I opened the box.

“What?”

“A Penguins blanket.”

“From the heart.”

“In his own way.”

“Still bored.”

“Box three.”

- These will keep you busy, just try not to get any on the new blanket.

I found several boxed sets of nail polish, enough variety to replace everything I had packed away in one of my boxes of bathroom things. He knew me well. I painted my nails to avoid looking at the screen, a way to make sure my eyes weren’t on the TV when he had a shift. The thought of watching him get hit still made me anxious and it was easier to let the commentators warn me.

“Nail polish.”

“Good God, he needs a gifting lesson.”

“I beg to differ. He’s kind of nailed this thing on the head.”

“I may have to reconsider our friendship. But it doesn’t matter. I’m pretty sure I’m stuck with you forever.”

The idea struck me. I was moving to Pittsburgh soon, I would be spending the summer in Cole Harbour with Sidney. It wasn’t a temporary thing, it was the real thing. Taylor had a point. Our relationship, our bond, went beyond just friendship between two people who clicked. If my relationship with her brother rolled in the way Sidney and I both hoped it would, one day, she would be my little sister.

“Maybe you’ll understand someday.”

“Next,” she commanded.

-To help you keep your head on straight.

“Aromatherapy candles.”

“What scents?”

“Oh, so you like the candles?”

“Foolproof.”

“One is called ‘Chill Pill’ and the other is called ‘Inner Peace.’”

“How very zen.”

“Sometimes it’s all a girl needs.”

I moved through the gifts. Boxes of cereal; my favorite types for my second period stress-eating. Two six-packs of beer, one brewed in Pittsburgh and the other one of his favorite Canadian brews to get tipsy in the third. Coloring books and crayons for when my nails were dry and the hits got to be too much.

Then I got to the last box, the largest and tucked away at the bottom.

“This has nothing to do with me, this is just for you.” I mistakenly read the note aloud.

“Jesus, he didn’t buy you something that to be sent in discreet packaging with the batteries not included, did he?”

“Pretty big box to be a vibrator…I am not having this conversation with my boyfriend’s seventeen-year-old sister.”

“I’m seventeen, not seven.”

I could just see her curled up on her bed, laptop in front of her waiting for the game to begin. She was probably rolling her eyes at my prudish refusal to acknowledge that she was plenty old enough to know what a sex toy was and why a woman in a long-distance relationship might just prefer to have one, or five, in her bedside table.

“Doesn’t matter.”

She chuckled. “So, if it’s not a device of self-pleasure—“

“Taylor!”

She was still laughing as I pulled the box apart to get to the prize. I knew what it was as soon as my finger brushed the surface. I remained speechless as I pulled it out of the box.

“Don’t get all quiet now, Bron.”

“Your brother bought me a guitar.”

“For what purpose?”

“To play,” I deadpanned. “I had one, had it for years, but it died in a packing mishap.”

It was, in fact, the same packing mishap that had killed my television. It was more of a murder-suicide situation when you got down to it. The television had been bumped and landed atop the guitar that I’d had since I was fifteen. The guitar was a gift from my star-gazing, communing with the spirits aunt in California. She’d purchased it at an estate sale and swore that it was calling my name, begging to be sent to me. I’d never played but I bought a few books and DVD’s and started to learn. It became a time-waster, something to do when ideas escaped me.

I’d played it often after my mother died. It was the only way I kept my hands busy after. I couldn’t seem to draw or paint for months after she was gone and the guitar became my outlet.

It was a ratty old thing, scratched and dented. It had been dropped and Sebastian had spilled tequila on it twice. But it was mine and after the incident it was in three pieces waiting to be thrown out.

“That’s all he sent you?”

“Looks like it.”

“No jewelry or sexy lingerie?”

“What is this sudden obsession with our sex life?”

“I think you and Sid would both prefer I obsess over your dalliances rather than develop any of my own.”

“Fair point. Besides, Sid says you can’t date until you’re 30.”

“That’s what he thinks.”

We both paused, realizing that the game was going to start. It was becoming routine for us and without any fanfare, we said our goodbyes. She wished me a happy birthday, scolding me for not telling her but clearly understanding that Sidney seemed to do enough, at least as far as I was concerned, to represent his entire family.

I hoped for a win for my birthday, just to top off the big box of survival tools. It fit perfectly in the category. It was easier to watch when they were doing well because I knew that Sidney was likely feeling good and in the long run, that mattered more than almost anything to me.

They managed the win and went to close out the series in five games, clinching their place in the conference final at home. Then the waiting began again. After clearing the series they had to wait to find out who they would be facing off against in the conference finals.

I knew he’d be watching the game and I’d managed to find a solid enough connection to the web to watch it myself for the second game in a row. I chose not to pester him too much, though a little ribbing felt necessary given that we were both watching in our living rooms when we could have been out watching in some raucous bar or with a group of friends.

But we both chose solitude.

I sent him a picture of me in an old Bruins shirt that I’d had since college. It was pilfered off of a guy I’d dated once upon a time and it wasn’t until I’d started packing that I’d uncovered it in a box marked “Fresh-Soph” that hadn’t been touched since Sebastian and I had moved into the apartment nearly five years earlier.

I’d thrown out most of the contents, remnants that had been missed in my purge of belongings earlier in the year. But the shirt caught my eye and I couldn’t resist wearing it. I snapped a picture of the Bruins logo and received a text meant to mimic an exasperated sigh. I could practically see the look on his face and smiled as I typed a reply.

-They are my hometown team.

It was partial truth. Boston wasn’t where I was born or raised, but it was certainly the place where I’d figured out who I was and what I wanted out of life. It was the place where I’d grown into the woman that I’d become, the woman that he’d fallen in love with. That had to stand for something.

-You’re a Pens fan.

It was as though he thought I needed to be reminded of where my loyalties were meant to be.

-But…Boston.

The text went without a reply as the second intermission faded into the third period of play. I got off of the couch and headed for the bathroom mirror, the place where all of the classiest selfies tended to be taken. I took a shot of the number on my back and sent it his way, pushing his buttons.
I’d barely made it back to my couch, returning to my beer and half-eaten pizza, when my phone lit up revealing one of my favorite pictures of Sidney, the name ‘Patrick’ flashing across the screen. It was one that I’d taken only minutes after he’d woken from a nap, his hair disheveled and a disarming smile playing across his full lips.

“Hey, babe.”

“It’s the wrong number. It should be an eight, followed immediately by a seven.”

“Hmm…thirty-seven just looked right.”

“It’s wrong.”

“At least he’s your friend.”

“Bergy is a great guy, but I can’t have the love of my life wearing his number.”

“Better than Chara. Or Marchand.”

“Don’t even joke.”

“Why?”

“It’s against the rules. I can almost be okay with you wearing another number as long as the guy plays for the right team. But never Boston.”

“Is there a WAG rulebook that I should be in possession of? I can’t keep up with all the regulations. Do you think they sell it on Amazon or would it be a special order type of thing?”

“I’m sure Vero could get you a copy.”

“So,” I settled back into the sofa, “Who are you hoping for?”

I could almost hear the sound of him relaxing.

As much as he liked to pretend to hate being talked to when he was watching a game, he couldn’t hide the fact that he liked hearing my voice as much as I liked hearing his. It would have been different if we were sharing a sofa, but being so far away we both knew the importance of staying connected, even if that meant fudging a little bit with his normal game-watching routine.

“Not really pushing either way. Boston would be cool, especially if Chicago and LA pull through. The last four Stanley Cup winners in the conference finals; it’s not something you expect to see.

“It’d be cooler if the 2009 champs won this one.”

“Can’t argue. Even if you are wearing the wrong shirt.”

“I have my reasons for hopping on the Boston train right now.”

“Home team, I know.”

“You know so little.”

“Oh really?”

“Really.”

“Educate me.”

“Well. I’ll get to see you play at least a couple of times.”

“You could always come back to Pittsburgh a little earlier. But, no pressure.”

I continued on as if he hadn’t interrupted my train of thought. “Anyway, I’d like to see you play here, in the arena I know before this isn’t my city anymore. And frankly, I’m not a Rangers fan. I’d rather not have to fly for all of the games.”

It took a moment for my words and the meaning behind them to sink in. it was clear that he became hopeful as soon as they did.

“You’ll come out for the games?”

“Yes.”

“Thank you.”

“I’ll wear my Bergeron shirt.”

“You are completely replaceable.”

“Bullshit.”

He chuckled. “Any other reason you want Boston over New York?”

“Torts.”

“What?”

“I get defensive when he bitches about you guys. A tad protective, I guess.”

“He likes to hear himself talk.”

“He’s good at it.”

“Doesn’t bother me any, babe. Shouldn’t bother you either, but we seem to keep having this conversation.”

“Is it in the rulebook?”

“Article 17.2-B; let your significant other fight his own battles. He’s a hockey player and is tougher than he seems to be when you force him to watch sappy romance flicks.”

“Is that the ‘everyone cries during the Notebook rule?”

“I’m not sure of the shorthand, you girls will have to discuss that over brunch.”

I’d been to brunch with a few of the ladies once before not long after meeting Vero for the first time. I’d never interacted with them on a larger scale, though I knew it was in my future. Sitting with Sid’s father or Mario at games had saved me from being tossed in the pit, but in knew that once I was living with Sidney I would be regarded differently. I would be a true fixture in his life and my presence would be expected.

I was dreading it, never a big fan of interacting with large groups of women. I avoided Pampered Chef parties and bachelorette parties for that very reason. But nothing I’d avoided in the past intimidated me in the way that the wives and the girlfriends of the team did. They made me uncomfortable in a way that even Troy Crosby and Mario Lemieux never could have.

I had long been aware of my fear and I had no intention of mentioning it to Sidney.

“Did you have any intention of telling me about your plans to come out here earlier than discussed?”

“I would have last night but you guys were celebrating and I wanted you to get some sleep and recover. You haven’t clinched a series at home in so long, I figured the party raged a little longer than usual. Didn’t want to impede upon your wild night.”

“Could have been wilder.”

“How?”

“If you’d been here,” he practically whispered his reply.

He managed to draw a ragged breath from my lungs and I found myself wishing I hadn’t been so stubborn about waiting to move. I had a fleeting thought about my package of gifts from a week before. If only Taylor’s hunch had been true I could have staved off the longing just a bit. I changed the subject before my thoughts, or hands, decided to wander.

“I’ll be there soon enough.”

“Just come here for good, it’s close enough to the end of the season.”

I was tempted. I’d sold off most of my furniture, Craigslist functioning as my own personal auction house as I sent pieces of my seven years in Boston away with perfect strangers.

I was down to a couch, a laptop, the fridge, a mattress, and two dressers. The dressers had stayed only because they were heirlooms that my father would never forgive me if I sold off. He certainly wouldn’t have appreciated it given the fact that he’d carted them out in a u-haul when Sebastian and I had moved into the apartment before junior year.

The surface that functioned as my coffee table, desk, and dining table was made up of several boxes covered with a piece of glass meant for the top of one of the dressers.

I looked like I was a squatter in my own apartment. Worse, when you took in the boxes that were piled around me and the lack of functioning appliances, it appeared that I had some sort of hoarding issue as the totes and bags waited to be loaded on a truck and sent to Pittsburgh.

I’d set up a meeting with a teenage girl and her father in an attempt to rid myself of the rusted tin can of a car that I’d been driving for as long as I could stand. She was looking for a car to get her from Point A to Point B. I could offer her an old, maroon car that would do just that about eighty-three percent of the time.

As soon as I sold the car, or paid someone to take it, I would be relying on cabs and public transport to get around.

“Why so quiet?”

“You called me,” I reminded him.

“You goaded me into it. I’d rather be watching the game.”

“Really?” I asked, glancing at the screen of my laptop to see it was a commercial break. “What’s the score?”

“I haven’t the slightest.”

I laughed.

“Seriously, Wyn, you don’t seem to be your usual chipper self. Is everything okay?”

“I’ve just been doing a lot of thinking.”

Frankly, I didn’t have much else to occupy my time.

“About?”

“Well—“

“Before you answer, keep in mind WAG rulebook, article 1.5-A; never breakup with your hockey player during the playoffs, it is bad form and the situation can be made worse if you are wearing another player’s number at the time of the breakup.”

“Well then, it’s a good thing that I haven’t been thinking about dumping your sorry ass.”

“Then what sort of deep thoughts have been bringing you down?”

“They aren’t bringing me down; I just have a lot on my mind.”

“I may be distracted and a bit self-absorbed at times, but you can always talk to me. My girlfriend says I’m a pretty good listener.”

“Your girlfriend sounds like a lucky lady.”

“I tend to think I got the better end of that deal.”

“If I come to Pittsburgh now, or before the conference finals start at least, and I become a distraction—“

He cut me off. “You aren’t a distraction.”

“Let me speak.”

“Sorry.”

“If I affect your game, I will stay with Sebastian in the interim. But I feel like I’m overstaying my welcome in Boston. My stuff is gone, my car will be pretty soon. Hell, I’ve already sent a lot of my clothes your way. I’m using my laptop as a TV and I’m doing so with stolen internet.

“It’s like Boston is trying to shove me out the door and I’m the stubborn asshole who is holding on by her fingernails.”

“I can get you on the next flight out, and I could have a moving company there by morning.”

“Don’t go flexing your celebrity muscles. I’ll get it arranged and tie up the rest of my loose ends.”

“You’re sure?”

“I am.” I paused for a moment. “Are you?”

“Sure about wanting you here with me as opposed to hundreds of miles away?”

“Yes.”

“I’ve never been so sure of anything in my life.”

We hung up before the game was over and I retreated to my mattress with hopes that I’d spend the next day finalizing a move that I’d been putting off for months. I’d sworn to myself that I would stay until the season was over, promised that I wasn’t going to be the wrench in Sid’s plans and habits. But it just wasn’t working out that way. Neither of us wanted to deal with the distance any longer.

I just hoped that the result, being with him again, would be worth all the effort and inconvenience in the end.