Griz: A Fake Relationship College Hockey Romance
Page 9
My sister’s hair has gotten blonder. It used to have a beachy, sun-kissed dye job. Now, it’s a sharp, sleek blonde that’s almost white. It gives her an almost futuristic look. I can easily picture her in some silver lipstick rocking a space suit.
Julian, the general surgeon, immediately detaches from my sister’s death-grip and extends his hand out to Griz. I’ve gotta say, seeing Griz tower over him makes me smile. His hand swallows Julian’s. My sister sizes up the entire scene like she’s keeping score, and she knows she just got knocked down a few points. That look on her face, it makes this entire fake-boyfriend agreement worth all the hassle. And the money.
“Nice to meet you. I’m the fiancé, Julian.” They shake hands stiffly. Julian is used to being the tallest guy in the room, but he has to look up at Griz.
“Congratulations on the wedding. I’m Griz,” he answers.
“That’s what you go by?” Julian looks over at me, like he’s not sure if Griz is being serious or pulling his leg.
“Sure is. The guys on the team felt like I have a few things in common with grizzly bears, so here we are.”
“Okay, gotcha.” Julian steps back in line by my sister.
I take off my coat and hang it up when I hear my father’s footsteps reaching the top step. “I guess you do have a few things in common. Holy crap, you’re even bigger in person. It’s good to meet you, Griz. I like to catch the college games whenever I can, and you’re really good.” Dad slides in and gives Griz the old country-club handshake. The one where you also get a back slap out of the deal.
“Thanks, sir.”
“Call me Jerry,” Dad answers.
“You got it, Jerry. Thanks for having me in your home. I’m sorry we haven’t met before now, but the hockey season is hectic.”
“No, don’t mention it.” Dad pretends like it was never an issue for him, even though I have plenty of messages in our family chat that prove otherwise.
Griz takes off his coat, and I take it from him, hanging it up. We get our boots off and we’re just faced off with my family…the four of them, like grown up children of the corn, staring at us. There’s an awkward moment as each of them size Griz up.
I clear my throat. “Okay, so is there anything I can do to help you with dinner, mom?” I break the silence and the room comes buzzing back to life.
“No, Hattie. But, thank you, dear. The roast will be ready in about twenty minutes. Why don’t you go with your sister. I’m sure she has plenty of last minute details to pore over with you.” Mom has this way of saying things like they’re optional when they are anything but.
Now it’s my turn to fake-smile. “Great.” I look at my sister. “What do I need to know?”
Clemmie jumps back to the place she feels most comfortable…the spotlight. She leads us all back down to the family room. It looks like a wedding Piñata had its guts smashed out in here. Every surface has centerpiece samples, party favors, seating charts, menus, napkins and so many fabric swatches it doesn’t even make sense.
“Okay, so it took forever...” Clemmie gives me a pointed look, and with her white-blonde hair I almost expect her eyes to glow red or something. “I moved a lot of people around, but it all finally works. I’ve got Griz sitting next to you at the reception now.” She smiles like she’s holding for applause.
“Nice.” Griz stomps on her moment. It’s the second time in less than twenty minutes that I’ve seen that look on her face. Bringing him here, it’s starting to make me feel like a genius.
Griz and I sit on the tufted couch together, and the almost-wedded couple share the love seat. Clemmie isn’t about to let the energy in the room shift or take a chance that anyone is about to talk about anything other than her and her wedding.
“Hattie, I’m not sure if I told you, but the entire wedding party will be staying at the hotel starting tomorrow night,” she continues. Do I know my sister or what?
“The hotel?” Griz asks.
“Yes, we’re having the entire thing at The Carlyle,” – she briefly looks at him – “and keeping tabs on a wedding party is like herding cats. So, I want to make sure all my cats are in one place. Tomorrow, everyone checks in, that way I know exactly what room I can find everyone in on my day.” She smiles. I don’t know if it’s the hair, but it feels icy.
“Dinner’s ready,” Mom calls out to us. Griz and I jump to our feet, and I guide him to the dining room. Not that I really have to. He could probably find it by smell.
“I haven’t had a home-cooked meal like this in forever.” I’m practically drooling when I sit at the table, not that Griz hasn’t already seen that today.
Well, I’ve already fixed everyone’s plate, so dig in.” Mom joins us.
Julian and my sister tuck themselves in at the table. Dad’s already eating. I look down at my plate, and my stomach growls like it knows it’s about to get ripped off. On the plate is one scoop of potatoes covered in what appears to be one teaspoon of gravy. I’ve got a bunch of carrots. They clearly weren’t roasted. I’d guess steamed. Then there’s my two thin slices of roast beef.
It smells so good…I just wish there was more of it. My parents are big on health. They raised us our whole lives following the nutritional charts and using exact portion sizes. When we’d watch a movie at home, we’d get one portion of chips. Fifteen of them. Chocolate bars were always divided and split amongst the entire family. Meals are meticulously measured and served with precision.
I know it’s about health for them, but to me it feels like deprivation. The worst part is…I feel bad that it makes me feel deprived. Griz is frowning down at his plate. Apparently I’m not the only one who’s unimpressed. Everyone starts eating. Even though it’s not much, I’m happy to eat mom’s cooking again.
“So, Griz, is Westbury going to the frozen four again? That’d be something, wouldn’t it? Three years in a row?”
Something flickers over Griz’s face. He almost looks guilty when his eyes dart down like that. However, he recovers quickly, looking Dad in the eyes when he says, “We’re gonna try our hardest.”
“It’s been a rough season for you guys, hasn’t it? I caught the game where you took a hard hit before Christmas. Did you get a concussion?” That’s Dad for you. Always a doctor first.
“Were you and Hattie dating then?” Mom stomps all over dad’s question.
Damn. These are not the kind of questions I prepared him for. Yes, he’s been briefed on our “origin story” but details about possible concussions I didn’t even know about weren’t part of it.
“We were dating then. We weren’t serious yet though,” he answers mom and then looks to my father. “I didn’t get a concussion, but I was put on a twenty-four-hour watch. Hattie checked in on me every two hours. I think that’s when I realized how special she really is.” Griz looks at me, his dark eyes holding me captive. I know this never happened, but I feel like it’s a moment we shared.
He’s good.
“Did you have a lot of girlfriends?” Clemmie’s question is as pointed as it is weird. I don’t even expect Griz to really answer it. I think the entire table should just stare at her, dumbfounded, until she apologizes. She doesn’t. “You said you guys weren’t serious then. Were you dating a lot of girls?”
“Clementine,” my mother whispers.
“No, nothing serious,” Griz replies, unfazed by my sister’s rudeness. “Not until now.” He looks at me and I can feel our audience being held captive.
“Oh, so it’s like a starter relationship,” she almost coos like she’s talking to a newborn baby. “Sweet.” She smiles.
Her words, her actions, I can’t tell if she’s trying to hurt me or not. She’s talking like she’s looking at a cute kitten picture. Does she actually think the idea of me being a temporary stepping stone for Griz until he levels up to someone better is sweet? It sounds like it. I bristle, but don’t change a thing on my face. If she is trying to hurt me, I won’t show it. She’ll never get the satisfaction.
“That’s right. I’ve been in Cardiothoracic Surgery for twenty-one years now. I had done general surgery before that.” He waves toward Julian like he’s dismissing him from the table. “I always knew I’d specialize though. I went into Cardio right before Hattie was born, actually.
“Wow.” Griz nods at him. “And, what law do you practice, Linda?” He tosses mom the same softball.
“Oh, I’ve been a divorce lawyer for more years now than I can count. A lot of people will tell you that divorce lawyers always end up divorced. I guess just seeing marriages completely detonate, I mean total scorched-earth scenarios, can make you lose faith in love,” Mom answers as she loads up her fork with potatoes.
“I guess you guys broke the curse then, huh?” Griz is smooth as fuck with my parents. It makes me wonder how many girls have dragged him home to meet theirs.
“You could say that.” Now there’s my mother’s real smile. Even though they’re my parents, it makes me all warm and gooey inside when they look at each other like that. They haven’t always been perfect together, and they could probably list a lot of rough times that I never even knew about, but they’re still in love. Cheesy as it is, I find that inspiring.
“Well, that really works out for you guys.” Griz smiles politely at my sister.
“What’s that?” Clemmie looks up at him.
“It’ll just be so convenient to have a divorce lawyer in the family, you know, if this turns out to be your starter marriage.”
I cough, almost choking on the meager portion of roast beef. Oh damn, if there was a mic, Griz would’ve just dropped it while staring straight into Clemmie’s eyes. I pick up my napkin and pretend to cough into it, but it’s really there to hide my smile.
The rest of the dinner isn’t so chatty and goes by pretty quickly, probably because of the lack of food. Before long, we’re clearing our plates and heading off in different directions. My sister and Julian go back to wedding headquarters in the family room. Mom retires to her office. Dad is the only one still really acknowledging our presence.
“Want to join me in the sports room?” he offers us.
“I’d love to, sir. I hope you’ll let me take a rain check, though, because Hattie and I are going to be late if we don’t get going.”
“Oh, where are you two headed?”
I’m kind of curious to hear this myself. It’s news to me that we have anywhere to go.
“Remember?” Griz meets my eyes. I feel like he’s trying to tell me something, like he’s nudging me without moving a muscle.
“Right, we’re going to meet a couple friends for a drink in Manhattan,” I answer.
“Yeah?” Dad looks at his watch. “Well, don’t stay out too late, pumpkin. The rehearsal is tomorrow.”
“I know, Dad. Trust me, I know.”
“Only a few more days, Hattie. Life can go back to normal in a few more days.” Dad smiles and heads down to his oasis. I’m not the only one in the family who needs a break from all this wedding stuff.
Griz and I get on our boots and winter gear. I button up my coat, grab my purse and follow him out into the dark winter night. The snow crunches under our feet, and it’s quiet enough that I can hear that squeaking sound with every step.
“What’s going on? Where are we really going?” I keep pace beside Griz.
“I don’t know, but wherever it is, there’s gotta be food. I am starving.” He almost growls out that last word. My family might not love his nickname, but it’s perfect for him.
I’m so hungry. I love that Griz just jailbroke me because of my family’s weird food policing. It makes me feel normal. When you grow up as the only one in the entire family who constantly felt judged for being hungry, this feels like a bonding experience.
“I know where we’re going to eat. I’m going to take you to a place that serves the real-deal, New York pizza experience, okay? We’ll take the train.” I jut my thumb down the street toward the lit-up sign.
“You mean the subway?” Griz reads.
“That’s what I said.” I smile, and we walk a little faster toward the station.
“Okay, Ms. New York.” Griz matches my pace. “Lead the way.”
14
King Crab Kidnapper
Griz
The subway station has a fallout-bunker feel to it. It’s an apocalyptic shelter that people have been pissing in for years. Hattie and I climb the stairs out from New York’s radioactive toilet and into the city. People always talk about New York like it’s alive. Now I get why. There’s something in all the movement, the buildings, the lights. There’s a life and a breath to it. It pulses. There’s an energy in the air. An excitement. An electricity.
Wind puffs snow tumbleweeds around our boots as we walk up the block. It’s colder than the Witch’s Tit out here. That’s what New York feels like. The playoffs. There’s that same buzz of being a part of something bigger than yourself mixed with possibility in the air.
“It’s right up here.” Hattie smiles up at me. I swear that smile is the only thing between me and some serious hunger-induced anger. The meal her parent’s served was restaurant-quality delicious. It would’ve been nice if they had served more of it. Apparently, Hattie’s family eats like a family on food rations in the Second World War. By choice. Clearly it’s not a lack of money. If I was with anyone else right now, I’d be full-on hangry.
Hattie points ahead.
“Holy shit, is that it?”
Her smile grows. “Yep.”
“I’ve been soaking in all the details on this bustling street. The people rushing by, the cars that line it for miles, the buildings so high it feels like the entire world is encased in steel and concrete. I didn’t even look up at where we are.
“Madison fucking Square Garden. Wow.” I go full tourist and gawk up at the building. It looks bigger. When you see a place on a screen, it’s always the best overhead shots and most flattering angles. You lose perspective of how small you feel when your feet are planted on the pavement outside.
“Come on.” She does her speedy walk, and my eyes drift from the impressive stadium to her ass. That ass… I’ve literally dreamed of playing in this stadium my entire life, and I still can’t keep my eyes off that full, perfect ass. Worth every second.
She walks right up the steps. The crowds packing this place have all gone inside already. According to the flashing digital sign outside, the country singer that they’re here to see started his show an hour ago. A security guard stops her at the door.
“Hey, Tess.” Hattie and the woman in the fluorescent vest hug for a second.
“I didn’t know you were back.” Tess looks happy to see her.
“Just for Clementine’s wedding.”
“Oh, okay. Thought you’d catch a show while you’re here?”
“Yeah, it’s the only night that isn’t all wedding stuff, so…”
Tess doesn’t look like she’s listening to Hattie anymore. Her eyes are on me as I stand back a few steps behind her.
“Who’s this that you’re with?”
“I’m Griz, Hattie’s boyfriend.” I step forward and shake her hand. Tess doesn’t really grab onto mine though. She just pinches her fingertips onto my hand and gives Hattie a look. “Boyfriend? Good for you, hun.”
“Thanks. So…we’re gonna go now.” Hattie clears her throat and talks a bit too loudly.
We walk inside Madison Square Garden. It’s surreal that if I get scouted I’ll get to play here. These seats will be filled for my team and me. “If I get signed, people will stand in these lines to grab a beer before one of my games.”
It’s strange to imagine what that leap must be like. Playing hockey for the Warriors has given me a taste of that life. The parties. The girls. The attention. They’ve all lost their luster. Now, I don’t want to help fill these stadium sea
ts for booze and pussy. I want to fill it for me…for the dream I’ve had since I was a wobbly toddler strapped to skates.
“When you get signed,” she corrects me. “Come on, let’s get that pizza.”
Clearly Hattie knows her way around. She navigates through the bodies like a salmon swimming upstream. We weave through crowds and lines for soft pretzels and alcohol. She takes me along for the ride, her hand squeezing mine so I don’t get left behind in her dust.
Finally, she stops at the end of a line in front of a Paulie Gee’s Pizza booth. “These are the best authentic New York slices you’re gonna get in the city.”
“Yeah?”
“Hands down,” she assures me.
“Did you know there was a show tonight?” I notice there’s a lot of high-waisted jeans and tight plaid shirts in the line ahead of us. And not just on the ladies.
“I had no idea.” She walks ahead, inching us closer to the counter. “Pure luck.”
“So, what was the plan if this place was closed tonight?”
“For what?”
“For getting New York’s best pizza.” I smirk.
“Oh, I had a plan B.” She laughs.
“Yeah?”
“Mm-hmm. I would’ve taken you across the street. There’s a pizza place in Penn Station. I would’ve told you it was New York’s finest. You’d still get to see The Garden, and you’d never know the lie about the pizza.” She laughs when I pretend to be shocked.
“How dare you? This one-hundred-percent-authentic relationship is built on trust, honesty, and integrity,” I tease.
“Was it?” She tilts her head, rubs her chin and pretends to think it over. “I seem to recall building this bogus relationship on gambling, lies and pettiness,” she answers. The last person who was blocking our path to pizza clears away from the counter and we step up. “Now, what pizza do you want? It’s my treat. You can’t go wrong with the classic pepperoni.” She points to the abnormally large pie slices ready to go.