Changes

I lay back-down on the comforter of my bed in my old bedroom, tossing a ball absentmindedly up into the air. I looked around at my surroundings. Old hockey memorabilia lined the walls, sticks hung from the ceiling, and random sombreros hung on the top of my lamp. Tucked into the side of my mirror were numerous pictures from my high school years—almost all of them with Allie tucked comfortably under my arm. I sighed as I thought about Allie.

It had been a week since our argument in her apartment. When I returned from her apartment, I paced around my bedroom for a few hours until it was time for me to make my way to the airport and depart to Buffalo. I hadn’t talked to her since.

Suddenly, a light knock sounded from the other side of my closed bedroom door and my sister Erica’s head peeked in slightly.

“Hey,” she smiled at me, pushing the door open more and making her way over to my bed.

“Hey,” I replied, tossing the ball in my hands up towards the ceiling. She took a seat at the foot of my bed and looked at me expectantly.

“What’re you looking at?” I sat up, eyeing her weirdly.

“I’m waiting for you to tell me what’s wrong,” she stated simply, bringing her feet onto the bed and turning to face me. Erica was only a year younger than me in both age and schooling, which meant we had a closer bond than our other siblings. We shared many of the same friends and often knew what was going on in each other’s lives while the rest of the family was kept in the dark. As a result, Erica knew more about me than anyone ever—besides Allie—and could read me like a book. She always knew when something was off.

“Nothing’s wrong,” I shrugged my shoulders.

“Bullshit.”

“Watch your language,” I scolded.

“Just tell me what’s wrong, Pat.” She paused and waited for me to answer. When I didn’t, she continued, “Ever since you’ve been home, you’ve been over here moping around and doing nothing. You’re not even partying with your friends. And when that’s the case, then something’s definitely wrong.”

I sighed and looked up at her. If I told her what actually was wrong, it would make it real, but if I lied to her, she’d be able to tell right away and throw some sort of fit.

“Allie and I got in a fight,” I opted for the former, “And we haven’t talked in the past week.”

She rolled her eyes, “What’d you do, Pat?”

My mouth dropped open, “What makes you think I did something?”

“Because you’re you,” she stated simply. “So what’d you do?”

I let out a large puff of air, “I asked her to come home with me and stay with me at my house, but she said that she couldn’t leave her new boyfriend behind. So I got mad, and called her some mean names. I don’t know why, but I did. And now we haven’t spoken for awhile.”

Erica nodded slowly and digested my words. After a moment of not speaking, I went into another rant. Erica seemed to have that effect on me; once a few truths came out, the floodgates were open. “We’ve never had a big fight like this. It’s always been Allie and me. We’ve never not talked to each other, or called each other such horrible names. God, she must think I’m an asshole. But ever since she came to Chicago, it’s just been different and I don’t know what to do. I need her, Ric. I really need her.”

She stared at me blankly again before speaking slowly, “Start from the beginning. Why was it weird in Chicago?”

I told her about the drunken kiss we shared after the Stanley Cup Parade, Allie’s lack of recollection, my lack of ability to forget said kiss, Allie’s mysterious breakup that sent her running from Boston, Allie’s new beau, and my recent dissatisfaction with puck bunnies. Erica took it all in, opting not to share her opinion until I was done spilling every last detail about the previous few weeks.

“Wow,” she said as I finished my tale with my solo arrival in Buffalo, “You’ve definitely had a lot on your mind.”

“I guess you could say that.”

“I think I know what’s wrong,” she sat up from her sprawled-out position on my bed, “The kiss made you start thinking about Allie being more than a friend and you got scared because the idea actually appealed to you. But being ‘just friends’ with someone for that long isn’t even possible. At some point in time, one of you is going to catch feelings for the other—even if the other one doesn’t feel the same way. And that time—for you—just happens to be now.”

“Oh, God,” I rolled my eyes and flung an arm over my eyes, “I knew you were going to say that.”

“Because I’m right,” she stated simply.

“No, you’re not.”

♢♢♢♢

My phone vibrated on top of my bedside table, indicating that I had two new notifications. I reached over Grant’s lifeless body and snatched the phone up from the wooden surface. A voicemail and an iMessage—both from Pat.

Patrick Kane (10:09AM): Missed Call & Voicemail
Patrick Kane (10:10AM): This is my 88th text message to you over the past two days. Oh…the irony ;) Please call me back, Allie.

Despite his pleading, I closed the string of text messages and returned to my other new messages. I opened the one from his sister, who I had grown quite close to over the years—although our relationship would never compare to the one I shared with her older brother.

Erica Kane (10:13AM): I swear he’s going to break his phone because he’s checking it so much. Miss you in Buffalo!!! :)

I let out a quiet laugh and quickly thumbed back my response.

Miss you too, girlie! Wish I could be there, but you know how things are :( Tell your brother to suck it up, I’ll respond when I wish to do so.

I shut off my phone and slipped it back onto the bedside table, sliding back down into Grant’s arms. I closed my eyes and willed sleep to come, but after ten minutes of attempting, I lay on my back with my eyes wide open. My thoughts were running at a million miles an hour, questioning my decisions. Should I talk to Pat? Should I forgive him? Should I visit him in Buffalo?

I shook my head slightly. I was still mad at Pat. After our decade and a half of friendship, we’ve never said such cruel words to one another. He judged me. He put me down for something I was so ecstatic about. Plus, it took him more than a week to come to his senses and try to contact me—something that was undoubtedly encouraged by Erica. If he actually desired to talk to me and apologize, he would find a way to do it, without my help.

I let out a heavy sigh before untangling my limbs from Grant’s and making my way into my kitchen. Within ten minutes, the smell of bacon and coffee permeated my entire apartment, causing Grant to make his way towards the source. He walked into the kitchen, sporting a pair of boxers and stretching his arms above his head. I smiled at his boyish look. Even though his chiseled stomach and chest were dead giveaways—the look of his simple boxers, ruffled hair, and lanky body-shape made him appear vulnerable and resembled the look of a lost puppy. I couldn’t help but smile goofily at him before turning back towards the food.

“Hey,” he smiled tiredly, wrapping his arms around me from behind—causing a flutter of butterflies to erupt in my stomach—and peering over my shoulder at the contents of the pan that rested on the stove in front of me, “Whatcha making?”

I spun around in his loose grip, “Bacon and pancakes for Mr. Sleepyhead.” I reached one of my heads up and ruffled his short hair gently.

“Oh! My favorite,” he kissed me quickly before stealing a strip of bacon from the plate beside me. He popped it into his mouth easily and swallowed its greasy contents in seconds, his lips turning up in a satisfied grin, “Asking you to be my girlfriend was definitely a good decision.”

I punched him playfully in the shoulder, “Hey! There’s more to me than just breakfast food.”

“You’re right,” he agreed, nodding his head, “The sex is pretty good, too.”

I doled out another hit, “You’re such a pig.”

“But I’m your pig!” he grinned cheekily and pulled me closer to him, planting countless kisses all over my face and causing me to giggle. His hands moved from my hips to my stomach and his fingers began to move feverishly as he tickled me, causing my quiet giggles to turn into a loud series of cackles.

“Grant!” I screeched as I attempted to pry his fingers from my stomach, “Come on! Stop it! Grannnntt!”

He simply chuckled at my attempt to challenge his large muscles and tickled me once more before pressing a light kiss against my lips. Immediately, I stopped squirming in his grip and allowed myself to melt into him, returning his kiss. My hands sprung up from their position on his wrists and landed on the back of his neck, playing with the soft ends of his hair.

His lips hovered over mine for a moment. My longing for them became extremely prominent within seconds, but he kept them at a distance. “Am I still a pig?” he questioned, a smirk playing across those lips.

“Yes.”

“Oh, really?” he started to pull away from me, his hands abandoning their position at my sides.

“I mean, no!” I latched onto his neck and pulled him back.

“That’s what I thought,” he let out a childish giggle before finally returning his lips to mine for a chaste kiss, “Let’s eat.”

I nodded and slipped out of his grip. With the food organized on our separate plates, I made my way to the dinning room table, taking the seat directly across from Grant.

“My favorite food with my favorite girl,” he smiled through his mouthful of pancakes and bacon.

“That was unbelievably cheesy,” I poked my fork in his direction before stabbing it into one of the pancakes on my plate.

“But you liked it.”

I shrugged, “Maybe.”

“Okay, sure,” he stated sarcastically. With a playful roll of those baby blues, his fork was lodged into another section of his pancake.

We ate in a comfortable silence, discarded our dirty dishes into the sink, and plopped down onto my couch. After a few minutes of absentmindedly flipping through the channels, Grant landed on Sports Center and I resorted to reading some of the articles of my future workplace—The Chicago Tribune.

After an hour or so of lounging on my couch, I kicked Grant lightly with one of my feet that rested on his lap, “Hey.”

He moved his gaze from the television screen to me, pausing his show in the process, “Yeah?”

“I have to go to Buffalo next Saturday for a friend’s wedding,” I stated, “Will you come with me?”

He pondered my proposal for a moment before nodding his head, “Sure. There’s this big convention for my company, so I have a long weekend.”

“We’d have to go meet my parents though,” I sighed, “They would throw a fit if they knew I brought a boyfriend to Buffalo, but not to them.”

“That’s fine,” he smiled, rubbing his palm along my bare calf.

I tossed my paper aside on the nearby coffee table and crawled across the couch to Grant. As I gave him a quick kiss, I crawled into his lap and leaned against his steady chest.

“Thank you.”

He placed a kiss against my hair, “Why are you thanking me?”

“Because we’ve only been dating for like 3 weeks and you’re totally fine with meeting my parents,” I explained.

He shrugged and laughed lightly, “I really do like you, Allie. That’s why I don’t care. It’ll be fun.”

“I sure hope so.”

“It’ll be fine,” he reassured me again before turning me so that I was facing him, “Let’s go out and do something today.”

“Like what?” I asked.

“Anything you want. You name it,” he grinned at me. He sent me his dazzling smile that often caused me to question his being with me, but I simply returned his wide grin with one of my own.

“Well…” I started, “I still need a dress for the wedding…”

An hour later, I found myself in the changing room of the Guess store that was conveniently a block away from my apartment.

“Just come out already!” Grant groaned from the other side of the curtain.

“Be patient!” I called back, zipping up the back of a dress. It was a simple off-white woven dress with spaghetti straps and a thin black belt. With a quick pull at the curtain, I took a step in front of Grant and twirled around in a circle.

“You look great,” he smiled, examining the dress quickly, “But isn’t it a bit too close to white?”

I let out a heavy sigh, “You’re right.”

“I told you I’m good at this shopping thing,” he sent me a proud grin.

“Yeah,” I smirked, “It’s a little odd. Are you sure you’re not gay?” I spun on my heel and hastily closed the curtain behind me, switching my current dress for another one that lay on the rack.

“You know that’s not true,” I could hear the smirk in his voice. “Or do I have to show you again tonight?”

“Grant!” I squealed, stepping into the new dress. His soft chuckle floated throughout the dressing area as I tried to force the stupid smile off of my face. God, he made feel like I was in high school again—blushing whenever a boy so much as muttered a few words to me and gushing over a specific one for months on end.

I zipped up the back of the dress with ease and stepped back out into Grant’s view. “You like?” I twirled around again.

The dress was a royal blue skater dress with a circle skirt. Black color-blocked panels lined the bottom of the skirt and each side of the waist. The bright color emphasized the color of my eyes and the small tan I had developed from the bright summer sun.

“You’re gorgeous,” Grant smiled up from his position on the couch, “And you’re buying this one.”

I glanced at my reflection in a nearby mirror, “Are you sure?”

“Positive. You look incredible.”

A pink blush crept its way onto my cheeks, “Thanks, Grant.”

He sent me a quick smile, “Alright, let’s get out of this place. We’ve done enough shopping to last me a life time.”

I rolled my eyes, “We’ve been in two stores, Grant.”

“Exactly.”

I let out a small giggle, “I’m getting changed.” I threw open the thin curtain to the changing room and quickly slipped out of the dress, placing it gently back on its hanger. After stepping back into my regular clothes—which consisted of denim shorts and a simple white v-neck—I returned to Grant with my dress in hand.

Suddenly, Grant rushed over to me and snatched the fabric from my hands, making a beeline for the checkout counter.

“Grant! Stop!” I chased after him once I noticed the object clutched in his left hand—his credit card. As I approached the counter, Grant was swiping the card through the machine—despite my attempt to snatch the flimsy piece of plastic from his hands—and the cashier was placing my newly purchased dress into a plastic store bag.

“I assume this is yours,” she smiled kindly, sliding the bag across the countertop. I gave her a simple nod and picked up the bag. As we turned away from the counter, I elbowed Grant lightly in the stomach and shot him a cold glare once he connected his eyes with mine.

“Thank you, Grant. But I can pay for myself next time,” I said as we pushed open the door to the store.

“I know,” Grant stated simply, falling in step next to me, “But no girl of mine is gonna pay when I’m around. That’s something you’re going to have to deal with.”

I huffed. I knew that Grant had a hefty bank account—we had discussed his father’s brides to him on our first date—but I didn’t want him to feel as though I was with him just for his money. I was definitely not a gold digger and although Grant probably already knew this, I intended do things my way.

“Think of it as a way for me to show my feelings,” Grant reasoned with me when I didn’t respond.

“Fineeee,” I threw my hands up in the air. He simply smiled at me and grabbed my hand before continuing down the street.

♢♢♢♢

“Did Allie already text you back?” I gaped at Erica’s illuminated phone, which she quickly snatched up from the kitchen counter. She swiped her thumb at the screen and paused, reading the newly received text.

“What’d she say?” I asked as soon as Erica’s eyes lifted from her screen, “Did she mention me? Is she still mad? Did she sound mad? What’d she—”

“I swear to God, Pat,” she slammed her hand down on the counter, “I will hit you.”

I threw my hands up in defense, “Okay, okay! I’m sorry. Jesus!”

She sighed and slid her phone in the back of her pocket before turning back to me, “She said that she’ll respond when she feels like it.”

I groaned and let my face fall into my hands, “Why does she have to be so damn stubborn?”

“Maybe if you stopped smothering her with your constant texts she’d feel more inclined to listen to you,” my sister responded simply, tossing her sunglasses onto the top of her head.

“I don’t want her thinking that I’m giving up on her,” I replied after considering her suggestion.

“Then tell her that,” she shrugged, throwing her large purse over her petite shoulder.

I threw my hands up in the air, “How can you make this seem so simple?!”

She shrugged again and turned towards the entrance of my house, “Stop listening to the Backstreet Boys and get out of the house once in awhile! I’ll come around for an update tomorrow.”

“Don’t act like you don’t like their music!” I protested, “And stop acting like you’re older than me!”

“Whatever, Pat,” she waved off my demands with a small flick of her wrist over her shoulder.

As the front door closed with a loud thud, I let my head fall back down onto my folded arms. Erica and I had texted Allie at the relatively same time, but Erica was the only one who received a response text message.

When no other solution came to mind, I decided to take Erica’s advice and grabbed my phone from the kitchen counter, quickly typing out a message to Allie:

Erica thinks I should stop smothering you and since she’s a girl, I’m gonna listen. Don’t think I’m giving up on you, please call me.

I pressed send before I could second-guess myself and exited out of the string of messages. I had sent over hundreds of messages to Allie’s phone over the previous week and she didn’t answer a single one. It was like talking to a wall. It made me feel like absolute shit—so much that I couldn’t bare to look at our conversation screen, which was littered with out-going blue bubbles.

I clicked on another one of the recent conversations with my friend Mike Rautenstrauch, one of my closest childhood friends. I sent him a text.

Let’s get drunk tonight.

Normally, I wouldn’t have to tell my friends that I wanted to party; it was just something that was assumed all the time. But, recently, I’ve been blowing off partying to merely stare at my phone all night and hope that Allie would give me a chance. The last thing I wanted to do was miss that call.

However, Erica made me realize that I shouldn’t just mope around until then and that I should continue on with my summer. Summer was going to be over before I knew it and I definitely didn’t want to spend the entirety of it being a Debby Downer.

Suddenly, my phone vibrated with a response from Mike.

Mike Raut (12:46 PM): FUCK YES! I’ll be over in 5.

Judging from his response, it was clear that my night was going to be full of double-fisting beer bottles, playing some nonsense drinking games, and getting into trouble with the guys.

My suspicions were confirmed only a few minutes later, when Mike barged through my front door with four cases of beer tucked underneath his arms.

“Good to have you back, bro!” he threw off his shoes before making his way over to my refrigerator and shoving the cases into place.

“It’s good to be back,” I grinned, tucking my phone into my back pocket.

He pulled out some bread and deli meat from my refrigerator and began fixing himself a sandwich. “Erica tells me that you’ve been kind of down lately about the whole ‘Allie thing.’ But it’s nothing some beer pong and good lookin’ girls can’t fix!” he exclaimed, slapping a handful of ham onto his bread.

“That’s exactly what I need right now,” I laughed, agreeing.

“Good,” he muttered with a mouthful of sandwich, “Because I just invited a bunch of people over here tonight.”

“Don’t worry about needing my permission or anything.”

He grinned at me after taking another large bit from his lunch, “Didn’t even think about it.”

Within a few hours, all my hometown friends—including my best friends Tom Vivian and Matt Dunford—were crowded onto my back porch. My ping-pong table, which had to be dug out from the garage, was set up and quickly littered with empty red Solo cups and beer cans. Music blared from my set of outdoor speakers, the bass vibrating the entire porch. Mike manned the grill, dishing out countless burgers and dogs.

I made my way towards him and clapped him on the shoulder with one of my hands. My other was—as predicted earlier in the night—double-fisting beer cans.

“Thanks for this, man. This is exactly what I needed,” I grinned, throwing back the rest of my beer before letting out a satisfied sigh.

He flipped a burger and shrugged, “We’ve got your back, man. You know that.”

I nodded, grabbing another beer from the tub of ice beside us. “Hey, let’s get a game of pong going!”

Throughout the night, the buzz from the alcohol, coupled with the presence of all my friends, made me feel genuinely happy for the first time since my spat with Allie. I left my phone inside the house and spent my time forgetting about my problems. My friends were there to have a good time and they knew damn well that I wasn’t one to disappoint.