The ceremony lasts about thirty minutes after raising a banner to the rafters in the coach's honor and announcing the ice rink will be renamed for him. The tears flow, and I am pleased with the shots I got. I hurry off the ice to avoid my past mistakes before they catch up to me.
I'm standing against the glass, taking shots of the players warming up with their memorial patches sewn onto their jerseys, when Emma comes up behind me with Cora on her hip.
"Hey, I didn't know you guys were coming tonight," I tell her.
"Matt's cousin plays on the team and got us tickets. How are you doing?" she asks.
Her concern for me has my eyes tearing up, so I wrap her and Cora in a hug.
Cora keeps her grip on my shirt when I pull away, her sign that she wants me to hold her. Emma hands her over to me.
"Hi Tee," she says in the cutest squeaky mouse voice. Emma has referred to me as Auntie Blake since Cora was born, but when she started talking, she shortened it to Tee. Or occasionally, it's "Tee Bake."
"Hey, baby girl, are you ready to watch hockey?" I ask her.
"Yeah, I like it. I watch it on TV with Daddy," she explains to me. "I like it when they get goals."
"We should get to our seats before the game starts," Emma tells me, trying to take back her daughter. I pull away and give her my pleading eyes. I need a few more minutes with my niece to get through the rest of this night. Emma relents. I know it's not healthy for me to cling to a toddler as emotional support, but I never claimed not to be screwed up.
"Bring her back to me when you're ready," she tells me, gesturing to where they are sitting.
Emma walks away, and I hold Cora close as she chatters about some cartoon she's really into. Her enthusiasm for a fictional world and its characters eases some tension I've felt since walking in here. I'm ready to return her to her mom when a familiar voice calls my name from behind.
"I was hoping to see you again," Foster approaches me and says. His tone is friendly but unsure, like he's nervous about talking to me. I center myself before turning around and putting on the professional smile I've perfected.
"I heard you would be here this weekend," I say with false cheerfulness as my body stiffens.
"Who's that?" Cora asks, drawing Foster's attention. He looks at the child I'm holding and looks at me with a raised brow.
"This is Emma's daughter, Cora," I introduce him. "This is Foster. He was a friend from when your mom and I went to school." The little girl blinks her brown eyes at me and nods, not saying a word for the first time since she learned to talk.
I look back up at Foster. The tall, lanky body he had in high school has been replaced by muscled strength. He's posted many shirtless pictures on his social media that I've sadly kept up with over the years. His light blond hair has darkened to almost brown. It's shorter than it used to be and styled back from his face. His brown eyes study my face, no doubt cataloging the differences time has made to me, too.
"It's been a long time. It's good to see you," I say, trying to get Foster to move along. I don't need an awkward and maybe emotional encounter with him at an ice rink in front of a toddler and a crowd of people.
"It's good to see you too. I'm going to spend some time in town over the summer, and I'd love to get together sometime." He looks over at Cora's little face, choosing his words carefully. "It would be nice to catch up."
"Okay," I tell him, knowing I will do everything possible to avoid that. I gesture to Cora on my hip. "I need to take her back to her mom before the game starts."
He nods, and I step around him. He reaches out and grabs my arm before I make it away. "I'm sorry for how things ended between us."
I look up into his sad eyes, and I'm sure he's sincere. But an apology years later isn't worth much to me.
"Thanks," I mumble with my head down, hurrying to Emma and Matt in the stands.
Emma takes Cora from me and hands her off to Matt. "Are you okay?" she asks. "I saw you talking to Foster."
"I'm fine."
"Liar. I can see the tears in your eyes. Did he say something?"
"He said sorry."
Emma snorts, "Too little, too late for that shit. Is he looking to get back together or something?"
"I doubt it. He wants to catch up over the summer. I'm sure it was just some polite bullshit."
"Which would make sense if he wasn't the one to approach you."
