I had to force myself to take a nap this afternoon.
You'd think that after the crappy sleep I got the night before that my body would welcome the extra rest willingly. Hell, even after a solid ten hours I had an affinity to doze off midday.
But no, today my mind was moving a mile a minute and it felt like my body was moving even faster as I paced around my bedroom. As much as I tried to tell the small rational part of my brain that Taylor coming over for dinner was no biggie, it wouldn't listen.
I wouldn't listen.
I was a terrible liar and that applied to the ones I told myself.
Maybe it was because the idea of meeting someone's family all at once and sharing a meal with them was my personal anxiety nightmare, so I was getting nervous for Taylor. Like, on his behalf.
Dear god, I hope he's not nervous.
Things will go south real quick if he brings any anxiety for mine to feed off.
I texted him last night to make sure that lasagna was okay, and he assured me that it was. The chance of him having a problem with it was unlikely, because in his own words, he liked everything. Still, I would have hated for my mother to go through all the trouble of making it just for someone at the table to not like it.
Yeah, my mom was cooking for tonight, not me. That was the way it had to be, unless the meal was macaroni and cheese from a box.
When I told her I had invited someone over, she didn't think much of it. At first.
"Yeah, okay, no problem. You know Angela is welcome over anytime," she had said while scrolling through Pinterest on her phone.
Okay, fine; I could see why she would immediately come to that conclusion, even if it did sting a little that it didn't cross her mind that I could have other friends.
"Um, no, it's not Angela. It's someone I met at school. His name is Taylor."
That wasn't a lie! I met him at Angela's dorm, which was on campus, which was school. Technically we met after the preseason game, but that was so brief that I decided not to count that.
"Oh, a boy?" My mom gave me her full attention at that point.
"Yes." I said, keeping it simple
That was the reaction you get when it's the first time in your entire life that you bring a boy home. Actually, that's not quite accurate. There was Nathan, in grade seven, who came over to work on a science project.
And there was that face. Oh god, that face.
See, I'm incredibly fortunate because I have a kick ass mom that I feel like I can talk to about anything. Well, almost anything. Because any time I brought up a boyâwhether I thought one was cute or had a crushâshe got this look like she was simultaneously holding in diarrhea and finishing a marathon.
"Have you told your father yet?" she whispered.
I shook my head. Last I knew he was in the garage, but he might have come in at some point during this joyous conversation.
"Okay, maybe we shouldn't. You know that's just going to work him up."
I agreed with her on that one. Whenever I lamented about being single or complained to my parents that it seemed like everyone was in a relationship but me, he always told me not to worry, that I'd find someone soon. That was great and all, but I also felt like he was hoping that "soon" would never come.
Another reason for not telling my father about Taylor: he'd most definitely ask for the full name, and I'd rather not be chased around the house all day being asked questions about how I knew an NHL player and what the hell said player was going to be doing at his house. Besides, I was kind of looking forward to the look on my dad's face when he met Taylor.
Unless he has a heart attack. Then I'd take that back.
"One more thing," I asked my mom. "Can we have lasagna, please?"
She agreed, of course, and now she was in the kitchen waiting for my ultimate special occasion dish to finish cooking.
I glanced at the clock on my bedside table. Taylor was due in about twenty minutes.
And there went my heart rate again.
I had been feeling that excited/anxious/crazy storm all day. I didn't need to smell my underarms to know that I was perspiring like a sprinter about to cross the finish line. My feet carried me to the washroom across the hall from my bedroom. With shaky hands, I took off my clothes and pinned my already straightened hair, which I had done the night before, up in a clip so that I could take a quick body shower. While I massaged my lemon and coconut body wash over my limbs, I tried to let the hot water loosen my muscles. After ten minutes, though, I gave up. I was still tense and if I stayed under the water for a minute longer, my dad was sure to come pounding on the door, bitching about the fact that he pays the bills.
When I made my way downstairs to join my family, my eyes were lightly made up and I was wearing a pair of dark denim skinny jeans and a cream and navy striped top. It wasn't the outfit I had initially picked out, because when I put that one on, I decided that it looked awful.
But this ensemble, this was safe.
"What time is Angela coming?" my brother, Thomas, asked from the living room couch.
Again? Seriously! This was borderline offensive. I was capable of having more than one friend, people.
"It's not Ang," I told him as I plopped down on the cushion next to him, and then stood back up a second later.
His eyes widened in surprise. "No way, you found another poor, helpless victim to be your friend?"
Suck an egg, Thomas. I couldn't say that aloud, though, because his two young sons, Jack and Max, repeated everything.
And I mean everything.
But yeah, mark my words, if they weren't there, I definitely would have told my brother where to go. There were times when he acted eight years older than me, eight years younger than me, and eight years old.
"Believe it or not, I did. And he'll be here soon enough. Too bad for him he's going to have to meet you."
Now Thomas definitely looked shocked. Again, family. Have a little faith.
"It's a guy? A guy's coming over?"
His wife, Beth, said "Leave her alone," at the same time my dad's ears perked up.
Evidently, the g-word was enough to pull him from his stupor that came from watching the business news channel.
"I didn't know you were bringing a guy over. Does your mom know? Is he your boyfriend?" my dad asked.
Do I throw my mom under the bus? Probably not, she did make my favourite meal.
"Of course he's not her boyfriend!" she said. Speak of the devil.
She came out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on her pants. My nephews followed behind her, skipping and looking like all that was good in the world.
"If he was her boyfriend, you would have told me, right, Camille?" my mom asked.
I nodded.
"Huh," my dad said, sitting on the edge of the couch. "Is what I'm wearing okay? Should I go change?"
"Why on earth would you think you needed to change?" I asked him.
This was the man who put zero thought into his wardrobe. He had to because no one who dedicated at least one brain cell to fashion would wear the baggy jeans he did.
My dad shrugged. "This seems like a big deal."
Oh god, family. Please. I love you, but please.
"Come here, Jack-o-lantern and Max-millions. You two are the only ones not bugging me right now," I said, opening my arms for them to run into.
"What did I do?" Beth laughed.
"Okay, fine. Nothing. I'm not mad at you."
Beth looked over at my brother and gave him a smug, victorious smile. He was still looking so confused it was actually bonkers.
While Jack and Max complained about being hungry, which caused Thomas and my dad to do the same, I watched out the living room window for Taylor's car.
I wasn't sure if there was a saying like a watched driveway never gets a car, but if there was, it would be wrong. Because not even ten seconds later, Taylor's black Jeep pulled in.
Showtime.
"He's here. Behave everyone!" I hissed as I bolted for the front door.
I thought it would be creepyâeven for my standardsâif I waited at the opened door for him, so I waited for him to knock, counted to ten, and then opened it.
I was quiet person, but not a mute. So why couldn't I speak?
Oh right, because look at who was standing in front of me.
Taylor Hudson, all six foot-two of him, was standing at my front entrance, wearing black jeans and a navy pullover. For once, he wasn't wearing a baseball cap, and his black hair was pushed upwards. A few strands, however, kept falling onto his forehead and I wanted to build them a shrine.
Heat flooded my face and I would have been so embarrassed except Taylor's cheeks also had a bit of a flush to them.
"Hey. These are for you. And your mom," he said, as he handed me a bouquet of flowers.
I took the pastel pink cloth covered tulips into my hands and inhaled their soft scent.
"Thank you. She'll love these. They're beautiful. Come on in," I said.
I waited until my back was towards him before I grimaced and said a tiny prayer.
"She was waiting at the door for you for like, two minutes," Thomas called out as I passed the threshold into the living room.
Dead man. My brother was a dead man after tonight.
Taylor gave me a confused lookâI don't blame the kidâas he came to stand beside me, and that was the first time my family saw Taylor Hudson in the flesh.
My brother had opened his mouth to say something else, something equally smart, probably, but what came out was this:
"Holy fucking shit!"
And then:
"Fucking shit!" That was Jack and Max.
"Thomas!" Beth.
"Boys! All of you!" Mom.
And crickets. Absolute silence. My father.
"Guys, meet my friend, Taylor."
If Taylor was nervous, he certainly didn't look it. He stood straight with his hands in his pockets. He took one out to wave to everyone and I told him everyone's name.
Everyone gave him a variation of a smile. Beth's was beautiful, as always. My mom looked like she was deep in thought, probably trying to place how she recognized Taylor. My brother looked like he was in awe. My father was white.
And Jack was scowling.
"Jack-o-lantern, come say hi," I said to the boy with the light brown hair and round face.
"I don't know him," the four-year-old replied.
"I know. You tell him hi and you meet him."
Tentatively, Jack took a few steps toward Taylor. And I thought that the height difference between Taylor and myself was bad.
As if on cue, Taylor crouched down until he was at Jack's eye level.
"Jack? It's so nice to meet you, buddy. You seem like a really cool kid."
"I am," Jack shrugged.
Taylor smiled, and briefly looked up at me.
"I'm Taylor, by the way."
Jack's head snapped back. "Taylor's a girl!"
Oh god.
"No, Jack, Taylor is a name. It could be a girl or boy name," Beth said. To Taylor, she said, "Sorry, it's just that there's a little girl in his class named Taylor."
Taylor nodded and waved her off.
"If everyone's hungry, the lasagna should be cooled and ready to eat by now," my mom announced.
My family took their usual seats, and Taylor took the usually-empty one next to me.
When we were all settled, we realized that somethingâsomeoneâwas missing.
"Where'd Dad go?" Thomas asked.
What the hell? Where did he go? When did he go?
Our answer came thirty seconds later, after I had exchanged worried glances with my mother and brother. My dad entered the dining room, walking briskly like on mission impossible, with an old piece of navy-blue fabric in his hands.
Was that his...? It was. Jesus.
"Camille," my dad said, voice shaking. "Can you please give this to him to sign?"
"WhaâRight now, Dad?" I whispered.
"Is that for me?" Taylor asked, voice low enough for only me to hear. "I don't mind signing something now."
"I'll go grab a marker," Beth said quietly.
"It's my dad's Storm jersey," I explained to Taylor. I tried to give him a look that told him I was sorry.
When Taylor took the Sharpie from Beth's hands and smiled at her, I swear she blushed.
And so Taylor signed my dad's jersey as my mom served the lasagna.
"Here you go," Taylor said, handing the jersey to me. My dad was sitting on the other side of me.
"There, Daddy," I said.
I watched him take the jersey with a gentleness in his hands like he worshipped it.
"Camille, tell him thank you," he said, practically wheezing.
I laughed to myself but indulged him. "My dad says thanks."
"Tell him, 'you're welcome'," Taylor said, completely serious.
The smile that spread on my face was big and genuine and I didn't care who saw it. They could all say what they want.
My mom slapped her hand on her thigh, nearly scaring the crap out of me.
"You play hockey!" she squealed. "That's why I recognized you."
"So embarrassing," my dad had the nerve to mumble.
What world were we living in right now?
"Yeah, I do," Taylor said after he took a bite of the pasta. Poor guy was probably starving at this point. "For the Storm."
"Dude, you don't have to tell us," Thomas said. "I watch every game. I can't believe this right now," he chuckled under his breath.
I just continued to eat, praying that Taylor was having a better time than I was. I was going to be five pounds lighter after dinner because of all the sweating I was doing.
Little Jack, sweet little Jack, with his face full of sauce and plate full of nearly untouched lasagna, smiled.
"I am a good skater. Max is not."
At the mention of his name, Max looked up. He was much quieter than his brother. Innocent little thing didn't even realize he was dissed.
"Well, Jack, that's because you're a year older than him. He'll be just as good soon," Beth told her son.
"You know," I said, turning towards Taylor. "He actually is a pretty good skater. He has good balance. He can actually move around the ice by himself."
"Which makes him better than you," he smiled.
"Oh, one hundred percent," I agreed.
My mom looked back and forth between us, her food momentarily forgotten.
"You two have been skating?" she asked.
I nodded. "Yeah, at the Modar Centre."
I raised my eyebrows at my brother. He can choke on that!
He watched me, smiling and shaking his head.
"What?" I asked.
I wished I didn't.
"This is just the most Camille thing ever. For twenty-one years she doesn't bring a boy over, then the one time she does, he's an NHL player. She is the definition of all-or-nothing."
I looked down, suddenly fascinated by the blue and white design on the dinner plate. There was no reason whatsoever for Taylor to know that he's the first guy I brought home. Now he's probably thinking I'm crazy, like I have a different idea of what this is than he does.
But then I felt a hand squeeze my knee and I immediately relaxed.
"Sorry," my brother said quietly. His knee had probably received a punch from his wife.
We finished dinner rather uneventfully. My dad began to speak more, which was good news, and the four adults took turns asking Taylor about hockey and his life. He didn't seem to mind and I didn't stop them because I was interested in his answers.
I actually learned a lot about him. Like what he said seen of the city so farânot that much. If he had been to Canada before coming to Winnipegâyes, Toronto and Montreal for hockey tournaments. And, my personal favourite, which was asked by Jack, why he was so big. He didn't have an answer for that one.
When we were all finished eating, Taylor began to clear plates.
"Oh, please, leave those for Thomas," my mom said, winking at me.
God bless that woman.
"I'll be back in a minute, Taylor, I have some more things for you to sign," my dad said.
"With all due respect, sir, I've only been on the team for a few games. Wouldn't you rather get them signed from a more established player?" Taylor asked shyly, hand touching the back of his neck.
My dad shrugged. "But you're the one sitting at the table."
"Fair enough," Taylor laughed. The sound put me at ease. We had made it through the dinner. Phew.
I was watching Taylor watch my dad when I felt a tug of the sleeve of my shirt.
"Camille?" Jack said, in his little breathy voice. "Can you make cookies for me?"
Both kids had always called me by my first name only. I didn't want the formality that came with them addressing me as Aunt or Zia.
"Oh, cookie monster, I'd love to. But I'm out of chocolate chips."
"Okay," he sighed, sounding like I just told him Santa wasn't going to bring him presents this year. He left the room, hunched over, with his arms dragging by his sides. What a character.
"I feel really bad," I said. "We don't have any chips left because I used them yesterday."
Beth smiled. "Don't worry about it."
"I can take you, if you want. To get a bag," Taylor offered.
Really?
I checked my watch. It wasn't even seven yet. Technically, we could go...
"Come on, look at him. He's just sitting in the corner of the kitchen."
I shouldn't laugh, but I couldn't help it. I looked over at the kindergartener who was indeed sitting on the cold kitchen floor with his head in his hands. If I didn't laugh, I would have cried.
"Fine, thank you," I conceded. Childrenâespecially ones related to meâwere my weakness.
We grabbed our coats, told my family what we were up to, and walked straight out of crazy town.
At least for now.