“Right. You?”
“Erie, Pennsylvania.”
“Ah! Practically neighbors!”
“Yep.”
We start talking about our favorite beaches and summer memories and trips to Niagara Falls. Our pastries finished, we set our plates aside and focus on our coffees.
“So you have one brother?” she asks.
“Yeah. James. He’s two years older than me.”
“Does he play hockey, too?”
“Nope. He was too smart for that.”
She laughs.
“I’m kidding. He did play hockey as a kid, but he didn’t have the talent to go pro.”
“Ah.”
“How about you? Siblings?”
“I have a sister. Sophia. She lives in Chicago with her daughter Ayla. We’re not super close.” A feel a pinch of regret in my chest. “She went to college there and stayed there.”
“Hey, James went to college in Chicago, too.”
“No way! That’s so funny. What does he do now?”
“He’s an economist at the Bank of America.”
“Whoa. Still in Chicago?”
“Yep. How about you? You said you came here for college. What did you study?”
“I was majoring in gender and sexuality.”
My chin jerks down. “Uh. Okay.”
She grins. “I know, I know. You wonder what the heck someone does with a degree in gender and sexuality.”
“I didn’t even know there was such a thing. But…” I tilt my head. “You have me curious…”
“Don’t jump to any conclusions. It’s not about learning sex work.”
“Hey! I never thought that.”
“Maybe not sex work, which is nothing to be ashamed of, but you were definitely thinking of sex.”
“I always think of sex,” I answer honestly.
She laughs, thankfully. “I kind of like thinking about it, too.”
Well, then. I feel an inconvenient stirring in my southern region. “Does a degree in sex make you good at it?” I ask casually.
“Very good.” She gives my salacious wink right back to me. She doesn’t take me seriously, and I fucking love that. “It’s more learning what it means to be a man or a woman. Or neither. And how gender and sexuality arise from networks of power and social relations.”
“Uh.” I’m not educated and never considered myself smart, but I’m intrigued. “Doesn’t gender arise from…well…”
“Sexuality and gender are actually socially constructed concepts,” she says. “And they can vary through someone’s life and in different social settings.”
“Okay.” I nod, thinking about that. “I guess I can get that.”
Her lips curve into a smile full of appreciation and goddammit if it doesn’t make me feel like I’m ten feet tall. “I didn’t actually finish my degree.” Her faces scrunches up briefly. “Some shit happened and that’s when I moved to Europe.”
“Well, that’s got me curious. What kind of shit? Oh, wait. You don’t want to talk about it.”
“Eh.”
“That means it was a dude.”
She rolls her eyes. “Okay, yeah. It’s fine, it was years ago. I was involved with this guy who I thought was ‘the one’…” She makes air quotes. “He was a portfolio manager at a big investment house. Turns out he was defrauding investors. He’s still in prison.”
“Jesus.” I gape at her.
“Yeah.” She sighs. “Ah well.”
I shake my head. “That must have been a shock.”
“It was. I had no idea. I still don’t know how I could have been such an idiot.”
“I’m sure he didn’t want you to know what he was doing.”
“True.” She pauses. “And what about you and your ex-wife? How long were you married?”
“Five years. Five years too long.” I give a dry chuckle.
“Can I ask what happened?”
“It wasn’t dramatic. She fell in love with someone else. She didn’t cheat on me, at least. She was honest about it.” I lift one shoulder. “We were never really suited.”
“Ah.”
“We thought we were. I thought it was sick, living in the big city, lots of money in my bank account, dating a Broadway actress. Well, now she’s a Broadway actress. At the time, she was doing off-Broadway stuff. We got married because she was pregnant with Quinn.”
“Ah.” Her faces softens. “I’m sure Quinn makes it all worthwhile.”
“Absolutely. Quinn’s the best thing in my life.” I pause. “That sounds pathetic.”
“No.” She slowly shakes her head. “No, it doesn’t. She’s your daughter. She should be the best thing in your life.”
“Yeah. I really miss her during the season, although I do see her. Just not as much. I guess…it’s been a while since I’ve been single and lately…” I trail off. I barely know Carly. How to scare off a woman on your first date: tell her you’re looking for something serious. I keep my mouth shut. “Well, I’m lucky to have her.”
“I agree. She’s a sweetheart.”
“Thanks. She wants a tattoo like you have.” I gesture at her delicate ankle, but the boot hides the ink. I noticed the swirling script on a ribbon tied into a flowing bow yesterday.
Carly glances down. “Oh.”
“What does it say?”
“C’est la vie.”
She says it with what sounds like a perfect French accent.
“I wanted it to say ‘shit happens,’ but my friend convinced me I’d regret that.”
I grin. “Quinn would definitely want a tattoo that says ‘shit happens.’”
“Um, yeah, I noticed she has a bit of a trucker vocabulary.”
I lift a hand. “All my fault. I’ve tried to watch my language around her but fuck, it’s hard. I’m a hockey player.”
She gives me a mock-reproving glance. “Come on. It can’t be that hard.”
“I’m getting better at it. But she’s picked up a few things. Anyway, the tattoo is nice.”
“I got it done in France. It’s a reminder to me that stuff happens, but that’s life.”
I nod. “Yeah.” I peer at her empty cup. “More coffee?”
“Sure. But I’ll get it.”
“Ugh.”
She smiles at my frustrated noise. When she returns, I say, “I’d suggest going for a walk, but that’s not happening right now.”
“That’s okay. I’m sure it’s aggravating to not be able to do what you want.”
“It really fucking is. And it’ll only be worse if I have to have the surgery.”
“More surgery?”
“This was just an injection. We’re trying to avoid surgery if possible. It’ll take a few weeks to see if this worked but if not, I’ll have to have my meniscus repaired.”
“Oh. Damn.”
“Yeah. And the more time that passes, the closer we get to training camp, which means I may not be able to play right away.”