Oh Christ. “It’s…a reminder to live up to my full potential. My career has been on an upward trajectory since I started eating that sandwich before games.”
“Here’s the thing,” the shrink says, sitting back in his chair. “Nobody’s career goes only in one direction. Ask your friend Bayer about that. And then ask yourself why you think you don’t deserve a living, breathing girlfriend, but you can’t live without a sandwich from a dead girl.”
“Um…” Does he really expect an answer? “Okay. Will do.”
“Good.”
A beat of silence passes. “So… Are you really going to find it for me?”
Mulvey puts his head in his hands. “Sure, kid. I’ll get it somewhere after I check in to the hotel.”
“Sweet! Thanks.”
He waves me out of the tiny office, and I go gratefully back to my seat.
37
Heidi
“I’m so angry at Jason, because I didn’t go looking for a relationship!” Yet now I feel awful anyway. “He started it!” I whine to my sister from the middle of the rug in Bayer’s apartment.
“You sound like a seven-year-old,” she says.
“You shut up,” I reply, proving her point.
“Look—it’s not very Heidi Jo to take this lying down,” she points out. “You always run straight at the things you want and then grab them by the neck.”
“I did,” I wail. “It failed.”
“Bullcrap,” my sister fires back. “Either the two of you have something special, or you don’t. That man is scared. You told me yourself. Why are you letting him off the hook so easily?”
“Because you can’t make somebody love you. He has to want it.”
“But what if he does? He told off Daddy. Nobody does that. And he defended you from a fish. He moved you into his home.”
“That last thing is open to interpretation.” I moved myself in. And that’s the whole problem—I don’t really trust my view of events. I was too busy getting swept off my feet to notice that he’s still in love with someone else.
“You’re not a quitter,” my sister points out. “No matter what Daddy says. Hey—speaking of Daddy—has he called you this week?”
“No. We aren’t speaking much right now. That’s another failed relationship of mine.”
She’s quiet a second. “I don’t think it’s you. Something is up with him. Mom is flying to New York this weekend, too. I got a bad feeling about it.”
I sit up from the rug, nerves racing through my belly. “You think there’s something wrong with Daddy?” My mind is full of horrible ideas now. Cancer? Heart trouble? Our mother hates New York and doesn’t often come up.
“Maybe I’m just being dramatic,” Jana says. “But I’ll call Mom and ask her if everything is okay.”
“You’ll tell me if you hear anything, right?”
“Of course. Now I have to run. Things to do. People to meet.”
“Me too,” I say, because I’m waiting for the hockey game to start. Maybe I’m breaking up with my hockey player, but I’ll never break up with hockey.
I turn on Bayer’s giant TV and find the game broadcast. While I wait for the faceoff, I use my phone for my other hobby—searching Miranda Wager’s byline for new articles. If she writes something invasive about Jason, I may not be responsible for my actions.
I still care about him, even if he doesn’t return the favor. And his stressful meeting with the transplant recipients is the day after tomorrow.
The camera cuts away from the sportscasters and makes a sweep of the bench. I lean forward eagerly. There’s O’Doul talking to Trevi. And the new kid, Drake. Then I see Jason, and my heart seizes. Maybe I’m just projecting, but he looks sad behind his face mask. Those dark eyes have known more unhappiness than I guessed before I got to know him.
I wonder how he’s doing tonight—whether he’s steeped in sad memories. And I can’t help but wonder who made his sandwich. Did they use creamy peanut butter? Was the jam done right, or did it leak out of the sides?
Jason is a big boy, I remind myself. He can make his own freaking sandwich. But I liked doing that small thing for him. Not because he needed the help, but because he appreciated it so much.
There’s a knock on the door, and I startle. Everyone I know is in Arizona at the game.
When I peer through Bayer’s peephole, I see Georgia Trevi. “Hi!” I say, swinging the door open. “I thought you’d be in Phoenix.”
“Tommy has this trip covered,” she says. “Although I’m heading out to Minnesota tomorrow night to take Jason to his meeting.”
“Oh,” I say, waving her in. “The game is about to start.”
“I know!” She glances at the TV to make sure we’re not missing any action. “But I was just packing for my trip, and I wanted to tell you something.”
“What?”
“I’m flying commercial tomorrow. American has an eight p.m. flight to Minneapolis-St. Paul.”
“Oh?” I’m not sure why this is relevant. “Did you need me to do something?”
“Nope!” she says cheerfully. “Just thought you should know.”
My mind whirls. “You think I should go to Minneapolis? Why?”
Georgia sighs. “I’m marching Jason into a meeting he’s dreading. And I don’t think I’m the one he wants there.”
“I’m not, either,” I point out.
“Are you sure?”
No? Yes? “I’m not sure of anything.”
“Hear me out for a second. I was once like Jason—traumatized by my past.”
“You were?” That’s hard to picture. Georgia and Leo are like poster children for a happy couple.
“Yes. And I was too stuck inside my troubles to trust myself. I’m not proud of it. But Leo had to be the bigger person and have patience with me. Even when I pushed him away.”
“But…” I struggle with myself for a moment. “What if I show up and he really doesn’t want me there? I already feel like the third wheel.”
“It’s not a foolproof plan,” she admits with a wince. “But he’s unhappy, and you’re unhappy. That’s where Leo and I were, too. Just saying.”
“I see.”
She pats me on the shoulder. “I’m going to go yell at the TV with my mother-in-law. Come join us if you want. I’ll pour you a glass of wine.”
“Thanks,” I say. “Um, maybe I will. Later.” The minute she walks out that door I’m going to google flights to Minnesota. Damn her.
She smiles like she knows what I’m thinking. “Until then. Have a good game.”
Georgia leaves just as the players on Bayer’s screen line up for the faceoff.
I sit down on the couch and pick up my phone. There are, in fact, several flights to Minnesota tomorrow. But the one that Georgia is taking costs $1255 for a last-minute ticket.
There’s no way I can afford that. Problem solved.
I lie down on the couch and watch the game. Jason is on second shift. He skates with grace and power, staring down the defenseman, stealing the puck and passing it with finesse. He doesn’t look like a man who needs me.
But then I get a look at him on the bench. He’s wearing his closed-off game face. Every player has one—a face that threatens to tear down anything in his path.
We all have that face, actually. But it’s an act. I wear mine when I’m feeling particularly friendless.
I ponder that for a moment. And then I pick up my phone again and search flights for the following morning. Maybe I’m looking at this the wrong way. Jason might not be ready to love me. But he could really use a friend in Minneapolis.
Maybe Georgia has a point. Loving someone means supporting him without expecting anything in return. It’s making him a sandwich, or standing beside him when he’s facing the worst part of his past.
I can be that friend. Even if it hurts.
To make a grand gesture, you need a few things: courage, airfare, and cooperation from the universe.
That last thing proves to be a problem.
My cheap flight has a layover in Detroit. That costs me an hour and a half. And then my connecting flight to Minnesota is forty minutes late.