Page 15 of Holiday Hostilities

I look around at the mass of soaped-up, eager-faced men who are looking right back at me. “Is everyone into this idea?”

The guys all nod, except for Dallas, who grins wickedly. “I’m in as long as I can bring a date.”

My eyes land on Jake, who’s scowling, as per usual, beneath his beard. “Even you, Griz?”

He shrugs. “I’m always happy to go where food is involved.”

Fair.The guy’s as much a bottomless pit as I am. Might be the thing that first drew us together in high school.

“We’ll do it potluck-style,” adds Lars Anderssen, our goalie.

“Okay, I’m in,” I tell them. Anything that keeps up team morale is a win in my book. If they all like this idea, I like it too. But then a thought occurs to me. “Wait. Can anyone cook?”

“Yes,” Lars responds immediately. “I am a great cook. We do not have the Thanksgiving holiday in Sweden, so I will bring a Christmas tradition from my country.”

“Bring a couple of the women, too,” Dallas says cheekily, earning himself a slap upside the head from the behemoth goalie. “Ouch!” he yelps, but then adds, “I’ll bring dessert. I have a great chocolate chip cheesecake recipe.”

“You do?” I blink at him, trying and failing to imagine our team’s party-boy in the kitchen, baking up a storm.

“What?” He sounds almost defensive. “I love cheesecake.”

“I’m making mashed potatoes,” Jimmy says, which is a shockingly regular-sounding offering. “And my famous potato-chip-topped potato casserole with ketchup gravy.”

Ah, there it is.

Dallas raises his eyes heavenward. “Seriously, do you ever shut up about potatoes?”

“I’m going to be ordering my contribution from a restaurant,” Colton volunteers.

“Great idea.” I will definitely be doing the same. My nonna taught me how to make pasta from scratch and I can whip up a few Italian family recipes with ease (read: help), but I am totally clueless when it comes to all other cooking. “Who’s in charge of turkey?”

I’m shocked when Jake, of all people, throws up his hand, steam billowing off of his arm. “I am. I’m going to deep fry it in a bucket.”

“Good luck with that,” I say, deciding on the spot that I am going to have precisely zero participation in that activity. Except perhaps providing an extra fire extinguisher or two. Jake is known for a lot of things—he’s a stellar defenseman and has a wicked, dry sense of humor underneath his typically grouchy persona. But a good cook, he is not.

“In your backyard,” he adds.

“What now?”

Dallas smiles lazily. “Oh, didn’t we mention that, Cap? Teamsgiving dinner is at your place.”

Fanfrickingtastic.

5

OLIVIA

“Ladies and gentlemen, AmeriJet welcomes you to Atlanta, Georgia, where the local time is 11:37am. For your continued safety, and the safety of your fellow passengers, please remain seated with your seatbelt fastened and keep the aisles clear until the aircraft has come to a complete stop at the gate. Once again, thank you for choosing to fly AmeriJet, and on behalf of all of our crew, we would like to wish you a Happy Thanksgiving.”

I hang up the intercom and my smile stays fixed in place until the last passenger has safely disembarked from the plane. Then, I finally turn off my ‘customer-service’ mode, which is basically just a huge toothy grimace and my soothing, almost-a-human-robot voice.

“Phew.” I step out of one of my pumps so I can rub my heel.

“That flight felt like it took fourteen hours, not four,” says my colleague and new friend, Jing, as she grabs a trash bag and begins gathering seat garbage. She winces as she deposits what looks like a used bandaid in the bag. “Gross.”

“Happy Thanksgiving to us, indeed.” I wrinkle my nose as I retrieve my cell phone and flick off airplane mode.

You’d be amazed what people leave in their seats—and we only do an elementary garbage pick-up. I feel bad for the cleaning crew who come in behind us to properly disinfect the plane. They find the worst of it in all the seats’ nooks and crannies. One cleaner told me that she found used underwear stuffed between 36E and 36F once.

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