James
The Christmas break ended all too quickly. In December, we had a road trip through Western Canada, which finished in Vancouver. Baller was pretty happy about that because he could slide right into his holiday break. But it was a pain for me since I’d have to fly right across the country to get home.
It was also the first time I’d been back in Vancouver since the summer. I resisted the urge to stop by the radio station or offer to do a random interview. But every time we went out somewhere, I’d find myself searching the crowds and looking for Kelly. It was stupid, and I knew it.
Besides, I had a girlfriend. Before I’d left, I gave her some expensive earrings she’d admired when we were out Christmas shopping for my family. She gave me some big-deal bottle of champagne, which she told me should be opened only for special occasions.
When I got back to Chicago after the holidays, we had a game right away. The next day I did some physio and saw my chiropractor. I’d been having some knee problems that I didn’t want to get any worse. In the evening, I went out for dinner with Astrid. I usually let her choose the place. Tonight she had chosen a French restaurant, which was what I preferred anyway.
“I’ve never eaten here before, but Guy recommended it,” Astrid said. Guy was some friend. She liked to drop a lot of men’s names into the conversation. It was probably to make me jealous, but I wasn’t that kind of person. I assumed we were going out because she preferred me to other guys. Except for that one discussion on getting serious, we weren’t all lovey-dovey or anything. I liked things as they were—sex and no pressure.
“This wine list could use some tweaking. Did you say you’re having the beef?”
I nodded.
“Hmm, well, I think I’ll order a Bordeaux. They have the Chateau Palmer, but unfortunately not the 2005. So, perhaps a St. Emilion.” She frowned at the wine list.
At first, it was pretty cool to date someone who knew so much about wines, but these days it was getting old. It was embarrassing when she sent back wines. Since I was always the one who paid for them, it kind of bugged me that she always wanted to order the very best wine on the menu, and sometimes multiple bottles, which we wouldn’t finish. I knew my mother wouldn’t have approved of spending so much on alcohol, especially wasted alcohol. It was a thrifty way of living that I couldn’t shake, even with all the money I was making.
After a long discussion with the sommelier, Astrid found something she approved of. Our wine was very good, but after a point, it was hard for me to tell the differences. I could tell a cheap wine from a good one, but beyond that they were hard to distinguish. Astrid said my palate was developing, but I wasn’t so sure.
She was in the middle of a convoluted story about her job. “I told him, I am extremely competent at my job, but this is the first time I’ve worked on a project like this. He has to understand that there’s going to be a learning curve.” She flipped her long hair back for emphasis. Tonight, Astrid looked very beautiful in a navy dress. Other men in the restaurant were checking her out.
“To my complete shock, he said he wanted me taken off the project! Can you believe it? I went right to Randy and complained about the lack of respect. He’s going to take care of everything.”
Astrid had lots of drama at work. Sometimes I wondered if she was as good at her job as she claimed, since she seemed to have so many arguments and problems.
Dinner was good, but afterwards I was feeling a little antsy. Sitting and talking about nothing was not my ideal evening. I wanted to head home and do my own thing. I was having more headaches lately, so I figured that I needed more sleep. I wondered how I could let Astrid know this in a diplomatic way. Sometimes, she got upset when we didn’t do what she was expecting.
“James,” she began. I recognized that tone of voice, and I didn’t really want to get into anything serious right now.
“What is it?” I said. Did I sound as irritated as I felt?
“I’ve been talking to a few people, and apparently not every NHL player ever wins the Stanley Cup.”
“Yeah, so?”
“In fact, I Googled this topic and only 15% of all retiring players have ever even won the Cup!”
It wasn’t like Astrid to be doing hockey research. “Really? I knew it was tough, but I didn’t know it was that low.”
“Well, now that you know, does that change your mind?”
“About what?”
“Oh my gosh, about getting married. You said you wouldn’t think about settling down until you win the Cup. But what if you don’t win the Cup?”
This was really bugging me. I was already too much of a worrier, and I didn’t need my girlfriend to be casting doubt and negativity on me. Of course I was going to win the Cup—it was one of my goals, and it had been forever. First make the NHL, now I was team captain, and we were winning. You had to stay positive and confident.
“Don’t even think that,” I told her. I signalled the waiter for the bill since I wanted to get out of here.
“You have to be realistic. What would you do if you didn’t win the Cup?”
“I am going to win,” I told her. “Anyway, who cares? I can get married when I retire.”
“Well, women might care. We have biological clocks, you know.”
The bill came and I had a quick look, and then slapped my credit card on it. I was glad my mother wasn’t here to see how much I had paid for an average dinner. It was weird that I could still feel like a hick from Fredericton who was out of his element. My parents had met Astrid before Christmas, and I knew my mother wasn’t very impressed.
“Whatever, Astrid. Let’s go, I’ll take you home now.”
“Why aren’t we going to your place? I don’t think we’re done talking.” We got up and got our coats from the hostess. The valet had already brought my Mercedes to the front door. It was snowing, but not very hard.
I wasn’t a superstitious guy, but I didn’t like all this talk about not winning. “Can’t we drop this subject? I really don’t want to deal in hypothetical crap.”
“It’s not hypothetical, James. It’s real and important to me. The least you could do is focus on what I’m saying and not keep brushing me off.”
“Oh, for crying out loud. Why is winning the Cup so important to you all of a sudden? It’s not like you’ve taken the time to learn about any other parts of the game.”
“That is so untrue. I have spent a lot of time learning about hockey, all because it’s something you care about. Go ahead, ask me a hockey question.”
“Uhhh.” I tried to think of a question that was reasonably hard, but not too expert. “What’s icing?”
She huffed in frustration. “Nobody knows that. At Tuesday’s game, Val said she still doesn’t get icing. And she’s been married to Chico for years.”
Some girls knew what icing was. I turned onto Michigan and didn’t say another word. Was I supposed to keep asking her questions until we found one she could answer? My life was stressful enough without having to argue with my girlfriend about stupid things. Astrid was not usually like this.
“What does the year on a wine label mean?”
“What?”
“I’m asking you a question about my work. You got to ask me a question about your work, and now I’m doing the same thing.”
Was she kidding? She insisted on being quizzed, and all I wanted was to have a relaxing evening. I stepped on the accelerator in order to drop her off sooner. She was still waiting, so I answered, “Uh, it’s the year the wine was bottled.”
“Wrong!” Her high voice echoed through the car. “It’s the year the grapes were harvested. That’s a very common error that….”
I stopped listening to her. I was getting another headache and now I worried that it might be concussion-related. Was it that hit I took in the game two nights ago? Concussions could end your career prematurely, and I’d had one in my last year of college. It was a minor one—but still—any concussion was dangerous. That was a huge worry for me.
Astrid’s sharp voice interrupted my thoughts. “James! You’re not even listening to me. I put up with you talking about hockey for hours, but you can’t even spend two minutes hearing about my area of expertise.”
“Put up with? You told me you loved hockey now.”
She scowled at me. “Well, yes. But I like it as a normal person would. You’re completely obsessed with hockey.”
“Well, look where it’s gotten me. You don’t seem to mind going out and enjoying the benefits of a hockey career.” I pulled up in front of her apartment building.
“Focus on the bigger picture here. We’ve been dating for over four months now—that’s something real and serious. And now I find out that you’re not going to settle down until you win some stupid prize that you may never ever win.”
“It’s not a stupid prize.” The Stanley Cup was everything—every boy who ever played pictured himself winning the final, hoisting the cup, and skating around the arena in victory. Even imagining it gave me this incredible feeling inside—this warmth and hopefulness.
“You know what, James? You’re a child. I’ve been wasting my time here, and I’m not going to waste another minute. We are done.”
She got out and slammed the car door. Stunned, I watched her walk up to the front door. Her posture was as perfect as ever, and her blond hair contrasted with the navy coat. Absentmindedly I noticed that her dress and coat had been perfectly coordinated. Snowflakes drifted down, and she disappeared into the white swirls and her glass lobby.
I should have felt bad about Astrid breaking up with me. But instead I felt relieved. I pulled away from the curb and headed home. I realized that my headache was gone.