CHAPTER 9
ETNA
For the first time,hockey is not the most important thing happening in my life. Maybe it’s because our season isn’t going that great.
I don’t think that’s the case, though. I think I’m definitely far more preoccupied with what’s going on in my personal life.
I’m excited. Truly, consumingly, excited. I’m legitimately marrying my best friend. Not marrying a guy who I will later claim as my best friend because we’re married. I’m not trading in my best friend for a husband. Yes, I have some controversial opinions on this that I keep to myself. Don’t care.
But I’m actually marrying my best friend. My husband isn’t becoming my best friend. My best friend is becoming my husband. My best friend who was only ever intended to be my friend. That was the limit our friendship was supposed to reach. Best friends.
The kind of friendship that would endure through ages. No matter what we did in life, we’d be best friends. We’d live next door and raise our families together. We’d own property together and our kids would grow up best friends. Our families will vacation together and spend holidays together.
That was the life we once talked about.
But it’s different now. Now, we’re marrying each other—not some random girls. Now, we’ll own everything together. We’re sharing our lives together completely. We’ll have kids together.
Well, maybe. Probably. It’s not like we’ve talked about it, though it’s on my list of topics to discuss.
Once again, we’re sitting on the couch with our tablets, but this time, Keno’s is open with his calendar and mine is open to my marriage to-do list. We’ve narrowed both our lists down to definitely dos and maybes.
Once we did, it became clear what was necessaryright now. We need to pick a date.
“Okay, our season ends April thirteenth, and we know we’re not headed to the playoffs.”
Keno snorts. “That would take a miracle.”
“The only thing we need to think about concerning our date is our hockey friends and whetherthey’llmake it to the playoffs and whether we want to take that into consideration.”
“I’d like Lo to be there, which means we need to think about Toronto and Buffalo at the very least.”
“What about your Gays Can Play guys?” I ask.
“If we’re going to take into account every team, we might as well not choose a date until after mid-June.”
“What if we went wild and held our wedding in the middle of the week?” I suggest.
He raises a brow. “Okay, but why?”
“Because we have a much better chance of getting a venue we like, since weddings typically happen on Fridays, Saturdays, and Sundays. There are also notes in here about prices being better for the same reason.”
Keno shrugs. “Sure. How about”—he consults his June calendar—“June twenty-eighth. It’s a Wednesday. Smack in the middle of the week.”
“Okay, cool. That was easier than I thought.”
“Yep, worked out well. What next?”
“Next is finding a venue. Everything depends on a venue. No, wait. We need a budget first.”
Keno waves me off. “I’m not concerned about a budget. Let’s just plan something we’re going to love.”
“Okay, then we’re back to the venue.”
“By when?”
“According to all my lists, six months ago.”
Keno snorts. “Okay, cool. By January 31.”
