“Yeah, you didn’t know that? You can ask Chef for whatever you want. She’ll make it happen.”
“Damn, I usually pack my own because I assume I don’t want whatever it is.”
Owen wrinkled his nose. “That’s crazy. I mentioned one time that I love a chicken caesar wrap but I wished it had that creole seasoning on it, and the next time we went on the road, boom, chicken caesar wrap with the seasoning. With my favorite pickles too. She remembers everything.” He pulled out the box. “And look. She writes fun messages.”
I read the container:
Hope you Garner some praise in Jersey!
It was cute. She must have been the only person on the team who called him by his first name. I thought of her bright eyes and bob haircut and how easily she laughed with my teammates.
My stomach twisted. I wanted fun messages. I wanted special meals. I wanted inside jokes.
“Guess I’d better start getting a chef-packed lunch.”
“Yeah, man, you’re missing out.”
Our team photographer snapped pictures while we walked to the plane. She caught Owen and me mid-conversation. I didn’t usually pay the camera any mind, but today a new thought changed my expression. What if Emma looked at the pictures?
And that thought made my face stretch into a goofy grin.
“Our usual seating arrangement?” Owen asked as we climbed the jet’s stairs. Seats weren’t assigned, but hockey players are nothing if not creatures of habit and superstition. Since themiddle of last year, Owen and I sat together across the aisle from Cap. Cap was the only one brave enough to sit next to Dottie. Leroy and Sorrento took up the row behind us.
But now, with a new goalie who I actually liked and wanted to impress, things were getting shaken up.
I grimaced. “Sorry, Cordero asked first.”
Owen pouted. “I cannot believe you’re ditching me for an older man.”
“It’s not just any older man,” I shot back. “This guy was on my walls in middle school.”
He huffed. “Maybe Garner will sit with me. He wouldn’t abandon me. Garners stick together.”
I chuckled. “Does he say that, or did you come up with your little catchphrase?”
“He’s warming up to it,” he sighed. “He’ll say it someday.”
Cordero had already boarded when I got to my seat. I put my bag in the overhead bin and sat next to him.
He was digging in his take-out bag and let out an “aw” when he pulled out his container. “The chef here is so nice,” he said. “Look at this.”
I slumped into the seat next to him and read the strip of tape on the box.
Enjoy your first Rustie road trip!
“And she cut the crusts off my almond butter and jelly!”
Some dark feeling unfolded in me again. I was the only one not getting a little scrap of attention to take with me on the road. If I had her writing on a piece of tape, I’d keep it in my pocket until I could get the next one.
But I didn’t have that.
“Yeah,” I mumbled, even more dejected now. “She’s nice.”
But Harlan 2.0 wouldn’t sit and suffer, being jealous of everyone else’s fun with Chef. Harlan 2.0 would proactively pursue new friendships. I opened my texts to do just that.
HARLAN
What’s the soup du jour?
