“Get the door!” Meghan yells from two feet away.
“Wait… is that what you’re supposed to do?” I reply with sarcasm heavy in my voice.
Meghan is busy at the stove popping the last of her homemade kettle corn. The counter is littered with chocolatey snacks and bottles of wine, and on the other side of the door is Steph, with a stack of pizzas. Izzy should be here soon, she’s running a few minutes late.
Jackson texted me yesterday evening, before and after his flight to Philly. His game will be starting in a few minutes, and I’m glad the girls are here to watch it with me. Meghan made me give her the full rundown of our date together. I figured Steph wouldn’t want all of the dirty details, so it was good that Meghan came early to gossip and make munchies.
Tonight’s game is a little different vibe than the others, since Jackson used to play on the Philly team. Most of the guys have changed since then, but there are a few that are the same. And he’ll be back in the first arena he ever played in as a professional. When I asked him about it last night, he seemed surprised that I remembered, and that I would think it might be a big deal for him to go back. He pointed out that he ends up playing there nearly every year, but that it will always be one of his favorites arenas to play in. It makes me picture post-college Jackson, putting on his professional jersey for the first time, making his mama proud.
Shaking away my gooey feelings, I find the right TV station while Meghan and Steph organize the food in the kitchen.
A knock at the door signals Izzy’s arrival and – just like that – it’s time for hockey.
–
“Does this get any less stressful?” I’m whining. I know I am.
Steph laughs at me. “You get used to it. I think our mom would eat a whole roll of antacids during each game for the first couple of years. But you’ve seen her now, she’s upgraded from antacids to beer and junk food.”
“Hear, hear.” Meghan raises her slice of pizza as a toast.
Steph passes around the opened bottle of wine. “A little more liquid courage to help our Kitten get through the game.”
I groan as the rest of the girls laugh. Calling me Kitten is their new favorite thing.
With the help of calories and alcohol, the game blurs by and the Sleet win 4-2. Steph made up a rule after the first point that we needed to drink at least half a glass of wine every time the Sleet scored. Steph’s plan did take away my anxiety, but it also made me a little drunk.
