Tyler nodded. “My dad, my sister, her husband, and my niece. She’s singing the anthem with Cary. My brothers couldn’t make it. My nephews are playing in a hockey tournament.”
“I remember those days,” Pamela said, gazing at the ceiling.
“It seems like yesterday,” John added. “Those morning practices almost killed us, didn’t they Pammy?”
Tyler wrinkled her brow. “Who played hockey?”
“Cary did,” John told her. “Junior hockey.” He scooped a handful of peanuts from the snack tray. “Man, that kid could skate.”
“Cary played hockey?” She was sure she’d misheard him.
John nodded. “It was a tough decision between music and hockey, but I think he made the right choice.”
“Once he commits, he commits,” Pamela chimed in. “He did both for a while but something had to give. I’m sure you know with Cary it’s perfection or nothing. Why do you think he’s been single for so long?” She twitched a smile. “Orwassingle, I should say.”
I’m going to get you for this, Cary Kingston.
The suite door opened and Tyler’s family filed in. They’d never been in a private suite before, so this was a big deal.
“Look at this spread!” Bert whistled, casing the place like he was scouting real estate.
“Knock yourself out, Dad,” Tyler said. “There’s an open bar.”
Dylan collapsed onto the couch. “I’m going to puke,” she muttered, rubbing her temples.
“Are you feeling okay?” Tyler crouched in front of her, placing a hand over her stomach. “Do you want a cold compress or something?”
“It’s not the baby!” Dylan slapped her hand away. “I’m nervous about Nadie.”
“Me too,” Tyler admitted. She stood and held out her arms. “Give me your coats.”
One by one, she helped her family out of their jackets. Dylan, Bert, and Joe were all wearing their old-school Jets jerseys—fans from way back, long before Winnipeg lost the team to Phoenix in ’96, the biggest mistake in franchise history.
“Hi,” the Kingstons said in unison.
“These are Cary’s parents.” Tyler performed introductions between the two families.
John inspected his brown cardigan and said, “We need to get some jerseys, Pammy.”
Pamela nodded and extended her arm to shake Bert’s hand.
“We’re practically family!” Bert shooed her hand away, hugging her warmly.
“Dad!” Tyler said while her father let out a hearty laugh.
“We’re hoping so too.” Pamela winked at her.
This is embarrassing.
A few minutes later the house lights dimmed and the announcer introduced Nadie and Cary.
“Oh my god.” Dylan paced like an expectant father. “Joe, aren’t you supposed to be doing this?”
“There they are!” Tyler pointed as Nadie and Cary stepped onto the blue carpet.
After a beat, Cary strummed his guitar, and they traded verses of “The Star-Spangled Banner.” A notoriously difficult anthem, they delivered it with the ease of a nursery rhyme, their simple harmony holding the crowd in quiet awe.
The Canadian anthem was next. This time Nadie and Cary sang in perfect harmony while the crowd sang along, a little out of the pocket and forgetting the new lyrics—not a shocker. Tyler was all for changing the words to be more inclusive, but why leave in the “God” part when so many people worshiped other deities, and others none?
