"Yes, but it's not their entire personality," I counter and fiddle with the lid on my latte. "Look, Nash is the kind of guy who… he couldn't handle someone like me. I'm a lot. I know that and I won't let someone make me feel like I'm defective because I'm passionate and opinionated and… a lot."
“Has Nash actually done that?”
I shrug. “Once. Sort of. A long time ago, when Tate was a rookie.”
“Do tell,” Live leans in. “I’m dying to know what triggered this blood feud.”
“It was the first Quake charity event and Tate invited me to it and even though I was still in high school, Mom and Dad let me go,” I say, remembering how excited I was to go to L.A. because I had already applied to UCLA and knew it was the city I wanted to move to. “I stayed with Tate and he took me as his plus one to this casino night hosted by the Quake and…”
Nope. I can't give Liv the gritty details of who was Nash's plus one and why it triggered my hatred of Nash Westwood. It's rooted in something so dark that I buried it deep down in my soul, where it's been rotting since I was fourteen years old. "That weekend I realized he was the type of guy who would never think highly of me, so I decided to never think highly of him. And I mean, it wasn't hard. Everything about him makes me itch. He's all about rules, codes, and regimes. He's uptight and uninteresting."
"I don't know… mutual masturbation is kind of interesting," Liv counters. "Is his dirty talk hockey-oriented too? Does he dirty talk you with 'Hey baby let me stick it in your five hole.' Does he call you his teammate and fist-bump you when it's over?"
I burst out laughing and it brings me instant relief. I've been tense ever since that masturbation session with Nash because neither of us has talked about it. It's made everything weirder. But thankfully they won game four and the team is back in Seattle tied up at two games each. They play tonight. Liv invited me over to watch it but I made other plans, so I popped by for a coffee instead. I needed to confess what we’d done to someone.
“You’re ridiculous, you know that?” I sputter when I’m done laughing uncontrollably.
Liv finishes her Matcha and leans over to pet the resident cat, who is named Bobby McGee, in keeping with Laurel Canyon’s hippie roots. He stretches out on the concrete ledge near our table so Liv can caress even more of him. “Ten, I’m sorry if you came to me expecting me to tell you it’s a mistake or you should stop fooling around with Nash. I’m a romantic, remember? And this thing between the two of you feels like it’s supposed to happen.”
“Ugh.” I let out an angry puff of air. “I should have called your mom. She gets me.”
"My mom, who tried and failed to be just bed buddies with my dad?" She arches a dark eyebrow.
“Our family is full of gooey, useless romantics,” I announce. “I have no idea how I’m related to any of you.”
We both stand up as Bobby meows his discontent at Liv leaving. She gives him one last scratch under his chin. As we walk towards the tiny parking lot, she gives me one of her big hugs that I love. “You sure you don’t want me to drive you back up to your place?”
“You mean Crew’s place,” Liv corrects. Her boyfriend owns a big old house in Laurel Canyon.
“When was the last time you slept at our apartment?” I ask.
She flashes me a guilty smirk. “I still pay half the rent.”
“I know. I know,” I mumble.
“I’m not ready to live with him yet,” Liv confesses and giggles. “Even though I kind of live with him.”
“Don’t worry. I won’t get a new roommate or anything,” I reply. “And I’m not going to give the place up seeing as I’ll need it when I get divorced.”
“We’ll see about that…”
I point at her and narrow my eyes. “Olivia Garrison do not get any of your fairy tale ideas. This is, one hundred percent, without a shadow of a doubt, a nightmare not a fairy tale.”
“Mmm hmmm,” she says in that tone that screams ‘I don’t believe you for a hot second’.
“I’m going to leave now before I disown you.” I get into my car with a grumble but I air blow her a kiss as I drive out of the parking lot and make my way south on Laurel Canyon. When I hit Sunset Boulevard, instead of continuing south, I turn right and drive straight to the Home Depot.
One hour and forty-five minutes later I’m back at Nash’s loft with everything I need. I order Chipotle, change into my grubbier sweats, and tie my hair up in a knot before I start laying out the painting tarps. I open the first can of paint I bought and stare at the rich, yellow hue. The name is Dandelion Wish and it’s so great. A mustardy, deep golden color that will give this place the pop it needs and annoy the hell out of Nash. Win-win.
The Chipotle arrives and I turn on the game on his projector-style television that uses the stark gray wall next to the one I'm painting yellow. I eat and almost choke on my burrito with excitement as the Quake score only five minutes into the first period. Crew wins the face-off and gets it to Tate who passes back to Crew who does one of those fancy drop passes to Nash. But instead of taking a shot, which he could have done as there wasn't much traffic in front of him, Nash passed it back to Landon Casco. He's a defenseman and he was sitting just inside the blue line. No one was expecting it, so he's wide open and drives a slap shot, which sails right through the Winterhawk goalie's five-hole.
It’s Landon’s first goal since getting back on the team after recovering from cancer so even I jump up and down, alone in my living room, and tear up as he skates by the bench to bump gloves with his whole team. The hockey world wasn’t certain Landon would recover let alone play again so this is special.
“Aw Nash, that was a very human thing to do,” I whisper as they show his face, mouth guard dangling from the corner of his smiling lips. “For a robot.”
The game goes on, and the Quake are playing with extra fire after that. By the time I finish the first coat, the game is in the third, I'm exhausted and my arms are killing me. I bought an extra-long roller because the wall is so damn high but it's heavy as hell. I let out a puff of air and take a break to watch the end of the game. Seattle pulled their goalie with two minutes left because they're behind by two goals. My beast of a cousin, Grady, is standing on his head to keep the puck out of the net. He gets it done and the Quake win, 4-2. I clap and jump and then collapse on the sofa.
“Tenley! What the hell!”
