“Ilike her. She’s really nice.” Kinsley bites into her slice of pepperoni pizza with gusto. After talking to Sophie, I let Gabe know I was taking Kinsley back to our house in Clearwater for the weekend and would commute for practice and our game on Sunday. Maybe being back home will help her gain some perspective.
If I’d given up on hockey the first time I hit the proverbial boards, I wouldn’t have lasted a week. Somehow, I need to convince Kinsley to stick with it and give this journalism thing a chance. I read her paper after we left Sophie’s office, and she was right. My sister is a great writer, and I firmly believe she could impact the field for the better.
“Yeah, she is.” I keep my eyes diverted to my own slice, hoping she’ll move on to something else, like this new pizza joint that just opened nearby. We could have a long discussion about all the sports pictures on the walls. I’m pretty sure there’s an autographed picture of Wayne Gretzky on the back wall—right next to a picture of Jason Sedakis as Ted Lasso, one of our favorite TV shows. The pizza’s good too. Not quite as memorable as the joint in Jacksonville, but close.
Sophie loved the pizza there. Maybe she’d like this place too. Bet she’d love my mother’s pink roses also…
That thought stops me in my thinking tracks. Time to switch rails, or whatever you call it, because that’s a dangerous path to tread. After I checked out the first run of articles Sophie did on the team—especially the spread about Gabe—my determination not to trust her diminished.
She did a great job painting the team in a positive light and focusing on who we are and where we’re headed—an underdog king of spin, overcoming the odds without dredging up the drama that went down last season.
I liked that a lot.
Kins studies me as she chews. “You like her.”
I cough as I swallow. Did she crawl into my head and sift through my thoughts? Time for a diversion. “How did you get here, by the way?”
“Avoidance tactic. I’ll allow it.”
I chuckle. Spoken like a ref.
She wipes her hands. “Brandon was driving down for the long weekend, so I hitched a ride.”
I’m not smiling anymore. This better be someone she knows and not some random stranger she rode a thousand-plus miles with. “Who’s Brandon?”
“Just a friend from school. Relax. Besides, I’m not his type.”
“Good to know.” I may be happy about that, but I’m unconvinced she is. Could she have a crush on this Brandon dude? I may have to pay her a visit in New York in the very near future.
We eat in silence for a couple more minutes, but I’m certain there’s more brewing in my sister’s head.
She takes a sip of her soda, then sits back in her chair with half of her pizza sitting there, getting cold.
“Done already?”
She shrugs. “Just not super hungry.”
I sigh. “Kins, Sophie’s right, you know. We have a saying inhockey. ‘Winners train. Losers complain.’ And I know, for a fact, that my sister isn’t a loser.”
The smile I love seeing returns. “Not bad, Lukinator. You got game.”
I almost blow soda out of my nose when I laugh, then shake my head. “There is no way in H E double hockey sticks that you’re not good with words, Kins. You could write satire if you wanted to.”
Her face lights up. “That’s what I plan to do in my next life after I take over the world. Something to do in my downtime.”
I grin, loving the ease between us. Reminds me of how things used to be. “We don’t stand a chance.”
After we finish eating, we head back to the house. Mom’s roses are fading, and so are the orchids with the onset of fall. But the subtle shift of coolness in the air fills me with a contentment I haven’t felt in a long time.
Kinsley stops by one of the bushes and inhales the scent of a lingering pink rose. “I missed these.”
The pink pillow in Sophie’s office comes to mind. As does her smile and the way she helped my sister. “I know. I miss her, too.” Oddly, it’s not my mother’s face I picture as I say that. “Remember when Mom found that nursery an hour away that had a half-price sale on rose bushes that turned out to be in some guy’s backyard?”
Kins appears genuinely surprised.
“What?”
Her expression warms. “I think that’s the first time you’ve talked about her.”
