Keno laughs, shoving at me. “No. I’m saying more than 40% of marriages end in divorce. More than half of second marriages end in divorce. And this is allfor love.”
“I’m not sure what you’re getting at here. You don’t believe in love or marriage?”
He shakes his head, still amused. “I don’t know if I have a point. I recently saw a video that in some Asian countries, people are marrying for other reasons again. They’re negotiating with their friends—compatibility of lifestyle choices, financial responsibility, romantic interest, shared hobbies, the longevity of their friendship. Maybe even shared friends. That kind of thing.”
“That’s not a horrible idea. Looking to get back to your cultural roots?”
Keno gives me a look. He’s Asian somewhere in his ancestry, on his mother’s side; I think he said three generations or something. He’s sure he still has family in the East, though he knows nothing about them or even who they are. However, Asian genetics are strong, so he definitely has some of those features in his facial features.
It’s why he’s so aware of and advocates against the struggles of minorities. Both sides of his family have been born in the U.S. for several generations, but simply because helooksAsian, he’s judged with prejudices against him.
Again, it’s a struggle I never had to face. My last name is Indigenous American, but I don’t even share their blood. My great-grandmother was adopted by a Shasta indigenous couple when she was an infant, so she shared their name.
Even my first name is misleading. Etna, like Mount Etna in Greece. In reality, my parents wanted to name my twin sister for our grandmother, Edna. And like weird twin parents, they wanted our names to go together. Etna and Edna. Yeah, that’s not at all confusing.
“No. I just think if you’re going to spend your life with someone, it should be based on something more than ‘they’re my soulmate and I’m going to love them forever.’ Seriously, how many times in their lives do people say that about different people? How many times do people fall in love? Seriously, I knew a girl growing up who dated someone new every month, and they were always the love of her life. They all even changed their name to Babe for her. I’m just saying—love is fickle.”
I can’t even argue. While hockey’s dictated my life and I haven’t really had a girlfriend I’d claim to love in the past, I understand what he’s saying.
“I like the idea of friends getting married. Someone you’ve trusted for a long time. Someone you’ve spent countless hours with and have lots in common with or whatever. In a relationship that isn’t about getting in their pants or being in love, you’re building something real. Far more solid than romantic love; that comes and goes. I just feel like there’s more sustainability in marrying your friends.”
I laugh. “Okay.”
Keno looks at me with a teasing smile and winks. “I’d totally marry you. I bet we’d be really fucking happy for the rest of our lives,bestie.”
“If I don’t drown you in the lake,” I retort, laughing.
He laughs too. The conversation changes to an escape room we see advertised as we consider doing it. But through the rest of the day, Keno’s teasing comment is never far from my thoughts.
CHAPTER 4
KENO
One of thethings I’m slow at getting used to is celebrating holidays without my family. When we’re home, it’s not like we have a guaranteed three days off to make travel feasible. Sometimes we only gettheday off, which means going home if it’s more than a few hours away isn’t reasonable.
My family is from the Northwest, so nowhere near Arizona. Equally nowhere near Detroit, where we are now for our game tomorrow. At least we’re coming off a win against Carolina. Thanksgiving blessing, I guess.
We made plans with the guys to have an early dinner at an open restaurant down the road with the agreement that we were tipping like crazy since these people had to work. On the one hand, I appreciate they’re working, or we’d likely have gas station jerky or something. On the other, I feel really bad they’re working and not home with their families.
I look at myself in the mirror and frown. While I knew we’d be traveling over Thanksgiving, it didn’t occur to me to bring clothes that were nice but not suit-nice. I’m wearing enough suits on this trip and sure as hell don’t want to wear one now. Especially not to eat in.
The best I can do is jeans and a polo shirt. Otherwise, it’s tee-shirts and gym clothes. Turning sideways, I sigh. At least I have a nice ass. Round and plump.
The bathroom door opens, and I glance that way as Etna comes out, buttoning the cuffs of his sleeves. He’s wearing a gray button-down and black slacks. He looks… sleek. Not elegant, but like he could run a company. Is sophisticated the word I’m looking for?
“Why did you remember to bring something appropriate, and didn’t think to mention it to me?” I ask.
He glances at me, amused. “What’s wrong with what you’re wearing?” Etna looks me over.
“I’m business casual. You’re casual dress. I think that’s more appropriate than business casual.”
“You knew the dates we’d be away as well as I did,” he argues and then looks at himself in the full-length mirror outside the bathroom door. “I have another button-down. Want it?”
“Yes, please,” I say and pull the hem of my shirt from my pants. If I do it quickly, I shouldn’t mess up my hair too much.
Tossing it aside, I join Etna in front of his garment bag. From the back, he pulls out a deep blue button-down and hands it to me.
“Am I taking away from your suits?” I ask as I sling it around my shoulders.
