Page 31 of The Write Off

His surprise is evident. “Seriously? You’re going out with the guy you’ve done nothing but complain about for the last year.”

“First of all, I’ve only been complaining about him for eight months. Second, we’re not ‘going out,’” I see Betty open her mouth to protest, but I level her with a meaningful stare and continue. “And even if we were, I’m not about to take dating advice from the guy who stole my life partner instead of going out and finding his own.”

“I regret nothing.” Josh wraps his arms around Betty from behind and looks down at her adoringly.

“Alright, love birds, that’s my cue to fly. Thanks for the jersey. I’ll try to bring it back in one piece.”

“Oh, before you go,” Josh stops me before I can make my escape. “I was talking to Mom and she wants you to call her. She said she’s been trying to reach you but keeps missing you. Something about a baby shower?”

Right. The date for my cousin’s shower has been set and Mom desperately wants me to go with her. It’s not that I don’t want to. Scratch that. It’s one hundred percent that I don’t want to. I barely escaped the last one with all my marbles.

First, there was no alcohol. I get that the mother-to-be couldn’t partake, but no one else in attendance was growing a Cabbage Patch doll in their toy factory. Then there were a series of cringe games, each one worse than the previous. Finally, we sat in a circle while my cousin opened her gifts. I didn’t know how I was supposed to react as she held up outfit after outfit so I said things like “Wow, that is so small” and “Oh look, that one’s even smaller.” Torture.

I’ve been avoiding calling Mom back about it, but I know I’ll end up going out of guilt. She hasn’t said as much, but I suspect she’s been finding it hard now that both of her kids are out of state. If anyone should go with her, it’s Betty. Even though she and Josh aren’t married yet, she’s practically Mom’s daughter-in-law. Not to mention, she’s a lot more likely to give her grandchildren than I am.

“I’ll call her,” I promise, meaning it. “I better get going. The puck drops in an hour and I want snacks. Apparently, the seats are right behind the Bruins’ bench. Jealous?”

“Yes,” he admits, miserably. “You’re not going to yell at the refs and call them twat-waffles like you did the last time we went with Dad, are you?”

“That depends.”

“On what?”

“On whether they’re calling the game like twat-waffles or not. Later, losers.”

Chapter 15

Logan

“THAT WAS OFFSIDE AND YOU FUCKING KNOW IT!”

There are almost twenty thousand people here and I’m guessing most of them can hear every expletive Rilla screams at the referees.

And she’s absolutely right. The Philadelphia Flyers goal was offside. Fortunately, the booth review confirms it.

“Upon further review, the play was determined to be offside. No goal.” The ref’s announcement is met with deafening cheers throughout TD Garden. No one cheers louder than Rilla.

The last forty minutes have been amongst the most entertaining of my life. Not because of the world-class hockey being played ten feet from our seats. Not even because Rilla has used the most colorful language I’ve ever heard. There were several words I didn’t even recognize and have made a mental note to look up later.

No, the most fascinating part of tonight has been Rilla herself. She’s been radiating nervous energy from the moment I met her outside the arena wearing a jersey at least three sizes too big for her and a knit beanie. I was about to ask her if she’d wrestled the oversized jersey off a defenseman, but before I got the chance she punched me in the arm, called me “dude,” and said she wanted nachos.

She proceeded to talk non-stop while we entered the building, waited in line for food, and then took said food to our seats. The woman is suddenly as chatty as a small child, babbling incessantly about anything and everything.

I haven’t been able to get in more than a few words edgewise.

I finally see my opening as she takes a drink from her beer-filled plastic cup.

“Did you buy that Bergeron jersey too big in the hope you’ll grow into it?”

She laughs, pulling her hat down over her ears. “No, I borrowed it from my brother, Josh. Technically, Betty loaned it to me. She’s his girlfriend. But she was my friend first. The hat is hers. I don’t normally wear hats, but Betty never leaves the house without one. When we were kids, her skin would break out in these tiny little bumps anytime she was out in the cold for too long. It was the weirdest thing. Anyway, she lives next door. She thinks this is a date, by the way.”

There it is.

Her brown eyes flit to mine before returning to the action on the ice. She’s a bit winded and her cheeks are flushed, I’m guessing for reasons other than the chilly arena air.

“I told her it wasn’t, of course. You just wanted the pleasure of my company. Because I’m a delight.”

“Whatever you say, Kitten.”

---