The Husband Game

“But… on ice?” I study the skates Charlie is holding once more. They look about my size—they must be an old pair of his mother’s, because I notice her grabbing a similar pair in both size and style and looping them over one shoulder. But still.

“You can skate, can’t you?” Charlie raises an eyebrow, like this is a completely normal and obvious thing to ask.

Then again, we did grow up in Hartford. What with how winters here get, it would have been pretty weird if I’d done no skating at all during my formative years. “I mean… I’ve skated before, yeah.”

“Then you’ll pick it up in no time!” Charlie’s brother exclaims, handing me a hockey stick.

I take it and grimace at the thing. “But I haven’t gone since I was about twelve years old, so I’ve gotta say, the style is gonna be pretty rusty.”

Charlie’s father catches my expression and chuckles. “Don’t worry. We’ll go easy on you until you get your sea legs. Or pond legs, as they are.”

“We’re going to a pond?” Images of people falling through the ice to tragic deaths dance through my mind. But I force myself to clamp my mouth shut and follow the others anyway, as they lead us out of the cabin—many dogs in tow—and up a short trail through the woods out back.

As we walk, Charlie jogs up to me and catches my hand, lacing his fingers through mine. “Don’t worry, we do this every year. And in the dead of winter, too. The ice is always nice and thick. No danger of breaking through it as far as we’re concerned.”

“I’m still concerned, though,” I grumble, and he laughs.

But when we reach the pond, I have to admit, it is pretty. There are a few other cabins up here, and apparently all of the owners pitch in to help light up the pond itself. There are fairy lights strung all around it in the trees and draped between boughs. Along the ground there are more than a few wintry decorations, lit up deer and snowmen, all standing and facing the pond too, like sentries. Or an audience for our hockey game.

On the far side of the pond, a couple are teaching their kid to skate. I watch the little kid, who can’t be more than three or four, zooming around the ice as easily as if he were walking.

Great, I can’t help thinking. I’m going to be tripping all over myself while someone a fraction of my age is here showing off.

But Charlie pats my shoulder and leans in to kiss my cheek, lingering for a second, and who the hell could say no to him? So I lace on my skates anyway, and traipse after his family onto the ice. I start out pretty wobbly, but Charlie skates close by my side, holding my hands until I remember how to place my feet, how to glide with one foot and then switch to the next easily.

After a few near-stumbles, where Charlie catches me, I feel steady enough to tell him to let me go.

Then his father passes me a stick, and I guess we’re already off to the races.

We start with some warm-up shots. Charlie’s father, brother and I against Charlie and his mom. After Charlie scores two goals in quick succession, though, I realize that it’s basically just all of us versus him. Or, his family versus him, since I pretty much haven’t moved since we started passing the puck around. I don’t trust myself to stay upright, let alone play well.

“Come on, Lila. Counting for real now!” Mark shouts at me in encouragement. Then he passes the puck my way.

I drop my stick to the ice to catch it. Then I glance up, and find Charlie flying straight toward me.

“Here!” Charlie’s dad calls over his shoulder. I wind up and slap the puck his way. Charlie tries to intercept, but it slips past him, and then his dad has it, and he easily flicks it into the goal past Charlie’s mom, who laughs and shakes her head good-naturedly.

“They get so competitive over this,” she calls to me, while she fishes the puck out of the snowbank we’re using for her net.

She passes it to Charlie, and I realize I’m close enough to stop him. I take off, hurrying toward him across the ice so fast that I don’t even look at my feet. Too fast.

A moment later, I collide headfirst with Charlie, who catches me before I can go flying onto my ass, at the very least. He laughs as he steadies me, his hands strong and sure around my shoulders. As for me, all the breath flies out of me. Not just from our collision but because standing here, inches apart from him, with the ice beneath us and his warm eyes fixed on mine, I’m reminded all over again of his proposal. Of that moment in the middle of the arena with all of his friends watching, when he asked me to marry him.