Page 98 of Love at Teamsgiving
Considering my stats so far this season, he doesn’t have anything to complain about, but I don’t say that.
Just then, Junie skates over, all smiles. After warming up, she’d taken off her hoodie and tied it around her waist, revealing that she’s wearing my jersey.
“What are you smiling about?” she asks, spinning into my arms.
“That you’re mine,” I whisper.
Coach winks, then claps me on the shoulder. “And I’m pleased to say that I made the right choice after all.”
“Hi, Mr. Badaszek,” she says. “Thanks for hosting Thanksgiving. It’s been an odd morning, but this is amazing.”
He shakes his head. “It was time someone put a stop to the Linderbergs’ feud. It’s been going on for years. You should’ve seen what he did when we were still using the Barn and don’t get me started on the Christmas Market. I have my son-in-law Pierre to thank for saving the day on that one.”
I’ve heard that the Frenchman wasn’t Coach Badaszek’s favorite.
Badaszek congratulates us on our marriage and then skates away, slotting a puck into the net with a nasty backhand shot. I’m impressed.
And Junie just saved the day for me. “We make a good team.”
I tell her about how Coach hadn’t spoken a word to me and what he just relayed.
“That was an accidental assist, but I’m your number one fan, so anytime.”
We both laugh, she squeezes my pinky with hers, and then we take off skating.
Margo should win an award for the outstanding Thanksgiving feast she put together, after what turns out to be short notice.
Not only is my brother a secret operative, but my best friends, including Erica, anticipated that it might not go well with the families when we told them Mikey and I secretly got married, so they decided to throw us a wedding reception today since everyone was going to get together, anyway.
I’m surprised Coach Badaszek and the rest of the players got in on it, though. But mostly I’m grateful. When we gather around the table and say grace before the meal, I can’t help but be filled with gratitude that this move didn’t end up in a total disaster—the stuff with the salon and the Linderbergs notwithstanding.
But my brother is sitting with them at the other end of the table as if mediating or making sure they don’t start a food fight.
The platters of turkey and ham, casserole dishes filled with stuffing, macaroni and cheese, and lasagna—the moms insisted—along with green beans, potatoes, and all the fixings are amazing. But there’s one thing, or rather, a person, missing.
Papa would be over the moon right now if he got to have a very hockey Thanksgiving. I send up a little prayer.
Mikey suddenly gets to his feet, glass raised. “I want to thank you all for being here today, for welcoming me onto this team, into this family. I’m also grateful to my family for their support.”
A few people clap and Joey makes a rude noise.
“I’m especially appreciative of my wife, Junie, and her father. If it weren’t for him, getting me into hockey, encouraging and coaching me, I wouldn’t have had the desire to impress his daughter ... and I wouldn’t be here with all of you.”
My eyes water and Mama lets out a little sob. Carlotta wraps her into a friendly hug, but they’re both smiling.
Mikey continues, “Junie moved here because she wanted a fresh start for her mom and to open her dream salon. Margo raved about Cobbiton and so she took a chance ...”
Everyone cheers.
“But another reason was because Junie’s dad, a builder by trade, always wanted to buy them a house. For Mrs. Popovik to have a front porch swing and a big kitchen.”
I catch a few quick words of Italian and Carlotta saying something about a surprise on the back deck, but the ranch house rental doesn’t have one of those.
“Today, we’re celebrating the things we’re thankful for and our recent wedding.” Mikey links his pinky through mine and draws me to my feet. “But I also want to offer this meal in loving memory to Guiliana’s husband, Junie’s dad, Anton Popovik, the biggest hockey fan I’ve ever met.”
I start bawling happy tears as everyone cheers and claps. I bury my face against Mikey’s chest.
He kisses the top of my head. “I didn’t mean to make you cry. It was between dedicating the meal to him or Purr-t Reynolds.”
