I thought I felt hungry at one point so I went to snoop in Marek’s kitchen, but nothing appealed to me. I ended up having a smoothie since I thought I should eat something.
The place feels empty when he’s gone. And I feel alone. Which is what I wanted. What I still want. There’s just something about Marek’s presence that’s comforting. Thinking about him leaving at 3:30 and not getting home until eleven or midnight made me feel anxious. Maybe it’ll be okay that his sister stops by.
“Okay. Well. Good luck in your game.”
“Thanks.” He studies me.
I sense his concern, so before he can ask for the hundredth time, I say, “I’m fine.”
His lips twitch. “I know.”
I roll my eyes, but my own lips are being tugged by a smile.
I go back to bed and click through the channels until I find the one the hockey game is on. I’ve never watched Marek play hockey, other than at the All Star game last year. I used to love watching hockey, but the last few years that’s been one of the things that’s fallen off my plate with everything else going on.
Grayson calls. We talked the day after I got home, and now today. I don’t mind talking to him because he’s the only one who isn’t crashing out about what happened. He was upset, yeah, and relieved I’m home and okay, but he’s always chill. So I tell him where I am, but ask him not to tell Mom and Dad while I hide out for a while. They call every day but they can think I’m at my place.
I doze off for a while, wake up, have another shower, and once again contemplate eating. Seems like a lot of work. The game’s going to start soon, so I move my lazy butt from bed to couch in case Marek’s sister shows up.
And she does. A quick knock on the door announces her arrival. I traipse across the hardwood floor in my socks to peer through the door viewer, briefly contemplating hiding in my room and not answering. I guess that’s her? I open the door to let her in.
She beams a big smile at me as she sails in with arms full of stuff. “Hiiiii! I’m Mabel Smits, Marek’s sister.”
“I could tell from the resemblance.” Their hair’s almost the same color of chestnut brown, but Mabel has gold highlights in hers. They have the same eyes—not a flat brown but a sparkly brown like a chocolate diamond, or smoky quartz. “You’re much prettier, though.”
She laughs. “Thanks.” She continues over to the island to deposit her goods. “Has the game started?” She glances at the TV.
“Not yet.”
“Okay, good. I brought popcorn and beer. My favorite things to eat while watching hockey. Also some grapes. And Cheez-Its.”
Wow. “I’m not really a beer drinker.”
“Oh.” Her face falls. “I’m sorry.” She smacks her forehead. “That was selfish of me, to assume everyone likes beer because I do.”
Yeah, kind of. Whatever. “I’ll just have some water.”
Chatting the whole time, she finds a bowl and dumps the contents of an enormous bag of popcorn into it, then stashes the beer in the fridge, minus the one she’s going to drink. “Let’s just get this out of the way. I’m a huge fan of yours!” Then she takes a deep breath. “But I’m not going to go all fan girl and make you sign my shirt. I know what you’re going through right now. But I do love your music! So do my friends. They would freak out if they knew this was happening.” She stops, composes herself, and says, “But that’s enough about that. Come on, let’s sit.” She sets the bowl of popcorn in the middle of the couch, so I sit on the other side of it from her.
She reaches over to pick up the remote to turn up the volume of the TV just as the puck is dropped at center ice.
Wow. That’s loud. I guess it’s hard to hear over popcorn crunching.
I take a couple of pieces of popcorn and chew them. Yeah, the TV is still loud.
And it only gets louder as the Storm score a couple of goals and the crowd screams. They also scream when the Storm clear the puck from their zone while killing a penalty, and when the goalie (I think his name is Archibald) makes a save. It’s a lot of noise, and with Mabel chattering next to me, my head starts to hurt. My chest feels tight.
God. Earlier the silence in the apartment was asphyxiating me. Now the noise is.
“Is it true that you played hockey?” Mabel asks during the first intermission, shifting to face me on the couch.
“Yes. It was a long time ago.”
“That’s really cool, though.”
“My brother plays hockey. He’s really good. He’s at Harvard.”
“My brother plays hockey, too!” Mabel laughs at her own joke. “Seriously, we have that in common. When you were kids, did you have to put up with a van full of stinky hockey equipment?”
