Finding Home

My first few weeks in Edmonton were rather uneventful. I spent my days at the library, perfecting my French as best I could. I had been taking French for years in school so I wasn’t too shabby, not to brag. But I was far from fluent, and living in Canada, I wanted to perfect the language. I slowly weaned myself off of watching the news in English to watching the news in French. But not every day was spent in town; I took a day to explore Alberta. One day I drove to Calgary but was so disappointed, I didn’t stay for too long. I hadn’t driven to Calgary with anything in mind or any expectations for the city, but I was unimpressed with the city and more than happy when I returned home to Edmonton. Sometime during those first couple of weeks, I celebrated my eighteenth birthday. Living in Canada, I could now legally drink, but having no friends and not wanting to go to the club with my mom, I didn’t do anything special on my big day. Sophie sent me a package which my mom intercepted and hid, not giving it to me until my birthday, which was a huge surprise. She, along with my friends from home, called throughout the day and skyped with me, wishing me a happy birthday and to catch up. But it couldn’t compare to actually being home in Boston. And because of the time difference, I was left alone as the sun set. When I should have been out, getting into trouble late at night in the city with my friends, I was laying at home, watching Red Sox highlights. It was disappointing to say the least, but it didn’t have much of an effect on my already depressed mood.

Although I mostly spent my days at the library or laying out in the park, I always made sure I was home in time to take Lindsay to hockey practice in the evening. She was trying to make the Edmonton girls’ bantam league team and she was determined to be at every practice and scrimmage possible. The season wasn’t starting for another month, but there were open skates several times a week. Her goal was to skate with the other girls as much as possible; get to know them, develop a relationship with them, develop chemistry with the other girls. She wanted to make a name for herself, have the other hockey moms and dads get used to seeing her, and hopefully impress them. But most of all, she wanted the coaches to see her play and take an interest in her, see that she was dedicated and committed to playing the game and determined to make the team come tryouts. Lindsay showed up to every night with an open mind and heart, hungry for knowledge and starving for playing time. To say I was impressed with her commitment would be an understatement.

The skating rink was not far from our house but I always drove us there; it was far enough that it would be difficult for us to walk there and back with all of Lindsay’s equipment. The sky was pink, streaked with white puffy clouds and hints of blue. The sun was setting, casting shadows across my car as I parked it under a tree down the street from the rink. I accompanied Lindsay to all of her hockey practices, sitting in the bleachers reading until she was finished.

“I’m really glad you’re here Tass.” She turned in her seat to look me in the eyes. “I'm sorry.” Her eyes were misty. “I'm so, so sorry!”

This was the first time since arriving in Edmonton that Lindsay had brought up the subject. “Oh my god Linds!” I leaned over the centre console and threw my arms around my sister. “It’s alright!”

“It’s my fault we had to move! If I didn’t play hockey, Dad wouldn’t have accepted the job and we wouldn’t have had to leave Boston! You probably hate me.”

I tried to comfort my sister. “It’s not your fault!” I pointed out. “You’re not the one who accepted the job. And I do not hate you! How could I? You’re my sister! And I love you! And no move could ever make me hate you!” I hugged her tight. “I love you so much, Lindsay. You know that, right? I love you so much! And nothing in this world could ever make me change the way I feel!”

We sat in my car trying not to break down. We were late to practice but didn’t care. We had each other, and that was more important than any sport or place. Neither one of our parents were around when we needed them, so it was up to me to take care of Lindsay. She trusted me to take care of her; like tonight, she relied on me to take her to practice. Dad was working late downtown, as usual, and Mom was working weird hours for the rest of the summer until the fall. We had always been very close, although we were not close in age, but this move made us closer. In no way did I blame her for the move or hold any grudge against her for liking Edmonton. I would give my life for my sister, so this was petty in comparison.

* * *

I plopped Lindsay’s bag down on the ground next to me and pulled out my book from within the depths of my bag. I was immersed in the story when another hockey mom walked up to me.

“Would you mind if I sat with you?” she asked.

Glancing up, I responded, “of course not!”

“Thank you!” She sat down on the bench next to me. “What book are you reading?”

I had gone back to reading and it took me a minute to process her question. “Fahrenheit 451,” I answered, closing my book. I let it rest in my lap as I turned to get a good look at the woman sitting next to me. She was middle-aged but definitely a MILF. Her brows were naturally full and her brunette hair glistened under the artificial light. Her piercing blue eyes stared back at me.

She extended her hand to me to shake mine, but before she could say anything, cheers erupted from the ice. Tonight was a scrimmage, and Lindsay had just scored. Her teammates were crowded around her, congratulating her with high fives. The mom sitting next to me dropped her hand and used it instead to point over to Lindsay and the other girls. “That’s your sister, right?”

I nodded.

“I noticed you walking in with her tonight. She’s got real talent!”

“Thank you!”

“That’s my daughter in the goal; Kelsey’s the team’s goaltender,” she informed me. “I’m Lisanne. Lisanne Marcc.”

“Nice to meet you!” I shook her hand. “I’m Tassiana Lucic and that’s my sister Lindsay.”

“Lucic? Like Milan Lucic!” she exclaimed with a huge smile.

I laughed. “Yep! And ‘Marcc’, like Brad Marchand, minus the ‘and’!”

Now it was her turn to laugh. “Between the two of us, we have a tenth of the Bruins here!”

“We actually just moved here from Boston, so I can supply the jerseys!” I giggled.

A look of understanding crossed her face, as if I had just answered a question she wanted to ask. “I was going to ask where you’re from. You have quite a distinct accent…….did you just move here?”

“We did! Beginning of June.”

“Boston is so gorgeous this time of year! Just the two of you?”

“Just the two of us? Oh no! We moved here as a family; our dad was relocated and that’s how we ended up here. Are you from Boston?” I quickly added.

“Nooooo I'm originally from Montréal. My son went to the University of Vermont, so we spent some time in Boston while he attended.” I nodded as she explained. “I know it is none of my concern, but isn’t ‘Lucic’ Serbian?”

I knew exactly what she was trying to ask: what was I, someone who did not look Serbian, doing with a Serbian last name? “It was Lucisky, but my grandparents changed it when they came over to the States,” I explained to her. “It’s Russian,” I added, forgetting the most important detail.

“I see,” she nodded, sipping her Starbucks tea. “And have you always lived in Boston?”

“Yup. Up until a few weeks ago, I had never even been to Canada!”

“And how are you liking it?”

For the next hour, Lisanne and I chatted about everything from how I was spending my time (I admitted that I hadn’t seen much of Edmonton besides the public library so she made a list of places I “had to check out before school started”) to her offering to help me with my French (“Growing up in Montréal, almost everyone’s bilingual”). I learned that she had moved to Seattle shortly after graduating university with a degree in fine arts after accepting a position at a high end art gallery; from Seattle she moved here to Edmonton and became the director of the Art Gallery of Alberta, which is where she met her husband. They had two “gorgeous” children together, Brian and Kelsey. I was unable to get a good look at Kelsey with all her goalie equipment on, but if she and her brother looked anything like Lisanne, they were sure to be gorgeous all right. She had read Fahrenheit 451 “a long, long time ago,” so I promised her she could read it again once I finished it.

* * *

Over the course of the next few weeks, I visited all of the places Lisanne recommended. I surprised her by dropping in to the Art Gallery one day. She was talking to a girl sitting at the front desk when I walked in.

“Tassiana! What a pleasant surprise! Allow me to give you a tour!” I wasn’t sure what to expect to see in the gallery, but it too was a pleasant surprise. Lisanne gave me a tour of the entire gallery, asking me questions along the way.

“What have you been up to?” she asked me. She had not been to Kelsey’s previous practices.

“I have actually been visiting the places you recommended! Thank you so much for the list!” I ran off the places I had already been to and what I thought of each one.

When I was finished, she turned to me, tour over. “At this rate, you will have seen everything by the end of the week! Do you have any plans for what you might do after?”

I shook my head.

“Would you have any interest in working here? I need someone to do random jobs that I don’t have time for but need to get done. Seriously, they are the most random things that need to be done but if you are interested, I am more than willing to pay you.”

What else am I going to do this summer? Nothing productive, that’s for sure.

“I’d love to help out!”

For the rest of the summer, I spent two or three days at the Gallery, doing whatever odd job Lisanne needed done. These “jobs” varied from taking inventory to editing the Gallery’s website to filing paperwork. I never knew what to expect walking in in the morning, but I honestly enjoyed working there and being with Lisanne.

* * *

Lisanne and I continued to sit together at each hockey practice. She helped me with my French studies and our conversations, like my TV, slowly changed from in English to French. We were sitting in the bleachers sipping our Starbucks tea one evening. It was unbelievably the last week of July.

“So, do you play hockey at all?”

I laughed. “No! I watch it though! What about Kelsey’s brother? Does Brian play hockey too?”

She looked at me, as if she had been on the fence for a while, unsure whether or not to disclose top secret information with me. Could I be trusted? How would I handle what she was about to tell me? “Brian played for UMass for a year but he now plays for the Oklahoma City Barons.”

Whoa, hold up! Lisanne’s son, Kelsey’s brother, played for Edmonton’s farm team? Brian played in the American Hockey League? “He plays in the AHL?”

She was obviously very proud of him. “He does!” she grinned. “He loved UMass and loved playing for them, but he wanted to try his luck professionally. His father and I weren’t pleased when he asked us if he could enter the draft after only one year in college, but what could we do, you know? He’s an adult and can do whatever he wants,” she told me, thinking back. “And he was drafted by the Oilers, of all teams!”

How have I never heard the name ‘Brian Marcc’ before? Well, I could care less about the Oilers, I guess that’s why. “That’s awesome! You must be so proud of him!”

“We are…..it’s just a lot of pressure, you know? And we don’t get to talk to him as often anymore. But he’s coming home next week!”

Why not? You live in the same city. “Vacation?” I guessed.

“Oh no! The top prospects are all coming to work-out. They’ll be over at Millennium Place in Sherwood Park during the week so management can get a good look at them….”

Stupid me! He was drafted by the Oilers and plays for the Barons! He hasn’t been pulled up yet! Stupid, stupid me!

She explained what these top prospects would be doing next week for the remainder of practice. When practice was over, we both got up and walked together to meet our respective girls. Kelsey was the first to meet us at the door, lugging her gear behind her.

“Great practice!” I told her. It had just been a simple practice, but the last twenty minutes had been dedicated to shootout practice.

“Thanks!” she said gleaming. She had successfully blocked all but six shots.

“Excited for your brother to be home?” Lisanne asked, hugging her daughter.

Kelsey grinned. “Yeah, I’ve missed him,” she answered more to me than her mother.

All three of us watched Lindsay walk up to us. I held out my hand to her, offering to take her bag from her. She handed it to me, exhausted.

“Good job tonight. Only you and Monica were able to score on me!”

“You’ve been looking great Lindsay!” Lisanne told her. “You have been playing so well these past few weeks! Between you and me, I’ve overheard the coaches talking and they’re all very impressed. You have nothing to worry about; you’ll definitely make the team once tryouts begin.”

Lindsay blushed and kicked at the ground. “Thank you. That’s really nice of you to say.” She was so modest and compliments always brought out her shy side.

The four of us said our goodbyes; there wouldn’t be another practice until Monday.

“Did you know that Kelsey’s brother played for the Oilers?” I asked Lindsay once we were back in my car.

“Ummmm,” she was obviously hiding something because she was blushing again. “I think he plays for their team in Oklahoma.”

Busted. “And you know this how?”

“I think someone said something during practice the other day.”

“And……? Come on, you’re blushing! Cough it up.”

“And….she said he’s incredibly hot,” she stammered.