He's The Goal

by Faith M Troyer

The youth hockey team's parents are probably wondering what the hell is going on right now. I feel so many pairs of eyes, so laser-focused on us, and it's infuriating. The only person who needs my explanation right now is Vada, but she won't look at me.

  "I gave you everything that I had, Max,” Vada whispers. “Everything. Even my virginity."

  "Baby, I swear, I didn't do this. I don't know what the hell Bianca's doing. I left for the arena right after I woke up. I wouldn't do this to us, please believe me," I whisper as I try to touch her, but she backs away further every time.

  I'm so frustrated, and all I want to do is be alone with my girlfriend to explain my side of the story. And how can Bianca believe that I would want her now? She messed with my life and hatched the most hurtful, deceitful plan she could. All just to see Vada suffer.

  Did Bianca honestly think she would win me over by crushing my girlfriend's loving, sweet-natured spirit? I know she is enjoying the show as Vada’s soul crumbles to the cold ice-floor.

  "I have to go. Please don't come back home, Maxwell. Jack is coming home early, just in time for Thanksgiving, and he's going to need his room back because you're sure as fuck not sleeping in my bed. You're never coming near me again; you got that?" Vada says, her voice cuts me like the edge of a serrated blade.

  We hold each other's gaze, and for a second, I don’t recognize her. All I can see is anger and pain in her eyes.

  "Oh wait, Vada. I almost forgot to give you this," Bianca says and reaches in her purse for what looks like the remote to the air conditioner.

  This woman was in the home that Vada and I share. She planted those things in Jack's bedroom to make Vada think that she and I slept together. How the hell did she get in? My vision blurs as Bianca hands her the remote, all smiles. Why the fuck does she have the AC remote?

  "It got a little too steamy while we were— well, you know,” Bianca remarks tauntingly to Vada, “I took the liberty of turning the air on to cool ourselves down while Max took a shower."

  Before I know it, Vada lunges forward with an open palm aimed at Bianca's face. I catch her around the waist, holding her back before Vada can do any actual physical damage. That's the last thing I need to happen today, Vada getting arrested for assault.

  Hell, she's so angry at me right now that I'm sure she'd rather stay put in the holding cell instead of being with me.

  But that doesn’t stop Bianca from leaning back, screaming at the top of her lungs that you'd think had someone stabbed her. Crying, she covers the left side of her face.

  "Did you see what that psycho bitch just did?! She hit me! I'm filing charges on you, stupid cow!"

  I hold Vada close to me and thank God that she hasn't struggled from my hold just yet, which is a good sign. Meanwhile, I'm stuck in the middle of the worst Girl's Gone Wild video, and every parent in the arena has their eyes glued to us as if we're the most entertaining thing they've seen all week.

  I have a professional reputation to protect, and here I am, trying to play referee between Vada and Bianca. Joe comes running out from the locker room after I'm sure he heard the most dramatic scream in history, thanks to Bianca. His cold stare is threatening to end my hockey career if I don't get this broken up quickly. He takes Bianca to the other side of the arena to calm down, and I take Vada to the other side.

  "Are you okay? Did she hit you?" I ask, trying my best to examine her bare arms, but she backs away, not looking at me.

  I hang my head low in defeat.

  "No, she didn't, and I damn sure didn't hit her, but I was going to until you stopped me."

  I look up, hoping she might throw me a bone.

  "Why did she have the remote, Maxwell? What was she doing with it? Someone left the air on when I got home this afternoon from school. I was so confused as to who left it on and knew it couldn't be you." She tries to blink away more tears that threaten to break through her thick lashes.

  She swallows hard before speaking, and I find my hands cupping her elbow as a last-ditch effort to comfort her, but she pushes my hands away.

  "But she was just so hot, huh? You couldn’t help yourself, could you?"

  "Vada, please let me explain."

  She stops me by putting a hand up.

  "You were only ever going to be a guest in my house, Maxwell. That's all you were supposed to be. I only let you stay as a favor to my brother.”

  I can feel it, I want to stop it, but I can feel my heartbreak as she says her final words.

  “Find a new place to live, Max. We're over."

  Vada

  One week later

  Thanksgiving Day

  “What do you mean you’re not coming home today? You were supposed to be home last week.” I feel as if my entire fucking head is going to explode right now. I drop down on the couch next to Monica, cradling my head in my hands. Jack sighs in defeat as a few different voices can be heard in the background, speaking German.

  Thanks to the one-semester that I took back in my Freshman year of college, I understand the words “beer” and “house.” None of which is helping me get my brother home any faster.

  “I’m so sorry, Vada. the client who hired me asks that I do two final shoots and a fashion show in Munich.”

  “It’s fucking Thanksgiving, Jack.”

  He sighs again, and I lean back on the couch, gazing up at the ceiling, and feeling hot tears roll down the apples of my cheeks. Today was supposed to be a happy day— a day of thanks, family, and celebration. I wanted nothing more than to celebrate this holiday with my boyfriend and brother.

  But Jack is still in Germany, Max and I are no longer talking. Just the thought of him in my kitchen, pretending to be Julia Child, wearing an apron and talking in her voice was my all-time favorite memory. He did it as a gag to make me laugh one day and just kept doing it. If he were here today, I can guarantee he’d be putting on that apron.

  I wipe my tears away and sit up.

  “Isn’t mom coming to dinner?” Jack asks as I rise to stand.

  I need something to distract me from Max while I’m on the phone with my brother.

  “Yes, she’s on her way now,” I answer as I lean down to check on the cherry and apple pies that Monica and I made from scratch this morning. The smell of nutmeg, vanilla, and maraschino cherries waft from the open oven. I keep my phone between my shoulder and chin as I take in the inventory of the hors d'oeuvres that sit beneath the plastic wrap on glass plates in the fridge.

  “Did you make your famous raspberry brie tartlets? Jack asks in his best; please forgive me, voice. The ass-kissing is real with this one, and I have to give it up to Jack for trying.

  “They just might be gone by the time you get back, dick head.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong, snot face. I’m leaving right after the runway show tomorrow night. So save some for me, please.” I smile as Jack lovingly calls me the “sweet” childhood name he’d given me growing up.

  Leaning up against the kitchen sink, I tuck my free hand underneath my chin and sigh. I can tell that Jack is upset that he can’t come home for Thanksgiving and even worse, I’m still hurting over Maxwell.

  “Want me to kick his ass?”

  “Jack.”

  “I know, Vada. I’m sorry. You know I love you, and I’ll always choose your side, no matter what. Still, I have a feeling that Bianca is behind this somehow.”

  I roll my eyes, not wanting to think about what that whore from hell did that day. But I remember the look in Max’s eyes. He looked so happy to see me when I surprised him that day at the arena. How could Bianca get into the house in the first place if Max didn’t let her inside?

  Perhaps, something isn’t quite right about all of this?

  “Vada, you there?” Jack asks, and I snap to attention.

  “Hey, yeah, sorry. It’s just been a long day, you know.”

  He offers a throaty sound of acknowledgment.

  My brother and I are very close, and it sucks not to have him here to make the day a
little more special. A knock at the door grabs my attention, and I lean over the sink to look out of the window to see my mom standing just outside the door, holding a foil-wrapped surprise.

  “Shit, Jack! I have to go! Mom is here, and she’s carrying the fucking turkey! I told her I would help her bring it up the stairs,” I say and rush to the door.

  My jackass brother is laughing as I hang up. My mother is only fifty-three years old, but she has a bad hip and knee. The last thing she needs is to fall down the stairs because she’s carrying a thirty-pound honey brined smoked turkey.

  Flinging the door open, I don’t leave any room for a greeting but just take the turkey from my mom’s hands and deliver it to the table.

  “Hello, daughter, it’s nice to see you too,” she says, a hint of sarcasm in her voice.

  I turn around and smile, walking into her open arms for a warm hug.

  Katie, my mom, is an exceptional woman. She and I are also close, and I honestly don’t know what I’d do without her.

  “I thought I heard the voice of the sexiest woman alive,” Monica says, her eyes shining as she walks into the kitchen. My mom adores my best friend and has treated her like her own daughter pretty much since day one. They embrace in a sweet hug before my mom kisses Monica’s cheek and pinches it sweetly.

  “You’re such a pretty girl, Monica. Vada, set her and Jack up on a date.”

  I cut my eyes to her, grinning, and see that she’s blushing. It’s a small gathering this year, but it’s enough. Monica’s family lives in Chicago. She can’t go home this year for the holidays due to money, but she’s happy to be spending it with my mom and me.

  Over the next few hours, the kitchen is alive with chatting, laughter, and the smells of turkey, green bean casserole, and other Thanksgiving staples. The ache in my heart from missing Max is real, but it’s less of an impact in the company of my Mom and Monica.

  “Speaking of Jackson, he won’t be home until tomorrow night, and I called him a dickhead.”

  My mom’s dark brows shoot up to her hairline as she takes in my choice of words. Katie Finley isn’t a prude, but she hates when her baby daughter uses such foul language.

  “Vada— ” Mom warns as she spears a piece of turkey with her fork.

  I’m sure she still feels as if she’s even raising two, pain in the ass teenagers when Jack and I take turns ratting each other out, but she takes it in stride. I can feel Chester rubbing sweetly against my shins from under the table as we all catch up with one another, and I lean down, lifting the heavy table cloth to see his furry orange body waiting for an opportunity for someone to drop some food.

  “Is that furry grandbaby?” Mom asks, her voice raising an octave.

  Oh boy, right on queue with the baby talk and excited squeals of glee. Mom is the reason I’m a cat lover, but Max is the reason I’ll end as the lonely cat-lady. Mom stands up and walks to the cupboard where her purse sits, and Chester follows her faithfully. She has him so well- trained; it’s hilarious.

  “Are you going to be a good boy for grandma and sit?” mom asks as she takes a small bag of cat treats from her purse.

  Chester obeys and sits down. She then makes a rolling motion with her hand, and he rolls over then sits up again. He doesn’t do that for me, but that’s because I’ve had him spoiled for too long.

  My heart jumps in my chest when I feel my phone buzzing in my pocket. I don’t want to answer it while I’m sitting at the dinner table, but I have a gut feeling that I should.

  “I’ll be right back,” I say to Monica as my mom is entertaining Chester with treats. Walking through the hallway and into my room, I sit on my bed and check my messages.

  Max

  Hello, beautiful and Happy Thanksgiving to you. I wanted to text you and send my love, and I understand if it’s unwanted. I just thought I’d let you know I was thinking about you, and I didn’t stop. A real man doesn't give up on the things that he truly wants. Please know my love for you is accurate, and I’d never do anything to hurt you purposely. Tell Chester that I love him. Have a good night.

  My lower lip trembles as I re-read Max’s text over and over. Since we broke up, I haven’t accepted his texts, calls, or the few times he’s shown up to my house. Monica had to shoo him away, even though I knew it hurt her. She’s his friend too, but as girl-code goes, chicks before dicks. I closed the door to Jack’s room because having to pass by every time and see the bed where they supposedly had sex makes me sick. I push my phone to the side and lay down.

  Why would they have sex in Jack’s room? Wouldn’t she want to nail Max in my bedroom? In my bed? Wouldn’t that be like rubbing the salt into the wound? It doesn't make sense. None of this makes sense.

  If she and Max didn’t have sex, what was she doing with my AC remote? Whatever happened, that bitch was in my house again for the second time as an unwanted guest.

  I roll over, grabbing my phone, and put on “Glycerin” by Bush. I’m not sure why, but this has been my favorite hardship song since high school. Everyone needs a hardship song or two when they’re feeling lousy about something. I’m not one to make breakup music playlists and cry my eyes out with a half-gallon of ice- cream in the process.

  Okay, I'm lying.

  I have cried over Maxwell, a lot and this song has been helping me get through. I wish I could hug Gavin Rossdale and thank him for helping me sort through my feelings by writing such a good song.

  “Glycerin? Is everything okay?”

  I look up and see my mom has left the door opened ajar, and her brown eyes peer down at me. She knows me too well. I sit up and scooch over on the bed, patting the side next to me. Chester shoots through and jumps up on the bed next to us before mom can shut the door. Nosey Rosey. He always has to be in the mix. I chuckle and pat his head.

  My mom must have heard the song playing from the hallway, and I’m sure Monica knew what was going on and sent her to check on me. Rubbing Chester’s sweet pink nose with my thumb, I look over to my mom, who has made herself comfortable next to me.

  “How did you deal with dad and his affairs? I don’t know the entire story, but I’m a grown woman now, mom. You can tell me.” She forces a smile and takes a piece of my hair between her fingers, and rubs softly. A lonely tear falls from her lashes, and now I feel like an idiot.

  “I’m sorry I shouldn’t have asked.”

  She shakes her head and wipes her eyes with the back of her hand.

  “I somehow knew after the first few times that something was wrong. He was a lot more attentive, a lot more than usual. He was never the type to make me breakfast in bed, so it was a nice change to see Brian so loving and helpful. He bought me all kinds of gifts. Jewelry, perfume, all kinds of nice things, but I just didn’t put two and two together. Then, the gut feeling kicked in that something just wasn’t right with him. I tried telling Brian how I felt, but he didn’t want to hear it.”

  She takes in a deep breath, rubbing her open palms on her slacks.

  I put my head on her shoulder and sigh.

  “That’s when he began picking fights with me and insisting that I was the crazy one. However, I knew for a fact that I wasn’t the only woman in his life. He kept throwing around the idea of divorce, and it scared me. It was then, after many years of infidelity, he came clean and told me that he was addicted to sex.”

  Oh, my heart. The look in Mom’s eyes is too much to handle, and I regret ever asking for her to go into detail.

  “Momma,” I say, my voice is thick with emotion as we softly embrace each other.

  I find I'm the one who’s crying as I hold on to my mother like she’s the only life preserver left on the boat. She rubs my back in circles, making a soft “shhh,” sound in my ear like she used to when I was a kid. It was the only way I’d calm down.

  “I know why you’re asking me this, and I can tell you right now. Maxwell didn’t cheat on you, baby girl. I know what it looks like, but that is not a man who takes his woman for granted.”

 
; I pull away slightly, looking her in the eyes.

  “This Bianca girl is a wretch. She wants to see you unhappy, just like her. She doesn't love Maxwell. She’s only using him as bait to get to you. She’s angry that a sweet, beautiful girl came into Max’s life and charmed him off of his feet. I’ve got a feeling that this Bianca girl set you up, Vada. The story appears off somehow, and Max has been good to you and for you.”

  Mom’s words slowly sink in as we sit there for another few minutes, embracing. After we clean our faces up, both Monica and my mom announce that they have to leave. My mom moved an hour away from Miami a few months ago, and she doesn't want to make the drive too late, which I understand.

  “You want to spend the night? It’s been a while. We can eat pie and watch movies?” I say, realizing that we never got to dig into the deserts we worked so hard on.

  “I’m sorry, V, but I’m going to have to pass on that tonight. I've been awake since five o'clock this morning, and I just want to call it a night.”

  I’m almost desperate enough at this point to beg her to stay. I don’t want to be alone right now. Then thoughts of flashes of Max run through my mind and my mom’s words.

  Maxwell didn’t cheat on you, baby girl.

  Giving my best friend and mom each a tight hug, I watch them each get into their cars and drive off. Chester follows me to the living room, where I get comfortable, turning on the television. He lays on my stomach, purring as usual, and my eyes catch sight of my phone.

  I inch it forward from the coffee table with my fingertips, picking it up. My stomach explodes with butterflies as I see Max has left another text.

  Max

  I got the proof of your mermaid photoshoot scent to my email today, and damn. You look like an angel, Vada.”

  My phone buzzes with a few more texts and the photos pop up, making my heart flutter. I smile, laughing at a few of them. I don’t look the same, but I do look pretty cool and decide that I just might become a blonde.