“I’m not panicking. I’m just... prepared for multiple scenarios.”
“How many shirts have you tried on?”
I look guiltily at the pile on my floor. “That’s irrelevant.”
“Oh my god.” She starts laughing. “You’re acting like a teenager before prom. Please tell me you didn’t change your sheets.”
The silence that follows is damning.
“Dex! She’s not coming to your condo! It’s a team barbecue at Brody’s house!”
“It’s called being prepared,” I argue, feeling my neck heat up. “And having clean sheets is just basic adulting.”
“When was the last time you changed your sheets for anyone?”
“That’s different.”
“How?”
“Because this matters,” I say, the words coming out more raw than I intended. “She matters. And I don’t want to screw it up.”
Maggie’s quiet again, and I can practically hear her recalibrating. “You really like her.”
“Yeah.” It feels weird to admit it out loud. “I really do. And I might have already screwed it up without even trying.”
“Then wear the gray henley—it brings out your eyes—and stop overthinking. Just be the guy who made her laugh at dinner, not the guy who’s terrified she won’t show up.”
“You’ve always been my least annoying sister.”
“You’re only just now figuring this out? And Dex? She already likes you. You don’t have to try so hard.”
“What if Evan?—”
“Then you deal with Evan. But don’t lose her because you’re too scared to fight for her.”
I end the call and reach for the gray henley, trying to channel some of Maggie’s confidence.
Brody and Elliot’s backyard has been transformed into what can only be described as hockey player paradise. Massive grill station on the deck, coolers of beer and soda everywhere, outdoor speakers pumping a playlist that somehow satisfies both the old-school veterans and the rookies who think anything before 2015 is ancient history.
“You’re early,” Brody notes as I help him set up the last of the lawn games. “And suspiciously well-dressed for a guy who usually shows up in team sweats.”
“Just being a good teammate,” I say, trying to sound casual while checking my phone for the twentieth time. “Supporting the captain’s social initiatives.”
“Uh-huh.” He eyes me knowingly. “And this has nothing to do with a certain hockey mom and her kids who might be arriving in...” he checks his watch, “twenty minutes? If they’re coming at all.”
“Elliot said they’d be here.”
“Elliot says a lot of things. But she also spent this morning texting your sister about kid activities, so I’d say the odds are good.”
I should feel relieved, but instead the anxiety ratchets up another notch. “What if she changed her mind? What if she decided it’s too risky?”
“Stop borrowing trouble.” Brody claps me on the shoulder. “She might surprise you.”
The yard gradually fills with teammates and their families, the familiar chaos of people who spend too much time together to stand on ceremony. I try to focus on the conversations, the setup, anything except watching the street for her car.
“You’re vibrating, man,” Rodriguez observes, appearing with a beer. “Like, literally. I can feel the anxiety from here.”
“I’m fine.”
