Page 72 of Home Ice

"Those people don't matter, Lily. Everyone who matters adores you. Emory, all the boys, Elijah, Coach. Everyone who works in the arena. I can't even remember their names after all these years, and I've tried. But you know them all. They all glow whenever they run into you in the tunnels."

None of those people are my boyfriend's parents.

"Brant's right," Chloe says. "Fuck those people from the past. I don't know anyone who doesn't like you."

I whip around to her. "Watch your language! I thought you were listening to music?"

She opens her eyes and shakes her head. "I just put these in so you would leave me alone. If I'm going to die from a panic attack, I want to do it in peace. Without you worrying about me."

"I do worry."

"Understatement of the year," she says. Behind me, I can feel Brant agreeing with her. "But I guess I'm kinda glad you do. Sometimes." I hold my hand out, hoping it will be okay for us to hold hands now, but she just snorts. "Still not happening."

Other than an occasional tap on the knee and a raised eyebrow that Brant tries to use to convince me I'll be fine, we pass the last few minutes of the flight in silence. From the corner of my eye, I watch Chloe as we land. Her body jolts when the wheels make contact with the runway, but as soon as the pilots slam on the brakes and we all lurch forward in our seats, an excited smile breaks over her face. This is not only the first time she's flown, it's also the first time she's been out of the United States. A couple of years ago, her dad made the whole family get passports because he planned to visit Mexico and smuggle cheap medicines in their car on the way back. I almost wish he hadn't come to his senses, so he could be in prison now. But then she wouldn't be sitting next to me, tapping her fingers on the back of the empty seat in front of her while she waits for the plane to finish taxiing so she can set foot in another country.

Unfortunately, this is her first experience with customs, so she learns the hard way that it's not as simple as getting off the plane and going where you want to go. She alternates between sighing and groaning and crossing and uncrossing her arms every few seconds, but I say a simple thank you for every second we're stuck in this line. With any luck, someone in front of us will confess to sneaking a suitcase full of live lobsters, and we'll be stuck here all night. Maybe it could even take a couple of days to straighten things out. By then, we would need to fly back home so Brant could be in Salt Lake in time for his first start after his injury.

Luck, though, is not on my side. After a few minutes of standing still, the line moves faster than any line in the history of any airport. We scan our documents at the kiosks, have a short interview with Border Services, and then we're released into the terminal. The terminal that doesn't take nearly long enough to cross.

I keep intentionally falling behind to watch Brant's walk. The surgeon had him wear a knee brace for a few days, just as a precaution. Since it came off, I've been watching and looking for any sign that he's favoring that knee. He says he feels fine. He says he just panicked in the moment. But I know how athletes are. They don't always admit when they're in pain. Spotting an abnormal gait might be the only sign I get that he needs more time to heal.

Falling behind also lets me delay the meeting I've been dreading for almost two weeks.

I see his parents as soon as we step off the escalator and onto the ground level. A cute couple wearing black and yellow, holding black and yellow balloons and a handwritten white cardboard sign that says "Welcome Home Brant, Lily, & Chloe."

I stop. Brant doesn't notice until his hand pulls hard on mine. "What is it?" he asks, as if the "it" in question isn't holding a three-foot-wide sign that makes them obvious to everyone.

"I'm scared."

"It's fine. They're good people. You're going to love them."

I close my eyes to the worried tears that are trying to form there. "Brant, I mean I'm really scared." Tyler never introduced me to his parents. Every time they were in town, he would have some excuse why I would have to wait until next time to meet them. So I've never done this before. But even if I had met Tyler's parents, it wouldn't have prepared me for this.

When I was with Tyler, I tried to convince myself that I could spend the rest of my life with him. He wasn't perfect, but I told myself I didn't deserve perfect. It's unrealistic for someone like me to expect more, so I overlooked a lot of things I shouldn't have. I ignored all the red flags that Em kept pointing out to me. But it's different with Brant. This does feel perfect. But there's still that part of me that insists I don't deserve perfect. It's always there, searching for a tiny crack to wedge itself into.

What if this is it? If Brant's parents don't like me, he won't stay with me. Not for long. His face lights when he talks about them. I would never date a guy my dad didn't approve of. And that's why I never told Dad about Tyler, I say to myself.

Brant steps in front of me. When he blocks my vision, I realize I've been staring at his parents like some psycho. "It's me and you, yeah?" He puts his hands on my cheeks. "I think my parents are pretty fucking great, but I might be a little biased. But no matter what, it's me and you, and I'm here. Don't ever forget that I'm here. Always will be."

"Great, now I have to worry that you're turning into a stalker." I force out the joke along with a long exhale.

"Call it what you will. But now," he looks over his shoulder, "I want the most important people in my world to meet each other. It looks like Chloe has already broken the ice for you."

I lean around him and see that she hasn't waited for us. She's currently hugging Brant's dad while motioning with her hands as she explains something. Brant's mom seems completely enraptured by whatever it is Chloe is saying. Of course. "We need to rescue your parents."

"They don't look like they need rescued."

I ignore him as I drag him along toward the people who look like they're straight from a casting call for "Perfect Canadian Hockey Parents." Brant's dad is the first to notice us. He nudges his wife with an elbow and then grins as we get up to them. "This must be Lily."

"No, I'm Brant. Your son, Dad. Don't you remember? This is Lily." Brant points to me.

His mom wisely pretends she doesn't hear him and reaches out to hug me. "It's so wonderful to finally meet you. I'm Tracy. Brant talks about you all the time." I drop my hand from his to hug her back, hoping that I'm not shaking so much she can tell.

"I wouldn't say all the time," Brant mumbles.

"Honey, last month you told me that Lily got a haircut."

"Yeah?"

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