If I get a job in professional hockey, I might not even be able to stay local myself. The thought turns my stomach.
I’m distracted from those feelings, though, as I get drawn into conversations with my siblings and their partners. Justin is sitting beside me, digging into the casserole I spooned onto his plate, smiling and humming at whatever Mandy has said to him from across the table.
It’s not hard to imagine this being our future; Justin being my partner and truly one of the family, just like my brother’s wife or my sister’s husband, or my other sister’s girlfriend. My younger sisters are still in their late teens, with one starting college this yearand the other still a junior in high school, so neither of them is settling down any time soon.
“So, Justin,” my brother, Stephen, asks from the far end of the table, “Gabe says you’re a physical therapist for the athletes at the college. Are you enjoying that?”
Justin casts me a sideways glance with a secretive smirk, and I know he’s thinking about some of the very unprofessional things we’ve done in his office and the nearby janitor’s closet. Under the table, I pat his thigh in acknowledgement, and his smirk morphs into a genuine smile as he answers Steve’s question.
“I am. It’s different to the internships I did as part of my degree. They were all in private clinics, so the cases I saw there were really quite different to sports related injuries and conditioning. I guess I’m closer to a trainer than just a physical therapist when I’m working with the athletes, but I enjoy the variety.”
“I imagine there’s more pressure working to keep the college’s elite tiers of athletes in top form,” Steve continues. He runs his hand through his hair, which is the same color as mine but kept much shorter.
At twenty-seven, there are five years between us, with Mandy in the middle, but he’s always reminded me of Dad. Mature and serious. I like to joke that he was born with a calculator in one hand and a degree in finance in the other. Our eldest sibling, Alex, is just shy of eighteen months older than him, but she’s a bit of a wild child. “It’s impressive that you’re balancing that, a five-year-old,andGabe. Because, let’s face it, we all know what a rodent Gabe can be.”
I pick up one of the dinner rolls to lob it at him, but my Mom points her finger at me and waggles it from side-to-side. “Uh-uh-uh. Let’s not give the little ones any ideas, Gabriel.”
Steve shoots me a smug grin. After glancing over my shoulder to make sure the kids can’t see me, I give him the finger.
“Boys,” Mom sighs in exasperation, while Justin snorts.
“Gabe’s actually more mature than I am,” he tells my brother, then looks at my lifted middle finger and sighs. “Most of the time.”
I love the subtle reference to our private roles. The little nod from my Boy that, yes, I’m still his Daddy, even when we can’t talk about it. But I love seeing him like this, too: confident and in his Big headspace.
“Awww,” Mandy taunts, nudging her husband, Jeff, with her elbow, “look at Gabe going all doe-eyed.”
“Shut up,” I respond half-heartedly.
She laughs and shakes her head. “Not a chance. Remember the shi-er-crap you gave me when I started dating Jeff? I’m repaying the favor now.”
“I was in high school,” I protest, more for her entertainment than anything. “I was, like, fifteen.”
“You haven’t grown up much since then,” Steve chimes in.
“These are all big words from people who rely on me as a babysitter,” I taunt back.
“Dad,” Mandy pretends to whine, “Gabe’s threatening to stop babysitting your grandchildren.”
Dad laughs and holds his hands up in surrender. “I’m Switzerland.” He leans forward over his half-eaten plate of food to whisper-yell at Justin, “The last time I chose a side, I wound up in the doghouse.”
Justin giggles his way through the meal, seemingly content to watch all of us Nagy siblings bicker and play fight. When the attention isn’t on me and Justin, I remind him to eat and then ask if he wants me to get him more from inside.
He shakes his head and pats his belly. “I’m gonna explode,” he tells me, sounding almost on the edge of his Little headspace. His eyes are all droopy with post-meal sleepiness. Then he frowns at my plate. “You’ve only had a bit of green bean casserole and some salad,” he says. “You need to eat.”
“Nah,” I pat my own stomach, “I’m good. But thank you for caring about me, baby.”
“Awwwww,” Mandy coos again.
I groan.
Justin giggles.
For all my fears that we’ve moved too fast and that my feelings have gotten too serious, in this moment, I could quite happily commit to this being our future. Of course, I still haven’t mustered up the courage to tell Justin how I feel, which means that’s just a fantasy.
I will tell him, though. I will. But we have time. For now, I’m just going to enjoy moments like this one, with all of my favorite people together in one place.
Chapter Seventeen
