Page 38 of Offside Bride

“Own goal!” the ref calls out. The crowd erupts in a mix of cheers and boos.

The puck seriously landed in the back folds of his jersey, and he’d just backed into his own net, scoring for the other team. The scoreboard changes, putting Cleveland up by one. Griffin’s shoulders slump as he fishes the puck out of his jersey.

Coach Knight is losing it on the bench, his face redder than our jerseys. We’re down by one now, with less than ten minutes left in the game.

I skate over to Griffin, patting him on the back. He looks like he’s been slapped with a fish. “I…don’t know what happened. I didn’t feel it.”

‘Shake it off, Griff,” Owen says, rallying us to get back into position. “We’ve got this.”

“Hey, it happens,” I say, trying to sound reassuring. “We’ve still got time. Let’s get it back.”

But as I look at the clock, I know we’re in trouble. It’s going to take a miracle to pull this one out of the fire.

“Come, let’s be a comfortable couple and take care of each other! How glad we shall be, that we have somebody we are fond of always, to talk to and sit with.”

— CHARLES DICKENS

12

SAWYER

Istumble through the front door, my body aching from the game we lost, and the long flight home. All I want is to collapse on the couch and see Maggie’s face, even if she’s scowling at me. But as I step inside, I'm greeted by…chaos?

There are pistachio shells everywhere. The couch is covered in what looks like birdseed. There’s a whole tree in the middle of the walkway. And is that…poop on the coffee table?

“What the…”

A loud squawk echoes through the house, and something grey and feathered zooms past my head.

“Maggie!” I yell, ducking as the blur makes another pass. “There’s a flying rat in our living room!”

“Oh, you’re home!” Maggie’s voice floats in from the kitchen, sounding way too chipper for the chaos around me. She bounces into the room, grinning like she’s just won the lottery. “How was the game?”

“Never mind the game,” I say, gesturing wildly at the feathered disaster zone. “What’s with the indoor aviary?”

Maggie beams. “That’s Otto! Isn’t he handsome?”

“Otto,” I repeat, feeling like I’ve stepped into some bizarre alternate universe. “And why is Otto redecorating our living room?”

“Oh, he’s just exploring,” Maggie clicks her tongue and holds out her arm. To my amazement, the grey menace swoops down and lands on her like some kind of feathered familiar.

“Otto, baby, this is your daddy. Say hello.” She shoves the bird right in my face. “Tell Otto you love him, Sawyer. It’s important he feels wanted.”

“Are you going to tell me what’s going on or not?”

“Otto loves daddy, don’t you Otto?”

The bird squawks something vulgar I don’t care to repeat, then makes a sound like a police siren.

“Come on, sweetie,” she coos, carrying him to an elaborate cage the size of my walk-in closet. “Time for bed.”

“Maggie,” I say slowly, trying to keep my voice calm. “Why is there a parrot in our house?”

She blinks at me innocently. “You said to buy something pretty.”

“I meant shoes!” I exclaim, running a hand through my hair. “Or a purse. Or literally anything that isn’t a flying, pooping machine!”

Maggie just shrugs, still smiling. “Well, Otto is pretty.” She raises on her tiptoes toward the high perch and makes a kissing sound at the parrot. “Aren’t you, Otto? Is Otto a pretty boy?”

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