“I want to remember this. Just this. Tonight was about you.”
He says it so simply, so completely devoid of performance, that I believe him instantly. He pulls the throw blanket off the back of the couch, wrapping it carefully around my shoulders. I tuck myself under his arm, listening to his heartbeat slow down. I think about how I’m going to sit at a Christmas party with Rodriguez asking about his secret family, all while pretending that this incredible man isn't entirely mine.
“We’re so fucked,” I whisper into his chest.
“Yeah.” He kisses the top of my head, holding me closer. “We really are.”
15
ZACH
I’ve been sittingin my parked car on the street outside the Anderson house, staring at it through the windshield for the past six minutes.
The house is big. Twenty-years-in-the-NHL big. There are already cars in the driveway. I recognize Rodriguez’s Jeep and what I think is Coach Barrett’s Mercedes. Through the front windows I can see warm light and movement while I debate with a bottle of red wine and flowers that I bought for Mackie’s mom about why I’m allowing myself to walk into this disaster.
My phone buzzes.
Mackie
are you here yet?
Me
I’m outside.
Mackie
how long have you been outside?
Me
I just got here
Mackie
you’ve been sitting in your car haven’t you.
Me
No.
Mackie
ZACH. Get out of the car. Ring the doorbell. It’s going to be fine.
Me
Define fine.
Mackie
nobody dies and the turkey gets eaten. That’s the bar.
Me
That’s a very low bar.
Mackie
