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Everything needs to be set up at least an hour before the game starts.
The wives’ room is where the players’ wives and girlfriends come to relax with their kids. They can escape the noise of the arena without missing any of the game, as monitors are showing it all around.
I miss Sheena. She’s the only caterer I use in Detroit, but the budget, albeit high, doesn’t make it worth it to bring her and all her crew to St. Louis. When we travel, I work with local caterers.
The caterer I’m working with here is Christopher, a gentleman with a lovely Southern accent.
The toys for the kids are all set up. This time, we even provided a racing car simulator, which I imagine Senna will love, properly brainwashed by his father’s obsession with Formula 1.
“How’s everything going?” I ask Christopher as he prepares to warm up the food.
“Everything is fine and dandy, darling,” he says with a wide smile. “You may release the horde.”
I nod to him, smiling. I do one last check with the wait staff, then open the doors, ready to receive the hockey wives and girlfriends, along with their children.
On the monitors, the commentators are just beginning their pre-game analysis. The first women arrive, some young and alone, while others are more mature and bringing with them anywhere from toddlers to teenagers.
I’m busy confirming with the janitor that the bathroom is well stocked when Amanda arrives, bringing Senna by the hand. He immediately takes an interest in the driving simulator.
As he plays, Amanda looks around and spots me. She comes to greet me in her nonchalant manner and elegant stride.
“Working hard or hardly working?” she jokes.
“Oh, working hard!” I say, taking a deep breath. “You all are quite demanding if I do say so.”
“Eh,” Amanda scoffs. “It’s not like I’m one of them anymore.”
At first, I’m confused, but then the obvious comes to mind and I ask, “Because you and Ethan are divorced?”
“U-hum,” she nods. “Not everyone is allowed here. It’s only long-term girlfriends, fiancées, and wives. Since Ethan and I announced our divorce, I was informed that if it’s not a kid-friendly event, I can’t come.”
“I see,” I say, a bit shocked. “Do they talk to you anymore, or do they all give you the silent treatment?”
Amanda shrugs, uncomfortable. “They keep it to a minimum, and usually with some venom. The only one who still treats me normally is Raphael’s wife, Sarah. That’s only because her husband and Ethan are good friends, and they came over to our house for a long time.” She looks over her shoulder. “Wanna meet her?”
I raise my eyebrows in surprise. It’s the first time anyone has made an effort to introduce me to any of these women. I usually feel invisible to them.
“Sarah?” Amanda calls. The pretty redhead sitting at the lounge with a champagne flute looks at us with intrigue. “I want you to meet Mia Sanders, the event planner.”
“Oh!” Sarah jumps to a standing position and immediately shakes my hand. “Finally, I know who to thank for the delicious shrimp in Detroit.”
I shake her hand firmly to make a good impression. “Those are thanks to Sheena, my caterer in Detroit. Here, you’ll have to thank Christopher.”
I turn away for a moment to look for the local caterer, but when I turn back around, Sarah is already excusing herself to tend to her kids and the other women.
“See what I mean?” Amanda says. “I’m an afterthought.”
I lay a hand over her shoulder, trying to be sympathetic. Amanda and I always got along just fine. We didn’t see each other much while I dated Ryan, but whenever we were together it was like being with an old friend.
“I’ve been feeling lonely around here too, so you’re not alone,” I smile.
She sighs deeply. “Even my friends from back home have turned icy knowing I’m no longer married. It’s like I’m a bad influence.”
A realization hits me. I met Ryan when I was eighteen, and we dated up until eight months ago. I dedicated so much of my life to him, supporting his business while also building mine, and now I don’t have a single friend to call my own.
The closest person to a friend is right in front of me, but I don’t have the intimacy with Amanda to confide my troubles to her.
“Are you okay, Mia?” Amanda brings me back from my inner monologue.
