Fake Skating(89)

I had literal chills as he wrapped it up, because somehow this meant everything to every soul in that house. In that town. They had the chance to change history, to get the trophy that would match the pride of that massive wall mural, and it felt huge.

“You look so righthere,” my mom said when we pulled into my grandpa’s driveway afterward. “I know I’ve been driving you crazy, pushing everything, but it’s only because I want your face to look like it did tonight.”

She sounded like she might cry, in a good way, which made my throat a little tight too.

She said, “I know I’m annoying—”

“You’re not,” I interrupted.

“No, I am about this,” she admitted as she put the car in park. “But I want you to have friends who care about you. Friends who yell when you walk into the room and are sad when it’s time for you to leave. You’re only seventeen, so I don’t really care about your love life, but if you’re going to date, I want it to be someone like Alec, who looks at you like he knows how lucky he is.”

I looked at my grandpa’s house through the windshield as her words warmed me.

I wish that were true.

When we walked through the kitchen door, Grandpa Mick was running the blender.

“It’s about time,” he said, giving us a weird look over his shoulder. His eyes were kind of twinkling, like he was up to something.

“Were we supposed to be home earlier, Dad?” my mom asked, giving me side-eye like What the hell is wrong with your grandpa? “Did I have a curfew I didn’t know about?”

“Shut up and sit down, wiseass,” he said.

“Yes, sir,” she replied.

“All right,” I said, dropping my backpack on the floor and sitting beside my mom at the table. “Is this like a family meeting or something?”

“Okay, don’t ruin my moment of wonderfulness by being a little shit, Dani,” he said with dancing eyes.

“Your constant ability to notcensor yourself in front of your granddaughter is always astounding to me,” my mom said.

“I didn’t censor myself around you, and you turned out okay,” he said.

“You didn’t always think that,” my mom replied.

“Yeah, so maybe I’ve come around,” he said with a shrug. “Maybe now I think you turned out a little okay.”

“Gushing praise.”

“This lovefest is disgusting,” I said.

“So what are we waiting for here, Pop?” my mom asked, trying her best to sound like a smart-ass, but her entire face was just happy.

“Milkshakes.” My grandpa turned off the blender, and I wanted to cry.

Milkshakes.

He was giving me a full-on, ear-to-ear Grandpa Mick smile, the smile that had been mine every summer when we visited him.

The smile he’d always saved for his Danigirl.

His Danigirl who’d been obsessed with his chocolate milkshakes.

“You made milkshakes?” I very nearly yelled, out-of-my-mind excited about this throwback surprise. “Are you kidding me right now?”

“No, I’m not kidding. You’ve got a game tomorrow, so I thought we should celebrate.”

“You do know I’m just a manager, right?” I asked.

“I do, but the manager is very important. So important that I made milkshakes and bought you a present.”

“You bought me a present?” I pretty much didscream that time.

“Here,” he said, grabbing a box and tossing it onto the table in front of me. “Open it.”

“Really?” It was a medium-sized brown box, the same kind of box that usually delivered something boring like a refrigerator filter or a carbon monoxide detector.

I opened the box and pulled out what appeared to be a burgundy article of clothing. But when I lifted it up, it was a Southview hockey jersey.

“It’s stupid that you didn’t have one before now, so I had to make it right,” Grandpa Mick said.

I was speechless for a moment as I caught the emotion in my grandpa’s expression, like he was nervous.

“I love it so much,” I said, my chest full and warm as I looked down at the heavy fabric, because it occurred to me that Southview kind of felt a little bit like home.

No, no—that wasn’t right. “Home” was too strong a word.

It was more that I felt at home in Southview.

That Packers bull on the front made me think about my school and the fake friends I had there, fake friends that felt a lot like actual friends. It was stupid, the feeling in my chest as I looked at the jersey, but I hadn’t felt at homeanywhere in a very long time.

“Now look at the back,” my grandpa said excitedly, and it was obvious he was more in love with this gift than even I was.

My throat was so tight as I looked at Grandpa Mick’s stupid grin.

I flipped over the jersey, only to discover that the back was customized.

It had Grandpa Mick’s number—nine—stitched on the back, and my last name.

Next to his last name.

BOCHE COLLINS.

He still hadn’t apologized for what happened after my grandma’s funeral, but when I wrapped my arms around him and he hugged me as tightly as he ever had, I knew we’d finally moved on.

It took me hours to fall asleep that night because my brain was so muddled.