"An Old Fashioned. Top shelf. It was twenty-two dollars. He said it was perfect."
"That is complicated and expensive."
Every story landed, and every pause sat right. He picked up whatever I gave back and kept the thread moving. It was the rhythm I'd been missing.
I set my fork down for a second and leaned back against the couch.
"Quiet in here," he said, gesturing with a spring roll. "You should have music."
He pulled his phone out before I could respond. His thumb moved, and through my speaker on the bookshelf, the first chords of "More Than a Feeling" came in clean.
"You know how—"
"Doesn't take a genius, Pratt. We're listening to the full album this time."
The song rolled into the chorus. After it wound down, the next track started. I'd bought the song on iTunes years earlier and never listened to the whole album.
Sully caught my face.
"Oh my God. You've never heard track two."
"I don't have the rest of the album."
"You've been listening to 'More Than a Feeling' your entire adult life, and you have never heard 'Peace of Mind.'"
"It's called that?"
"It's called that. 'More Than a Feeling' is the track on the movie soundtracks. 'Peace of Mind' is where the album tells you what it's actually about."
"The chorus works for me."
"The chorus is the trailer. This is the movie."
I let him win. He went back to the drunken noodles, and the album kept playing. I listened to songs I'd never heard before that had a similar structure to a track I'd heard hundreds of times. They were good songs. He was right.
Halfway through the fourth track, he asked, "How'd you become a goalie? It's kind of specialized, isn't it?"
"Pretty simple. Journalists always ask me that. It was hand-me-downs. Dad coached juniors. Somebody aged out, and the pads went to whoever they fit. They fit me."
"That's it? Sized into it?"
"The position made more sense than forward. I could let the puck come to where I already was. I didn't have to chase."
He stopped eating. "That sounds like you."
"Yes. It stuck."
"How old were you?"
"Nine."
"Nine years old and you were like,Actually, I'd prefer to stand still and let people come to me."
"More or less."
Sully looked at me and then reached out, touching my wrist. "Finish your curry," he said.
He stacked the empties in the kitchen, folded the paper bag down to its smallest possible shape, and dropped both into the recycling. I wiped the counter.
