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Gladys, the inscrutable woman across the table, reminds me of Rachel with her intense eyes and the – I don’t want to call it a scowl, but it’s definitelynota smile – look on her face as she studies me. I took a microbiology class in high school because I needed to fill an elective spot, and memories of preparing slides jolt to the forefront of my brain. I vividly remember the microorganisms I observed, moving around even under the little plastic square we put on the sample to keep it in place. With Gladys looking at me I’m beginning to feel like one of those specimens.
I don’t know why, but I want Gladys to like me.
I want to win her approval.
I don’t even know if I can. I didn’t feel this way meeting Thomas and Juliette, but something tells me this group is special to Francine. These people gathered here, watching as I split the donuts to share. Watching even more intently when Francine leans against me and I drape an arm around her shoulders.
“Stefan.” Gladys tests my name the way you test the weight of a bowling ball. “How do you know our Franny?”
Our Franny.Juliette asked me the same thing when we met at the rink. But this time, the question has more weight behind it.
“I met her when I was sent to the penalty box for fighting.”
Honesty is the best policy, right? Rachel squeaks in surprise at the end of the table, and when I hazard a look at her, I get a small nod in return. If I haven’t won Gladys over, at least Rachel is coming around. Gladys looks at Rachel, eyes narrowed before she turns back to me, arms folded on the table in front of her.
“So. You’re a hockey player.”
“Gladys,” the man beside me speaks for the first time since we arrived, his voice is soft. Gentle. I think he’s on my side. “We want Franny to keep coming back. Be nice to the boy. I’m Walter, by the way.”
“Nice to meet you, Walter.” I offer, and am rewarded with a smile and pat on the shoulder.
“I’m being nice.” Gladys smiles at Walter but not at me. “And it would be nice ofhimto actually score once in a while when he’s on the power play.”
This earns a full bodied laugh from Rachel. A laugh that Franny tries, and fails, to hide behind a cough. And a soft gasp from the man beside me.
“In my defense,” with anyone else I’d never take this bait. But there’s something about Gladys that says Ihaveto, “if you’re referencing the Toronto game, that was the night of Francine’s surgery. My mind wasn’t on the ice. I know I had opportunities to score that night, and I blew them. That’s no one’s fault but my own.”
“He’s a keeper, Franny,” Gladys finally says, settling back in her chair. “Not that you need my approval, mind you.”
“But I’m glad to have it,” Franny replies softly. “Now, are we here to interrogate my boyfriend, or are we here to watch hockey?”
Boyfriend.
We haven’t labeled this thing yet. We haven’t had that conversation. Defining what we are to each other. But to hear Francine say it? I like it. It feelsright.
“No hockey tonight,” Walter says, pointing to the television in the corner, currently showing the pregame broadcast for the Detroit Mustangs. “The Mustangs are back home though, and Charlotte said she’d join us for a few innings.”
The bell over the door chimes, and Gladys lifts a hand in greeting as a young woman wearing a well-worn Mustangs sweatshirt rounds the table and greets Gladys with a warm hug before dropping her bag on an empty chair and approaching the counter.
“That’s Charlotte,” Francine says quietly, leaning even closer to me, “she’s the Mustang’s travel secretary.”
“How did this group come together?” I ask after Charlotte takes her seat, looking around at the group assembled at the table. Gladys smiles at Walter, and the couple at the other end of the table, who were mostly quiet throughout my interrogation, look fondly down the table at the rest of us. “I can’t say this is exactly what I expected.”
“Physical therapy brought us together,” the woman at the end of the table answers. “I’m Elaine, by the way. I met Gladys when we were both rehabbing joint replacements.”
“Then this one came along,” Gladys says, gaze softening as she looks at Francine, “and I took her under my wing.”
“I was taking care of an old hip injury,” Francine says, and Rachel bristles at the end of the table. “I wasn’t handling it well. Gladys and Elaine offered moral support when we had appointments together.”
I can’t help but wonder how Rachel fits into all of this. Other than being Franny’s best friend. Other than their history. I want to ask, but don’t know if I should. If I can. If I even want to know the answer.
“And Charlotte and I became friends when I moved to Detroit. We started the ‘we have advanced degrees but no one lets us use them’ club,” Francine laughs as she and Charlotte raise their coffee cups in a toast. “And Gladys didn’t scare her away.”
“But,” Walter joins the story telling, “it was Francine that got us allhere.She invited us to join her after one of the physical therapy sessions and a tradition was born. Sometimes we get together and watch the Union, when Francine isn’t working home games of course. And other times we watch the Mustangs.”
Walter pauses, looking around at everyone gathered, and I can’t help but do the same. The way Rachel looks fondly at Francine and Charlotte and Gladys. The way Gladys looks at her husband.
“Franny dragged me here after a breakup,” Rachel supplies, voice uncharacteristically soft, “they can’t get rid of me.”
