The Husband Game

And in turn, he shares with me. His dreams of the future, playing hockey until he can’t anymore and then starting his own company, something in tech. Maybe a sports tracking app to help people follow their favorite teams. He hasn’t decided exactly, yet, but I love that he dreams so big, and that he never seems scared to weave all his dreams together.

He wants it all. And it inspires me. Because it makes me think that maybe, someday, I can have it all too. Or at least reach for it, because what’s the harm in trying?

“Hair up or down?” I ask my reflection. The girl in the mirror looks like my younger self, almost college-ready, in this hoodie. With a grin, I tug my hair up into a high ponytail, fluff up the waves a bit, and add a little streak of black under one eye in solidarity for the team.

Then I grab my purse and head out the door. I already have the route to the stadium memorized—I did go to Hartford after all, once upon a time, and the campus hasn’t changed that much in the few years since my graduation. I park in the lot, which seems way more crowded than I ever remember seeing it for hockey games. Normally we’re a big football town, but recently our football team has been performing a little bit worse, and our hockey team a lot better. Maybe the crowd is shifting too, following the success.

Great, just what we need, I think as I park the car and wrap my college scarf even more tightly around my neck. More witnesses.

When I pull open the doors to the stadium, a gust of cool air hits me, followed by a familiar smell. Air con and ice and sweat. Unable to help myself, my eyes fly straight to the ice, to our boys warming-up on it. I watch them run through shooting drills.

It’s easy to pick out Charlie. He’s taller than most of the team, and as broad as some of their big defenders. Unusual for a center, he told me last night, when we were lying in bed and he was talking me through what to expect at this game. I’ve watched hockey before, of course—you don’t grow up in New England without at least seeing a few games. But until I talked to Charlie, I never really thought about how much strategy goes into the game, into the placement of the individuals on the ice, and the job each of them have to do in order to keep the team a well-oiled scoring machine.

I can’t lie. Mixed up with all my nerves, there’s a bit of excitement too. I’m eager to see him on the ice, to watch him perform in his natural element. I want to see what he can do. I want to see if he’s as good as he claims he is—or if, like I suspect, he’s a bit better than he thinks.

Plus, sporting events are just fun. Especially hockey, which is such a fast-paced, physical sport.

The physicality of it grows more obvious as I descend the stands toward the ice, to the seat I can already see that Charlie has reserved for me by draping a big Hartford flag over the back of it, with my initial in the center.

There are already a few people here, despite the fact that the game won’t officially begin for another fifteen minutes or so. More people, I can tell from the direction the faint roar of noise comes from, are outside in the hallway near the bar, pregaming.

But I take advantage of the relatively empty stadium to slide into my seat with only a few witnesses. Still, even those people shoot me curious sideways looks—this older girl arriving alone, seating herself right behind the team bench, in a seat clearly reserved by a player. I can practically feel their questions bouncing off me. Who is that? Does anyone recognize her? Does she go here?

I settle into the seat and adjust my scarf, trying my best to blend in.

That’s all ruined when, about five minutes later, Charlie spots me and skates right over to the bench, waving both arms like a goof. By now, more people have filed into the arena, all chattering and talking, drinks in hand, voices echoing in the cavernous space.

“Lila! You made it.” I see Charlie’s lips move more than hear what he’s saying—his voice is a faint sound among the din. Then he blows me a kiss.

My cheeks flush bright red, but I mime catching it and pressing it to my heart. “Of course,” I shout back, even though I’m not sure he can hear me at all.

I definitely catch even more people looking at me now. Girls elbowing one another and whispering, eyes fixed on me. Clusters of people all shrugging at one another as if to say, no idea who she could be.