Dinner and a Moment

I stared over at Jay McKee, my face seeming to melt down into more disgust the longer I looked at him.

After a good minute or so of my staring, he finally looked up, the pasta he was slurping off of his plate hanging out of his mouth, the sauce coating his lips and chin. He stared at me for a moment, the pasta just hanging out of his mouth, before he started laughing, almost choking on the mouthful of half chewed food. He slurped up the rest of the pasta hanging from his mouth, grabbing his napkin to wipe away most of the sauce, and swallowed all of the food before smiling. “I’m so sorry you had to witness that. Pasta has always given me issues, especially noodles like fettuccini, and all of these guys have just gotten used to it. I forgot about you and your friend.”

I tried to smile, still attempting to get over the image of his half chewed food and the cow noises he made while eating. “It’s okay. You just have to warn a girl before you sit across from her,” I explained.

“It’s really just pasta that makes me like this,” He tried to explain. “I swear, if I had ordered a steak, this would have never happened.”

“Then why didn’t you order a steak?” I asked, making Jordan, who was beside me, laugh.

Jay made a face, “Because I wanted pasta.”

“Don’t even bother arguing with him,” Jordan told me. “There is no point.”
I decided not to carry on with my inquisitions and returned to my plate of half eaten chicken and mashed potatoes, still trying to adjust to the fact that I was in the middle of a very fancy restaurant, with all of the hockey players I had been watching on TV sitting around the table with me. It was unreal, and I was still expecting to wake up in a hospital with the doctor telling me that I had been in some terrible accident, spent the last few weeks in a coma and the only company I had was the TV in my room, which was playing a Penguins game.

I felt a piece of asparagus smack my face, knocking me out of my train of thought and causing me to let out a long sigh as I looked up at the giggling Matt Cooke and Marc-Andre Fleury, the two of them laughing so hard they were silent, their eyes filling with tears and their faces turning red from the withheld oxygen.

I picked the asparagus up and looked at the two of them. “Really? This is what you do when you’re out at a fancy restaurant?” Neither one of them could answer, they were laughing so hard. Marc merely shook his head, waving a hand in front of his face as if that would calm him down.

“So, Hanna,” Bill Guerin asked me, leaning around the four players separating us from each other to look at me. “Tell me about your family. We haven’t heard about them from these guys.”

I put my fork down on the plate, shrugging. “Yeah, I guess I don’t mention them too much,” I admitted. “There’s not much to tell. My mom is a baker and my dad is a mechanic. They’ve been together since they were 17, married when they were 19, had my older brother when they were 22, and then me when they were 25.”

“You have a brother?” Jordan asked, surprised. “You haven’t mentioned him.”

“I don’t see him very often,” I explained. “He was married two years ago and he and his wife moved to Prince George, where she was offered a job as a University teacher. I see them once a year, at Christmas. He and I never really got along that well, anyways.”

“Does he have a name?” Max asked from beside Jordan,

“Cameron,” I answered. “His wife is Elizabeth, she’s probably the sweetest person I have ever met, and I don’t understand how they ended up together.”

Bill seemed satisfied with the answer, turning his attention across the table, where Peyton was sitting, to ask her about her family.

Peyton shifted in her seat, clearly wishing the subject of family hadn’t been brought up. “Uhm, I live with my dad and my younger sister, Jenna. I haven’t seen my mom since I was three.”

There was a long pause around the table as all of the players tried to decide how to react. After a good two minutes of incredibly tense silence, Eric Godard cleared his throat and leaned forward onto the table. “If it makes you feel better in any sense, I wish I hadn’t seen my mother since I was three.”

The entire table burst into a fit of giggles, Peyton probably laughing the hardest at the remark, more out of feeling relieved than anything else. Godard gave himself a pat on the back, literally, and returned to his plate of…something.

“You’ve got to love the attitude of us hockey players, eh, girls?” Max asked, grinning at Peyton and I, his fork in one hand and knife in the other.

“Could you not look at me like that while you’re holding your utensils? I feel like you’re going to stab my face,” Peyton muttered.

“Like I would do that when there are this many people around,” Max scoffed. “How dare you insult my intellig-intellect…how smart I am!”

“Tell me that you did not just change the sentence because intelligence is hard for you to say, please, tell me you aren’t that French!” Peyton yelled at him.

“I do not need to explain my choices to a girl.” Max argued.

I shook my head, trying to concentrate on my food and not on the two of them. My attention was taken, but not because of Peyton and Max. Marc and Jordan were having some sort of a telepathic conversation with one another, Jordan seeming to not want to agree with whatever it was Marc was asking. After a moment of eye arguing, Jordan sighed, tossing his napkin down on the table and pushing his chair out. He and Marc stood up, at the same time, before moving around the table. I was half expecting them to start fighting, waiting for Jordan to slap Marc in the face, Dukes of Hazard style, but instead, they passed one another, Jordan taking Marc’s now empty seat, and Marc sitting next to me.

I eyed him, chewing on a piece of chicken as I did so. Marc grinned at me, pulling his chair in closer to the table and simultaneously moving it a few inches closer to me. “Hi.”

I swallowed the piece of chicken in my mouth. “Hi. Why are you here?”

He made a face, pretending to be offended. “What? You ask that as if I have some sort of ulterior motive.”

“Well, you usually do,” I pointed out. “I may not have known you very long, Marc-Andre Fleury, but I have already learned that you are always up to something.”

He pursed his lips together for a few seconds before nodding. “It’s true. I’m here to tease.”

“That sounds disturbing,” I mumbled, just loud enough that he heard and chuckled. “What do you need to bother me about?”

He smirked, moving his gaze from me to Sidney, who was conveniently sitting beside Peyton, and then back to me. “It bothers you, doesn’t it?”

I sighed, “Really? This is what we’re doing? You are 26, and you’re playing the jealousy game?”

“I am not playing, I am observing,” He corrected. “I just think you should know that Sidney is under the impression that you have an eye on Jordan.”

I made a face. “I’m sorry, why would he think that?”

Marc licked his lips, looking away from me. “Max and I may have told him so.”

“Why would you do that!” I yelled, louder than I had intended as the entire table turned to look at me. I let out an embarrassed laugh, waving at the curious gazes before I snapped my attention back to Marc. “Seriously, that isn’t funny.”

“I didn’t do it because I was trying to mess with him or you,” Marc tired to assure me. “I was just trying to make sure that he did have a bit of a thing for you, but Sid is such a private guy, he wasn’t willing to tell me. So, Max said it didn’t matter because you had told him you thought Jordan was cute.”

“I knew that asshole would give me a reason not to like him. I just figured it would involve a banana or something,” I muttered.

“A banana?” Marc asked. “No, don’t explain that to me, I’m not done. Sidney was quite upset. He didn’t say much, but he did that thing with his jaw, where he clenches it? He does it whenever somebody turns over the puck on our team, or if I let in a silly goal, and he made it then. That is a clear sign that you are good to go.”

“Where are we going?” Kris asked from beside Marc.

Marc turned to look at him. “Uhm…out for dinner.”

“We’re already out for dinner,” Kris pointed out.

“Then I guess we aren’t going anywhere,” Marc said, causing Kris to frown at him and return to listening in on someone else’s conversation.

“I would also like to know where I’m going,” I confessed.
“You are going for Sidney,” Marc said. “Look, that guy has not had a real girlfriend. He’s dated two girls, and it barely lasted long enough to consider it dating. Do you know why?” He asked, not actually waiting for a reply. “It’s because those girls didn’t want to date Sidney. They wanted Sidney Crosby. They wanted the fame, the money, the perks. They didn’t want to hear about his day, his concerns, or his family. They wanted to know when the next dinner event was, next commercial was being shot.” He glanced around, making sure everyone was too caught up in their own conversations to be listening in. “You are the first real girl that has been in his life in a long time. And I already told you, there’s something about you that has made him open up a little more to you then he has to most people.”

I took the entire speech in before I opened my mouth to answer, but had the chance taken away from me when Marc looked past me. “Hey, Sid!”

Sidney pulled out the empty seat on the other side of me, which I hadn’t noticed was empty, and took a seat. “Hey. Sorry I just interrupted. I couldn’t handle listening to Peyton and Max anymore.”

“Ah, that’s okay,” Marc told him. “I was just about to leave anyways.”

I widened my eyes at Marc as he shot me a grin, pushing his chair out of the table and patting Sidney on the top of his head as he passed him, a gesture that made Sidney bend his neck backwards so he could frown up at Marc, disappointed to see he had already passed.

I pushed my lips out, looking down at my almost empty plate before I finally turned my gaze back to Sidney, embarrassed to find him smirking at me, an amused look in his eyes. “Hi.” I said,

He laughed, entertained by my clear discomfort. “I feel like I haven’t talked to you at all since I saw you after the game,” He confessed.

I thought about it for a moment before nodding. “Well, that is probably because you haven’t talked to me since then. Way to be neglectful.”

He grinned, “Sorry.” A piece of rolled up napkin flew across the table, landing in Sidney’s lap. He frowned, as did I, and we both turned to see who had thrown it.

Peyton grinned from the other end of the table, shrugging innocently as we both looked at her. She turned her head so she was no longer looking at the two of us, instead falling back into conversation with Tyler, as he was explaining something to her that involved him holding his fork.

I shook my head, turning to look at Sidney. “That was very second grade of her,” I commented.
He smiled, a smile that didn’t quite reach up into his eyes. “Yeah. I guess she’s just…I don’t know.” He shrugged, lifting up the napkin and twirling it in his fingers for a moment before he placed it down on the table, looking back up at me. “So, two more days.”

I nodded. “And then it’s back to renting out skates and telling midget hockey teams where to go.”

He eyed me for a moment, letting out a big sigh before speaking again. “Did you ever got to College or anything?”

The question, for whatever reason, caught me completely off guard. Sidney seemed to notice this as he began to apologize. “I’m sorry, if that’s a touchy subject for you-”

“No, it just, I wasn’t expecting it, that’s all,” I explained. “I went to University for one semester, but it just wasn’t for me, I guess.”

He nodded. “What did you go for?”

I laughed, “Broadcast journalism.”

“I bet you were really good at that,” He said kindly. “What made you decide it wasn’t for you?”

“I don’t know,” I admitted, playing with the butter knife next to my plate so I didn’t have to look him in the eye as I spoke. “Something just didn’t feel right. You know how…” I bit my lip trying to know how to explain this to him. Finally, I looked back up at him. “When did you know hockey was what you wanted to do for the rest of your life? When did it just feel like you had found your calling?”

It was him that was caught off guard this time, as he leaned away from me a bit, his eyes widening. He thought about for a second. “I remember being seven years old, playing up against this group of ten year olds, and somehow managing to carry the puck from one end of the ice to the other. I was so far from being even a decent skater back then, that my ability to skate past centre line and not fall down was just miraculous,” he explained with a soft smile. “I was all alone in the other zone, my dad watching from the stands, my friends staring with their mouths open as I went into the zone alone. The goalie was this eight year old who was only in net because his mom worked at the ice rink we played at and insisted he be on that team, so I knew that if I could line my shot up, I had a goal.” He let out a soft laugh, chewing on the inside of his cheek for a moment. “I missed the net. I missed it by about five feet, not even kidding,” He turned to look at me. “I went home that night, and I spent four hours in the basement, shooting pucks at the net my dad had set up. I did that every day, but I always hit that damn dryer, “ He said with a laugh. “I stayed down there until I could get three shots in a row into the net, straight in. Not deflecting in off of the dryer or the pole in the middle of the room, or my sister’s dollhouse. Straight in. And when I finally did that, I tried to get ten in.” He scratched the skin beneath his chin. “The feeling of pride I had after I did that, it was…it was overwhelming. I got up for hockey the next day feeling as if I could do anything. I scored two goals, I had a handful of assists, and that was the day I told my dad I was going to play in the NHL.”

I stared at him, lost in the story, lost in his passion. The way the mere memory of that day almost seemed to get Sidney a little bit choked up, it just tugged at the bottom of my heart. I took in a deep breath. “I haven’t felt that yet,” I said quietly, making Sidney look at me. “I haven’t found the thing that makes me want to try. The one thing in life that I wake up and look forward too. That I want to commit myself to, that I want to strive towards getting better at. I haven’t found it,” I admitted. “I’m just a complacent person, I guess. I’m decently happy at the Ice rink. I make decent money. I’m happy. And maybe that’s all my life will be.”

Dan Bylsma was announcing that he was heading up to pay the bill, causing most of the players to stand up and put on their coats. Sidney and I sat there, me staring at my hands and him staring at me. Finally, he placed a hand on my shoulder, which surprised me so much I jolted at his touch, and then apologized to him. He only smiled before saying, “I think you’re far too special to be one of those people who get lost in life. And I think that when you finally find where you’re supposed to be, the people who get to be there with you will feel like the luckiest people in the world.” And with that he stood up and headed over to his previous chair, grabbing his jacket and sliding it on as he had a brief conversation with Chris Kunitz.

“Hanna?” Peyton asked, shaking me from my thoughts. “You good to go?”

I nodded, standing up and grabbing my own coat from the back of my chair. Peyton and I walked next to each other out to where the guys were already standing. Peyton cleared her throat, nudging me. “So, I was just wondering,” She began, “How would you feel if I asked Sidney out?”

I stopped in mid step to look at her. “What?”

“Well, I just think he’s really nice, and he’s a good looking guy. I’d like to get to know him a little better,” She tried to explain.

“You don’t need to date him to do that,” I argued. “You could…you could text, or write letters. You could use smoke signals! No one ever uses smoke signals anymore and I, personally, think they are the most personal form of communication. It takes serious commitment to get the message out properly with smoke.”

“Hanna, calm down,” Peyton instructed. “I won’t ask him out,” She said, pursing her lips. “I won’t ask him out again, at least.” She attempted to take a step away from me but I reached out and grabbed her arm.

“What do you mean, again?”

Peyton sighed. “I asked him if he wanted to get coffee tomorrow morning with me when we were sitting together, and he agreed.”

I let go of her arm and nodded, glancing over at where Sidney was talking to Marc, who looked just about as dejected as I felt. “Well, have fun.” Was all I managed to say to her as I headed off towards the bus, ignoring her as she called out to me. Ignoring the looks of the few players who turned to glance curiously at me, and ignoring Sidney when he tried to stop me on my way to the bus.