The Husband Game

“You and me both,” Charlie responds, his eyes catching mine, holding for a moment, before he turns back to the road. “Maybe I shouldn’t bring you to meet my parents if you’ll misbehave the whole time.”

I laugh. But the laughter fades into worry after a moment. “Charlie… If this is going to cause trouble for you…”

He interrupts me before I can get any further, reaching over to bring his hand to rest on my knee. “The only way I’ll get into trouble is if I don’t let my family at least meet you before our wedding.” He winks. “Besides, joking aside, you have nothing to worry about. My family is going to love you.”

I settle back in my seat, shifting a little, trying my best to get comfortable. “All right. But only if you’re sure.”

His hand finds mine again, and his fingers weave through mine before he squeezes, tightly. “Trust me, Lila. I’m surer of this than I’ve ever been of anything.”

Which is exactly what I’m worried about, I think, but don’t dare say aloud.

* * *

But Charlie is right. If his family is nervous about our relationship, or about me, it doesn’t show. At least not right away. We’ve barely pulled up to the cabin—which, I really feel like he should have called a lodge, because to me it looks a whole lot larger than the cabin in the woods I’d imagined. It looks more like the sort of hunting or ski lodge that rich people weekend at in movies.

I’m still gaping at the building itself, with its pretty dark wooden exterior and cheerily painted red shutters on the windows, when a mob of people burst through the doors.

“You must be Lila!” his mother exclaims almost before I’ve even managed to extricate myself from the passenger side of the car. “Charlie’s told us so much about you.” She wraps me in a tight bear hug before I make it more than a step away from the car.

He has? I wonder. But when I glance over her shoulder, Charlie is busy hugging a tall man who must be his father. They’re the spitting image of one another. And another man hovers between Charlie’s parents, waiting to offer me his hand when we break apart.

“Mark,” he says. “I’m Charlie’s brother.”

Younger, I’m guessing by his fresh, unshaven face. But not by much. “It’s great to meet you,” I tell him truthfully, and shake his hand.

Then Charlie’s father wraps me in a bear hug, and soon after, the family dogs arrive—two that his parents own, and a lazy black lab who apparently belongs to his brother. His parents’ dogs are little dogs who jump around my ankles barking. The lab politely sniffs my hand, whacks me a few times with his tail as he circles us for pets, and then leads the way up into the cabin, where we soon follow, after Charlie grabs our bags from the trunk.

“I hope the drive went all right,” his mother is saying.

“We weren’t sure what kind of food you ate or if you had any dietary restrictions,” his father is telling me. “So we went ahead and made a pretty big spread for dinner. There’s some meat, some fish, veggie options too…”

“Well, even better,” I reply with a grin. “Because I’ll eat anything.”

“Careful what you tell him,” Charlie’s mother warns me. “He’ll hold you to that. Next thing you know you’ll be trying kangaroo meat or some god-awful thing…”

I laugh, as Charlie’s dad rolls his eyes and denies the accusation. But as Charlie’s younger brother grabs my suitcase from Charlie and leads us up into the loft, where our bedroom is, I can’t help but notice how similar Charlie is to the rest of his family. Nice, helpful, almost too obliging.

It makes me smile. At least it explains where he came from.

After introductions, we’re treated to some before-dinner appetizers, and then, bewilderingly, everyone starts to put on their coats.

“What’s happening now?” I ask, as I squint past them outside. It’s almost sunset—not early enough to really eat yet, though, since we’re up in the mountains and the sun sets pretty early this time of year.

“Grab your coat,” Charlie demands, before holding up a pair of what look like… ice skates?

“What are we doing?” I eye the skates with trepidation. But I shrug on my coat anyway, before his mother bombards me with hats and gloves to try on so I can find the right fit.

“Tradition,” she explains, as if that one word could explain all of this. “Every year when we come up to the cabin, once all of us arrive, we play a game of hockey.”

“Hockey… like on ice?” My eyes go wide, and my spine stiffens. I can’t play hockey. I barely just learned how to watch the game, let alone play it.

“Don’t worry.” His mom pats my shoulder. “We don’t play like those ruffians Charlie goes to school with. It’s a civilized game. Very easy to pick up.”