“I will, I will,” I grumbled. “You know I’m fucking delightful.”
And I am delightful. There’s always a type of person who doesn’t think so. I can tell within seconds, because almost all of them say, “Oh, you’re one of those funny people,” after my first joke crack. An instant sign of incompatibility.
“Oh, yes, I’m well aware,” he said, pulling out my barstool and standing between my legs. “Can we squeeze in one more delight before we head out?”
* * *
Our seats were a few rows off the ice and to the side of the home bench. Suited up in a brand spankin’ new “Stelle” jersey, jeans, and white sneaks, I moved down to my seat. I found a blonde woman with a beer, a soda, a hot dog, a box of candy, and a monster bucket of popcorn. Much like Guy’s high school girlfriend, she looked like she came from the Pretty Girl Store.
“Melanie?”
“Hey! Are you Kitty?”
“I am. Great to meet you.”
I felt every day of my nineteen years at that moment. Melanie had the air of an Actual Adult.
“Hungry?” I asked, gesturing to her mountain of food and drink.
She snorted. “I get nervous before his games and I eat my feelings. I’m always afraid someone’s going to hurt him. You want anything?”
“Hockey is indeed a bloodsport,” I conceded. “I’ll probably get a soda after they warm up. Guy told me you just moved here?”
“Yeah,from Minnesota. Decided I couldn’t be without him anymore.” My cheeks warmed. That was exactly the kind of shit I worried about. “I heard you’re a talented comedian. How’s school going?”
Okay, fine. Melanie was very nice and not snotty at all. She didn’t talk down to me for being young, and treated me like I had every right to be there. She knew the pain of being away from the person you loved. She was empathetic and thoughtful. And she never once said, “Oh, you’re one of those funny people.” She wasn’t exactly my kind of person, but I was pleasantly surprised at how well we got along.
“Wait, was I not supposed to wear his jersey? He gave me this to wear,” I asked Mel, in a mild panic.
“Typically, WAGs don’t, but it’s his first game and you’re his biggest fan. I think everyone will forgive it,” she assured me.
“But . . . I did do the wrong thing.”
“Don’t sweat it. If anyone wants to be mean to you, they’ll have to take it up with me,” she said, nudging me.
Our conversation cut off when the lights dimmed in the arena. A spotlight shone on the Sealpups’ tunnel. Guy knew the rookie lap was coming, a time-honored tradition in the NHL. He was well-prepared, stepping onto the ice by himself with confidence and doing some fancy footwork on his skates. His teammates and the crowd cheered for him, the captain knocking the pucks off the ledge for his second go-round. Guy fired off a rocket of a shot with a huge grin.
Pride swelled in my chest, my hands shaking as I tried to take a video. I gave up halfway through and just watched him. I’d obviously seen him play plenty of times before, but I’d never gotten to celebrate him as the star of the show. I sent my shitty, shaky video off to Frank and my parents. Melanie air-dropped me her much higher-quality video, which I then sent off.
“He did great,” she said, hugging me to her side. “Branson says he’s such a good sport.” For someone I didn’t know, she somehowknew what I needed. I needed someone to share such a special moment with. Part of me wished my family could have come, too. They loved Guy just as much as I did. Well, maybe not in the same way, but they loved him deeply, too.
My eyes welled when Guy lined up to take practice shots with the rest of the team. There he was. The boy next door made it all the way to the place of his dreams. He defied losing his parents. He defied having his life upended twice in a year. He made it.
After he’d gone through a few rounds of drills, he skated off to the glass in front of our seats. Like I was under a spell, I floated down to talk to him. I didn’t realize I was still crying until I got to him.
He held up his glove and I matched it with my hand.
“HI, KITTY BIRD,” he yelled like he always did through the glass at Alden games.
“Hi, Guy-Guy,” I sniffed.
“You’re crying.”
“I’m proud of you. You did it.”
His cheeks went pink and he laughed, but I could tell he was touched. He moved on to make a joke, I think to keep himself from crying. He wiggled his eyebrows. “You look good in my jersey.”
“Yeah, well. Later.” There were children around, so I didn’t want or need to spell out that I’d only be wearing that later. He knew, though. We both laughed. “Give ‘em hell, Stelle.”
