Page 94 of Goalie Lessons

I just shrug, because seventh grade graduation might be silly, but it’s more than that to me right now. Tomorrow, the girls are going back to Colorado with Kayla.

It’s a good thing. It’s where they belong, and it will give Astrid and I more time together, to work on our relationship. Besides, we won our first game in the playoffs, and have another in a few days, and I need all the energy I can get to focus on that.

“I’m just glad Astrid could come,” I finally say, realizing I’ve left Callum hanging. “She was getting sick pretty bad this morning.”

He raises an eyebrow at me. “Oh, food poisoning or something?”

I shrug, “I guess. She’s feeling better now, pretty sure she’s not contagious.”

Callum says nothing as we step into the school, the bright sun giving way to the dark, cool auditorium. A tween stands at the entrance to the space, handing out programs, and I take one from him.

When I find her name, it sends a bolt of pride through me: Calliope Welch.

She’ll go back to Denver, and graduate from high school there, but I’ll always have this little piece of her. This proof that she and Athena were here with me, at least for a while.

“You’re going to cry, aren’t you?” Sloane asks, turning around and fixing me with a look. I roll my eyes at her, but they’re already tearing.

“I’m definitely going to cry,” Astrid says, grabbing a little package of tissues from her bag and lifting them up. “I’m an emotional mess, lately.”

She’s been seeing a therapist twice a week, and it’s helping her to work through stuff with her parents. We’ve had a lot of conversations about it—her sharing memories of them, and also us discussing my situation with my family. And whether or not I should put a little more work into getting to know them. Invite them to a game, give them another chance for us to be close.

“Trust me,” Astrid said one night, as we lay in bed with our fingers twined together. “I think you’ll regret it if you don’t at least show them that you want a relationship like that. For all they know, you might be the one who seems content with the way things are.”

I haven’t done anything just yet, but I’ve thought about inviting them out to Milwaukee this summer, offering them some tickets to the games. Who knows—maybe Dad could learn to like hockey as much as he loves football.

Now, we settle into our seats and watch other parents file in, too. Five minutes later, Kayla comes walking down the aisle, wearing a simple pink dress and clutching a program in her hand.

“Kayla,” I call raising my hand, “over here!”

The look of relief on her face is stunning, and she smiles, wrapping Athena in her arms briefly before sliding into the aisle, sitting down with us.

“So good to see you again,” she says to Astrid and me. I introduce Callum and Sloane, who are their usual charming selves, and we’re cut off by the lights above us going dark, a woman in a black dress walking out onto the stage.

“Parents and loved ones of our students,” she says, after a short speech. “We are so pleased to welcome you to this year’s graduation of seventh graders.”

We clap politely and watch as the students start to file onto the stage, walking over a little bridge that sayssevenon one side andeighton the other.

It’s ridiculous, and Callum and I can’t stop laughing at the looks on some of the kids’ faces, but when Callie finally comes on the stage—her last name relegating her to the very last position—we stand up together hollering and cheering for her so her cheeks turn pink as she reaches up and accepts the little rolled paper.

Later, when she marches up to us, she’s trying to scowl but unable to keep the smile from her face.

“That was stupid,” she says. And when Sloane steps forward to give her flowers, she rolls her eyes and says, “But thank you guys.”

She and Kayla hug and catch up, and Callum claps his hands together, looking around at us. “Should we head somewhere to eat?”

“Oh—” Callie says, clapping her hands together. “Can we get sushi?”

I glance at Astrid, who’s been trying to avoid seafood lately. “I don’t know—maybe we could find a fusion place?”

“You’re not eating seafood?” Sloane asks, narrowing her eyes at her best friend.

Astrid rubs a hand over her midsection. “Hasn’t been agreeing with my stomach lately.”

“Oh myGod,” Sloane claps her hand to her mouth and practically starts bouncing. “Astrid—are you? Are we going to be pregnant at the same time?”

“What?” Astrid takes a tiny step back, like the suggestion alone might actually make her pregnant. She glances at me, shaking her head—I didn’t think she was. We’ve been careful, and she’s on birth control.

Astrid seems to recalibrate from the assumption about her and instead zeros in on Sloane. “Wait—what? You’re pregnant?”

---