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SYLAS
Sunday, December 1
“See,this is where you made your mistake,” Dad says, replaying Friday’s game against Dartmouth. He pauses the video, zooms in on where I’m on the ice, and taps play. He talks over the video, nitpicking every minuscule move I make. “You had the puck in your possession, but then you…”
I tune him out, briefly glancing at my mom who sits across from me. I shoot her aplease get him to stoplook, but she is either oblivious or she’s acting like she doesn’t see me pleading because she says nothing. I assume the latter. She usually never intervenes unless she wants the attention on her.
“Are you listening to me?” His voice is sharp, and he snaps his fingers at me. “I don’t know what you think you were doing, but the way you played Friday was atrocious. I need you to get your shit together, Sylas. I didn’t spend?—”
“Hi,” says our waitress, Susie—no, she’s not Susie. This is someone new holding a tray with our drinks on it. “Susie had to step away. I’m Anna, and I’ll be your waitress for the rest of the evening.”
My parents hardly acknowledge her, but Thea, my sister, offers a small smile. Anna doesn’t seem to take it to heart or care; she doesn’t look offended, which is for the best because my parents are interesting, to say the least.
There’s something familiar about her, but I don’t know why. She’s attractive and hard to look away from—that is, until her eyes meet mine and a small divot creases her brow. It’s like she was frowning at me, but I’m not sure because she directs her attention to my parents.
I have no idea what that’s about, nor do I care.
“Are you all ready to order?” she asks after she’s placed our drinks on our table.
“No, we’re still waiting on a few more people. They should be here any second now. So you stay right there.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Anna does nothing but smile.
I glance at Mom, but she doesn’t meet my stare. When I look at Thea, she flattens her lips, probably to stop herself from smiling.
I should’ve known because there’re three empty chairs next to us.Fuck my life.
“I thought it was just going to be us? Please don’t tell me you invited Florence?” I grind my teeth at the irked expression on my mom’s face, like I’m the one who inconvenienced her.
“It’s not just Florence. I invited her parents, too, who happen to be our best friends. Don’t make this about you.” There’s a bite in her voice, but to the outsider, it’s meant to sound soft, sweet, friendly.
Just as she says that, Florence and her parents show up.
Our fathers have been best friends since they were kids; they played in the NHL together, and our moms met through them. And, well, Florence and I have known each other since we were born. Since then, our mothers have been scheming to get us together and marry.
Fuck that.
Florence Channing, puck bunny extraordinaire, is the biggest pain in my ass to ever exist. We fucked once and I’ll forever regret it. Our moms keep feeding her this bullshit that we’ll end up together despite me telling Florence time and time again I have no feelings for her. Still, for whatever reason, she won’t move on. She keeps eating up all the shit they tell her.
The only reason they insist on pushing us together is because we’re from the same social circle. So, it makes sense that we’d end up getting married, but fuck that.
As soon as they take their seats—and of course Florence sits next to me—they place their drink orders, and Anna speedily walks away. I’ve never been more envious.
Our parents talk amongst themselves, and thankfully, the conversation about my shitty game is long forgotten. Unfortunately, Florence scoots in closer, a sultry smile curling her mouth.
“Hi, Sy.”
“Hey. I have to use the restroom. If you’ll excuse me.” I’m up and walking away before she can stop or follow me.
I slowly saunter down the hall that leads to the restroom, but stop in my tracks when I spot Anna.
“Hey, Anna,” I call after her before she disappears into another room.
She peers over her shoulder, the divot returning with a deep scowl on her face, but when she sees it’s me, it softens and she plasters on a fake smile. “Hey, I was just on my way over to?—”
“No, I don’t need anything.” I stop and stand in front of her. “I just?—”
