When it’s just April and me, I don’t have to pretend that I have everything under control. I stay strong for her until bedtime, and then, when I’m alone and nobody else can see, I allow myself a minor meltdown every once in a while. I allow myself to admit that yes, getting promoted while helping my daughter navigate a new school while living in a temporary situation is actually pretty overwhelming. I allow myself to feel frustrated about the fact that April came home crying two more times this week because some kids decided her encyclopedic hockey knowledge made her “weird.”
But then, as good as the time alone has been for us, I’ve also found myself missing Grant. It’s a strange feeling to be standing in someone’s house and wishing he was here, but I really have missed the sound of his voice and the way he’d sit with me while I drank my morning coffee and he grumbled about whatever sports highlights were playing on TV.
Just knowing we’ll see him tonight after the game gives me a small sense of relief that’s honestly surprising.
“Are you excited about the game?” April asks as I finish securing her ponytail.
She’s looking at me in the mirror, and I realize how lost in my own thoughts I’ve been while I’ve let her ramble for the past few minutes.
“Of course, sweetheart. There’s nothing I’d rather do tonight than cheer on our favorite team with my favorite girl.”
“And think of how often we’ll be able to do this now that we live here! Well, sort of live here.”
I might not be quite as enthusiastic about the game itself, but I’m one hundred percent committed to going. I know that the promise of tonight’s game has been the silver lining that’s gotten her through the week, and I’m going to do everything in my power to make sure she enjoys every minute.
And if I’m being perfectly honest, I think I might need the fun and excitement just as much as she does tonight.
“We’ll go to as many as we possibly can,” I say, ushering her out of the bathroom and down the stairs so I can grab my purse and the passes Grant left for us. “That’s one of the perks of living with the goalie.”
“The best perk.” She takes my hand and now she’s the one herding me toward the door, her nine-year-old’s patience apparently exhausted. “Come on, Mom! I want to get there early so we can watch the warm-ups.”
An hour later, we’re walking through the concourse of the arena when I hear my sister’s voice cut through the noisy crowd.
“Heather! Over here!” She’s wearing her official Aces polo and has her camera equipment slung over her shoulder.
“Hey!” I give her a quick hug, then step aside so April can do the same. “We were just on our way down to find our seats.”
“I’ll walk with you down to the ice. The guys are about to start warming up, and I want to get some pictures posted before the game starts.”
She leads us straight down to the first row behind the glass where the Aces will be defending for two of the three periods, and I can tell by the look on April’s face that she’s in hockey heaven.
“This is so cool, Mom.” Her eyes are wide in that kind of childlike wonder that I get to see less and less of as she gets closer to her teenage years. “We’re probably going to be on TV and everything!”
Margo looks back and grins in my direction. “You’ll be on social media, at the very least. I’ll make sure of that.”
“Ugh.” I groan. “You could’ve warned me.”
“What do you think I just did?” Her laugh is loud enough to draw the attention of several nearby fans and at least a couple of players down on the ice. “Consider yourself warned.”
“Just no pictures while I’m eating, please? I have enough issues these days without the whole world seeing me stuffing my face with popcorn.”
She laughs again, and it’s the kind of devious laugh only a younger sister can get away with. “We’ll see, but no promises.”
We take our seats, but only for a few minutes. As soon as the Aces take the ice, April is on her feet with her face practically pressed against the protective glass. She’s watching the guys go through their warm-up routines with the kind of single-minded focus that’s normally reserved for final exams or brain surgery.
“There he is!” She looks back over her shoulder at me, then points toward the goal where Grant is stretching from side to side. “Look how focused he is. I almost feel bad for the guys who will be going up against him. Almost.”
He moves through his pre-game ritual with precision and purpose, making it look almost choreographed and leaving zero questions as to why he’s so good at what he does. His face is set in concentration and it’s easy to see that this isn’t just a job for him. It isn’t just a sport. It’s his life.
“None of the other guys look as serious as he does,” April says.
“That’s how he prepares for the game, sweetheart. He’s the best because he doesn’t allow himself any distractions.”
Her back goes stiff and she shoots me a worried look. “Do you think we’re going to be a distraction for him?”
I have to smile as I shake my head. “I don’t think so. He’s used to thousands of people cheering for him. I don’t think hewould’ve given us such good seats if he was worried about being distracted.”
Margo nods. “That’s right. And he was very specific about where he wanted you two to sit.” She looks over and wiggles her eyebrows just for my benefit. “Very specific.”
