"But you could be!" Linda interjected, placing a casserole dish on the table with theatrical flourish. "Just think, Libby! All those professional athletes, and you'll be right there asking them clever questions. Men love clever questions from pretty girls."
Robert Bennet-Cross emerged from his study where he'd been grading papers, drawn by the increasing volume. "I gather from the noise level that Libby shared her news?"
"She's going to Boston!" Linda repeated, as if he might have missed it the first three times.
"So I heard," he said mildly. "The Herald's a solid paper. Good hockey coverage, traditionally."
"Boston," Linda sighed dreamily. "So glamorous. Jane, you'll have to show her all the best places. And introduce her to those handsome coaches you work with."
"Mom, I'm going to work, not audition for The Bachelor: Hockey Edition," Libby protested.
Jane shot her another sympathetic look. "The team's focused on playoffs right now. It's pretty intense around the facility."
"Chase Bingley seems to have time for coffee dates," Linda said with a knowing smile, causing Jane to blush slightly.
"We've had coffee exactly twice, and both times were to discuss rehabilitation protocols for Jensen's ankle."
"Of course they were, dear," Linda patted Jane's hand. "Kitty! Come down! Libby's going to Boston to find a hockey husband!"
"I'm not—" Libby began, then gave up as her second-youngest sister Kitty clattered down the stairs.
"Is it the Steel? Will you meet Hunter Mattingley? His Instagram is literally my religion," Kitty gushed, already pulling out her phone.
"Wait, let me check something—" Kitty grabbed their mother's tablet from the counter. "Mom, can I—OH MY GOD. Your search history!"
"Give me that!" Linda lunged for the device.
"'Liam D'Arcy girlfriend 2025', 'Chase Bingley net worth', 'How to casually run into hockey players Boston'—MOM!"
"I was researching for Libby's benefit!" Linda protested, wrestling the tablet away.
"'Do hockey players like older women'?" Kitty continued. "Mother, you're married!"
"That was clearly for Jane," Linda said with wounded dignity.
“Ah yes, the decrepit age of twenty-seven. I’m leaving now," Jane announced to no one in particular.
"I'll be in the press box, not the locker room," Libby clarified, wondering if any part of this conversation was actually registering with her family.
"Girls, leave your sister alone," Robert intervened. "She's been offered a professional opportunity based on her work, not her dating potential."
"Thank you," Libby said gratefully.
"Though I wouldn't turn down playoff tickets," he added with a wink.
Dinner proceeded with Linda peppering Libby and Jane with questions about Boston, most involving eligible bachelors, luxury shopping, and whether the Steel had any players who might be interested in "a vivacious young fitness expert" (meaning Lydia) or "a sweet girl with excellent fashion sense" (meaning Kitty).
Mary occasionally interjected with statistics about journalist salary averages and the declining print media industry, while Robert maintained his amused silence, interjecting only when Linda's matchmaking fantasies threatened to reach escape velocity.
After dessert, Libby escaped to the back porch with Jane, both clutching mugs of tea and seeking refuge from the continuing celebration inside.
"Sorry about Mom," Libby said, though the apology was unnecessary between sisters who'd spent their lives navigating their mother's enthusiasms.
"She means well," Jane replied, the same thing she always said. "She just wants us to be happy."
"And married to professional athletes with seven-figure contracts."
Jane laughed softly. "That too." She studied Libby's face in the porch light. "How are you really feeling about this? It's a big step."
