I'd Do Anything

Trisha’s nails were going to shit.

“Seriously.” The owner of the salon scowled as she looked at Trisha’s nails. “What do you do to them?”

“It’s playoffs!” Trisha defended.

“So that means you destroy everything I do for you?”

“Have you been watching the games at all? They’re nail-biters! Literally!”

She took out the electric file and started removing the old gel polish from Trisha’s nails. “You were opening boxes again weren’t you?”

“Maybe.”

“What did we say about box cutters?”

“Leave her alone!” the owner’s father snapped. He squeezed Trisha’s shoulders. “Make her pretty for her boyfriend!”

“I don’t have a boyfriend.”

“I meant me, baby.”

Trisha and the owner laughed and Trisha turned her attention to the TV. Supernatural was on. Maybe her next story arc could be about monsters. But that would side-track the overall plot.

Trisha looked glumly at her fingers. Usually her nails could grow out long and maintain shape naturally, but they were chipped and broken. She had bitten all of her cuticles down so far that they wouldn’t need any work. This hadn’t happened in ten years.

Game four against Ottawa was tonight. With any luck, Montreal would win and advance.

Trisha mindlessly watched Jensen Ackles kill something on the screen. She had met him once at a convention. Supernatural was still considered more cult than mainstream. He was a nice enough guy. He took her out for coffee but it never went anywhere.

“So, white base, Habs logo on the ring fingers? Just like last year?”

Trisha nodded, then looked up. “Hey, can you put the number 67 on both thumbs as well?”

“67, huh? New lucky number?”

“Yeah, something like that.”

~*~

Lana noticed that Trisha had changed her nails when she came in to the store.

“67?” she asked. “What does that mean?”

“Nothing.” Trisha lied. “Hey, did the new issues of Zero ever come in?”

“No, still lost in transit. You sure it doesn’t mean anything?”

“It’s a number, for God’s sake! Just…go back to your doodles!”

“Only if you go back to your Avengers fanfiction.”

“Dangerzone, Lana!”

Paul glanced over at his boss. “Hey, isn’t 67 – OW!”

Trisha had stomped down on his foot as hard as she could.

“What’s 67?” Lana asked.

“Atomic number of holmium.” He said with watering eyes.

“Hmph.”

Lana stomped off into the studio and Trisha looked at her employee. “Nice cover.”

“Well, I figured my balls would be next.” He muttered. “Why won’t you tell her?”

“She’ll just make fun of me. Don’t worry about it.” Trisha sighed and flipped through her google calendar. “So you’re okay working on Friday and Saturday? That’ll be six days this week.”

“Yeah, I need the money anyway.”

“Alright. Olivia said she has finals in two weeks, so she’ll only be here Monday, Tuesday and Friday until she’s done. I’ll ask Jean if he can pick up some shifts, and I’ll be here as well.” Trisha rubbed her forehead. “I’m never hiring a college student again.”

“You say that every year.”

~*~

That night Trisha went to the bar to watch the game. With playoffs it was so packed with regulars it was almost like a family dinner night. Annalise zeroed right in on Trisha’s nails, and this time Trisha wasn’t so lucky.

“67, huh?”

“Yes.”

“Isn’t that Max’s jersey number?”

“Yep.”

Trisha held her breath, hoping that Annalise would let it go. But Annalise was, and always would be, a huge romantic as long as the situation in question was not about herself. The grin on her face grew to the size of a small banana.

“That is so cute!”

“Stop it.” Trisha groaned.

“eeeeeggghhhhh we need to go on a double date – “

“Woah, woah.” Trisha said, grabbing the red head’s arms to get her to stop bouncing. “Max and I are not dating. This is something that I always did for him when we were in high school.”

“You always did it because you luuurrrrvvvvved him.”

“Annalise!”

“Stop acting all indignant, Patricia! Everyone knows. Especially now that you’ve got it on your fingers!”

“Annalise, if you drop this right now, so that we can watch the game, I promise I’ll tell you everything when the game is over.”

“Fine. Deal.”

Game four was even more of a nail biter, and the entire bar groaned when Ottawa scored in the third period. Everyone knew that that was that, and that the team would have better luck kicking Ottawa out of the series in the Bell Center anyway.

Annalise and Trisha refilled their drinks and sat in the far corner of the bar. Trisha said nothing as Annalise texted Lars.

“Alright.” Annalise said, sending her message and putting the phone down. “So. Tell me everything.”

Trisha glared at the redhead. “This is not one of your soap operas.”

“I don’t watch soap operas. And you promised.”

Trisha groaned, cursing herself. “Max and I were best friends, alright? He moved next door to me the summer after ninth grade. We just clicked. I was at every single one of his hockey games, unless they were really far away. He read every crappy short story I ever wrote, always went to the skate park with me and my friends even though he had never been on a board in his life. We went to prom together. Twice. On more than one occasion we dumped boyfriends or girlfriends because they couldn’t understand that we were best friends.”

Annalise looked at Trisha, a little surprised. Trisha seemed really upset talking about it, but they hadn’t even gotten anywhere interesting yet.

“But I was a goddamn teenage girl, and of course I secretly liked him. Because that’s what hormones do, right? They make you like the one person who you can’t have, and even if you know it’s wrong you do it anyway. But I never said a word. And then after we graduated, we went to this party at someone’s house. And I was drunk and I thought it would be a good idea to tell him how I felt.”

“And?” Annalise asked eagerly.

Trisha deflated. “And nothing. He didn’t say anything. So I went home, and the next day when I saw him we both acted like nothing ever happened. And I left for school a month later.”

“Oh.” Annalise said.

Trisha sighed. “Whatever. That was a long time ago. I was a kid. It was just hormones and child’s love.”

Annalise looked at Trisha’s thumbs. 67-67. “And now?”

Trisha smiled wryly. “He’s determined to be friends again, even though so much has changed. And if I’m being honest, it’s nice having him around again. I’m not even as close to Lana as I was to him.”

“So that’s it?”

“Yeah, Annalise, that’s it. Sorry. Not the love story you were hoping for.”

Annalise watched her chug her beer, then get up and join the old men on the other end of the bar. She had known Trisha pretty much since she had moved to Montreal to help out her sister. And she knew that she dated a fair bit. Nothing that ever seemed to really last. At least when she hung out with Max, she seemed happy.

~*~

The next day, Annalise loaded Casanova, Lars’ dog, into her tiny Hyundai Accent and drove to the airport to pick up Lars. He easily found her car in the pick-up lane and threw his bags into the trunk, then slid into the passenger seat. Casanova immediately jumped into his lap.

“Hey.” She said, kissing him gently then putting the car into gear.

“Hey.” He said, closing his eyes and rubbing Casanova’s head.

“When do you have practice?”

“Twelve.”

“Alright. I’ll heat up some leftovers from the fridge for you.”

He sat up straight. “Wait, it’s Thursday. Shouldn’t you be at work?”

She snorted. “Trust me, the lab will not blow up if I’m out for a few hours. I’ll just put together some lunch for you and head over there.”

Looking at her closely, she was in her work clothes. Even her hair was already pinned up. She merged into the traffic, then glanced at him. “What?”

“Nothing. You look stressed.”

“I’m not.” She sighed. “Just a little sad, I guess. I was talking to Trisha about Max last night.”

“Why?”

“Come on, Lars. She always looks so happy when she’s with him. Anyway, she said she used to like him, in high school. But she just wants to be friends now. But I think that’s only because he rejected her back then. She has his number painted on her nails.”

Lars looked at his girlfriend in half-disbelief.

“What?” she asked again.

“Nothing.” He said, shaking his head. “You should write soap operas.”

“Oh, stop it. You’re as bad as Olivia.”

“Davey says he’s in love with her.”

“What does Max say?”

“Max says it’s bullshit.”

“See? They’re made for each other!”

Now Lars actually laughed.

“What?” she demanded.

“Annalise, drop it.” he advised. “It’s playoffs.”

“It’s not playoffs for Trisha!”

“No, but she has her own life, I’m sure. Just leave them be.”

“Can I bother them after you win the cup?”

She said it as if there wasn’t a single doubt in her mind.

“Yes.”