Page 69 of Shutout
“Er…” Dad clears his throat as he pulls away. “Did you bring your EpiPen just in case?”
“Yes, Dad.” I shake my head. “It’s not like there’s any gluten or nuts in an extremely Venezuelan Thanksgiving meal.”
“That’s why we do it.” He chucks my chin.
I blink hard, processing.
Here I always thought it was because they wanted to celebrate their homeland just a bit, to remember its flavors, to not think of it with the sadness or the hurt of so many other immigrants. But it was because of me all along. Because the turkey stuffing has gluten. And so do pies. And some pies have nuts. And some other typical American staples of a Thanksgiving meal could also kill me on the spot because of the food coloring.
I’d take back the whole least-problematic-child if I could, except now Brooke’s in the kitchen and Dad’s greeting him like Brooke is the prodigal son who has finally returned.
While they’re all busy with that, I grab a new fork from the drawer and sneak in a little taste of the meat. The flavors hit me with so much force, my mouth turns into a beach. Or maybe this is the first time I’m truly appreciating it.
Sudden banging makes me freeze, but when my parents keep fussing around Brooklyn without a hitch, I figure it’s no big deal. I sidestep them and head out of the kitchen, looking for the source. Then I spot two sets of legs rushing down the stairs, until my sister Luz, and her husband Max, appear before me.
“Did I just hear Brooklyn’s voice?” she asks me without stopping to say hi. Behind me, she screeches. “Look at you! You’ve turned into a freaking mountain. Max, come see!”
“Hey, Liv.” My brother-in-law gives me a quick one-armed hug before following after his wife.
Brooklyn gasps like a fanboy. “Max Cassiano? The leading forward in the NHL?”
Max plays along. “Brooklyn Tatum? The highest drafted defenseman last year?” After that, I hear the unmistakable slaps of a dude-handshake, followed by weird back thumps.
I hang my grey beanie from the coat hanger by the door, and as I unwind my scarf I count how many coats it already boasts. It tells me Aran and Maddie must be on their way. I take up my favorite spot, which is peeking through the curtains until I catch them walking up to the house.
That’s how Brooke finds me. He takes up the same spot but by the window on the other side of the door. “That wasn’t so bad,” he says in a mumble. “But the real test is coming.”
I press my lips tight. Aran’s gonna be the challenge. I didn’t have to tell him earlier, but I know that Brooklyn knows that Aran was the only one who didn’t miss him last year.
“Why do you think he hates me so much?” Brooke asks as if he could read my mind.
“I don’t know.” That’s a lie. I’m sure Aran’s always known I’ve had a huge unrequited crush on Brooke since forever.
“Who’s up for a game of catch?” Dad asks from the living room.
“Well, the catcher hasn’t arrived yet,” my sister says.
But that’s when I spot movement from the corner of my eye, and sure enough, that’s my brother and his wife walking up to the house. Maddie’s in a green coat that brings out the almost imperceptible red in her hair. My brother’s in all black. Boring. Or like a grim reaper. Depending on his mood.
I glance at Brooke. “Ready?”
He swallows hard and is doing the shoulder rolling thing again. “I got this. I’m taller than him now. Boxing is one of my dryland trainings. I could plow through him now. We can do this.”
“Okay…” Without warning, I swing the door open. Aran and Maddie pause, and where her face breaks into a huge smile, his is the picture of wariness. “Greetings, you must pay a toll to pass through this door,” I say, extending my hand out for payment.
To my surprise, Maddie digs into her coat and pulls out a book. “Here’s my payment. An ARC of my next release.”
Now I’m the one shrieking like a banshee. “Oh my word, oh my word! Is this finally Kent and Ophelia’s story?”
“That’s right. Friends to lovers at last.”
I snatch up the book and hug it tight to my chest. This is the book I’ve been waiting for ever since she started her self-published hockey romance series years ago. And of course, it’s so I can live vicariously through it.
“I love you so much,” I whisper fiercely as I hug her in a vise. “You’re my favorite sister-in-law.”
“She’s your only sister-in-law, you twerp,” my brother says in a deadpan.
Pulling away from Maddie, I glare at him. “Pay up, jerk.”
