Page 127 of The Tape Job
“If it doesn’t go well, you’re still telling me all about it.”
Downstairs, Ryan opens the back door to the garden. The area is enormous, and I wouldn’t be surprised if they were planning to get a dog or something next.
“So, what do you think?” he asks. “I mean, there’s shit loads to do, and it feels a little overwhelming, but I’m sure you and Vicky need your own space.”
We head back into the house, and Ryan locks the door behind him. Just as the doorbell rings.
“Any more thoughts on next season?” he says.
“I’ll tell you Wednesday.”
Vicky
I head straight to the kitchen and pour myself the largest glass of wine I can muster. It’s been a long week, and it’s only Monday. Why does January seem endless?
I take a gulp from my glass and step out of my shoes before opening the fridge and peering inside. I close it, then open it again, hoping that something may have appeared in the interim. No such luck. Logging into my internet banking to check if I can afford a takeout, I spy an incoming transaction from Liam and make a mental note to send it back to him after I make myself some cereal. All I want to do is change into my loungewear, watch ‘Grey’s Anatomy’ and block out the rest of the world.
I open my bedroom door and put my glass down on my desk, not bothering to turn on the light. But as I move towards my closet, I spot a dark object on my bed that definitely wasn’t there earlier. I backtrack to the door and switch on the light.
A gasp escapes my throat and I look around as if I’m expecting someone to jump out on me, declaring that this is a prank, or that I’m still sleeping. A navy blue rectangular box, embossed with the Maple Leafs logo, sits there—unassuming, in the middle of my bed.
I stare at it for a moment, wondering what to do next. I mean, the answer is obvious, but I can’t quite bring myself to step forward just yet. Grabbing my glass, I down another gulp of wine and take a breath before stepping forward.
There’s a flap running across the long edge that faces me, magnetised down. It lifts with ease, and the lid flips back. I stare at it for a moment. The jersey, blue and white, stares back at me. My eyes flick towards the plaque on the inside of the lid that sits below another Maple Leaf logo with ‘Toronto Maple Leafs Hockey Club’ embossed below.
46
LIAM PRESTON
FIRST GAME PLAYED AS A MAPLE LEAF
TORONTO MAPLE LEAFS VS PITTSBURGH PENGUINS
Over the date, there’s a Post-it note, Liam’s messy handwriting scrawled across the yellow paper. My heart thumps into next week.
A pair of arms engulf me from behind, and Liam’s chin rests on my shoulder. “I’m done fucking this up, Vic,” he says. I didn’t hear him come in but the fact that he is indoesn’t surprise me either. “If you don’t want this, I’ll understand. But that’s the end. Neither of us can keep going like this.”
I stand completely rooted to the spot, unable to move. He sweeps my hair to the side and plants a single kiss on my neck and then he spins me around and drops to one knee.
“Victoria Elizabeth Koenig, will you wear my jersey?”
I gape at him but when he breaks out into the smile, I can’t help but giggle. “You’re a doofus,” I say, shoving his shoulder. “But I’ll consider it.”
The first time Liam gave me his sweater was after the first game when we were officially ‘boyfriend and girlfriend.’ I remember climbing out of my dad’s car and spotting Liam leaning against the railing next to the rink entrance. He had his gear set down beside him, except for a jersey of his which was slung over his shoulder.
I remember thinking he looked so cool and how he even acknowledged my existence blew my mind. He could’ve had any girl he wanted, from school or hockey. But he was looking right at me. I walked towards him, leaving Johnny rummaging around in the trunk, looking for a rogue shin pad that had fallen out of his bag.
During that evening’s game, he’d scored a goal. And I watched from the side of the ice as he dropped to one knee during his celebration lap before quickly skating back over to the net and seeking the puck out with his stick. He skated over to me, flicked it over the glass with a wink, then he skated away. It was another puck to add to my collection—all while I wore his road jersey.
Reflecting on those heart-pounding moments, I wonder why? Why did it take me so long to understandthat being happy with him, even for a short time, is better than not being with him at all?
“We both know what I’m really asking here, Vic. Marry me? And I mean, actually marry me. Let’s drive to Scotland and get married and forget about all the heartache and whatever.”
I pull him up to his feet and cup his face in my hands, standing on my tiptoes. “Yes. A million times. Because I’m also sick of this back and forth.”
“I love you.”
“I love you.”
