Page 43 of Your Kiss Is On My List

“Your polite way of saying I was hyperactive?”

“Nah. Your energy was very directed, part of your essence, not wild or uncontrolled.”

“All I know is we played a lot of street hockey and you always beat me and Lou no matter what we did.”

“Unless my dad came out to join your team.” I laugh.

“He did occasionally take mercy and even up the sides for us.”

“If you call three against one even sides,” he says. “I called it cheating.” He’s grinning and my chest is swelling with the comfort of those memories. We spend the rest of the four-hour ride catching up on classes, our project and mostly reminiscing comfortably like two old people with a long history. Except we’re two young people and we have so much more history to create.

And I hope we do because I know it would all be just as beautiful as our past.

We turn down Dad’s street in Queens and I’m looking for the house number. They’re all so close together that I insist Trey slow down as my heart pounds. He puts his hand over mine and squeezes.

“It’ll be great to see him again.”

“His family, though, Trey. I’m suddenly more nervous than excited about meeting his family.” The one that he lives with, the one I never had growing up. But I flash a look at Trey reminding myself I did have family growing up. It just wasn’t my family—or maybe it was honorarily mine. That’s how I see it. How we’ve all behaved.

“This is it,” I say, my voice loud and high. “He said to park in front. He saved us a spot. There it is, Trey. His house.” I’m in danger of babbling and he squeezes my hand again as we pull into the space and he calms me. I take a deep breath. “Thank you,” my voice is normal. “This is why I have you for moral support.” He smiles, his intense blue eyes looking deep, saying all those things that are on his mind. All those things he wanted to talk about later.

Now all of a sudden my heart palpitates and it has nothing to do with my dad and his family.

Trey takes over, dragging me and our bags from his car, my old HelloKitty luggage and his SPU duffel. I definitely need to upgrade. If I ever get any extra money again, I’m buying some SPU luggage. He tugs me by the hand up the walk to the front door with the light turned on to welcome us. It’s late—nine pm--and I wonder if we’re disturbing them. I texted our ETA, but…

The door opens before we knock and my dad stands there with a big grin and open arms. Standing behind him are a woman who looks like she’s mid-thirties and two boys somewhere in grade-school.

“Danielle.” He comes out and embraces me as if I’m his long-lost daughter, holds me for a beat, long enough for me to hug him back, long enough for all the little girl memories and treasures to come pouring from my heart in a torrent of pure joy.

“Dad,” I whisper. When we break apart, I see the mist in his eyes, the pleased smile on his new wife’s face, the looks of awe on the two boys.

“Trey. It’s been a while.”

“Good to see you Mr. Innocent.” They shake hands in that old-fashioned manly way like you see in movies from the fifties.

“Call me Walter,” Dad chuckles. “You’ve grown up to become a young man and an awesome hockey player. I have to confess I follow you at St. Paul U and impress my fellow hockey fans that I knew you back when.” He holds his hand down around his waist as if Trey was ever that small, but I only ever remember him as the big boy next door. The really cute boy next door when I never thought about boys being cute.

“Come inside,” his wife says and Dad spins around and laughs at himself. It’s odd to see him so light hearted, almost giddy again, the way I can only remember from my earliest years and barely.

“This is my wife Maria and our two boys—your two brothers—Gary and Glen.” He points to the older and younger in succession. “They’re ten and eight and they play hockey.”

“Daaaad.” Gary rolls his eyes.

We go inside and the house smells like we’ve walked into an Italian restaurant, like someone’s been cooking all day. The home is long and narrow with the comfy living room in the front with stairs to a second floor, followed by a dining room with a table set for six and an inviting kitchen simmering with garlicy goodness. I see a sunroom out back and a tiny yard.

“I bet you’re hungry,” Maria says and suddenly I realize it’s true in spite of all the nerves bubbling around in my gut all the way here, I’m settled now, since the second Dad embraced me. Shit. I smile and everything’s right with the world.

We feast on lasagna, macaroni and meatballs and the most delicious marinara sauce I’ve ever had. Once Trey asks Glen and Gary about hockey they start talking and don’t stop for most of the meal. I tell dad about school and fib only a little when I tell him the reason I transferred was to be with Trey. He smirks and winks at Trey who grins as if he knows there’s some truth in the fib. Maybe more truth than fib. Maybe underneath it all, Trey is the real reason I ended up at St. Paul U. Heck, who am I kidding?

Could I really have been pretending that I was going to duplicate the career opportunities I had at NYU? Pretending that I was all about my career and being independent and that’s why I was never interested in getting involved with any of the guys who pursued me, never wanted to lose my V card with any of them? Fuck. It was all only ever about Trey. And tonight…

“So where do you think you’ll want to play next year—I mean if you had a choice?” Dad asks Trey. All eyes are on him, interested and excited for him, on the precipice of his pro-hockey career. Fuck. It’s the last thing I want to think about, let alone talk about—the day he’s going to leave me behind again for another three years.

“You flatter me, but I’m still just concentrating on finishing this season, getting to the Frozen Four and winning that. We’ll see what happens in the draft.”

“Don’t you want to play for the Boston Brawlers?” Gary says. “They’re awesome.”

“Who wouldn’t, right?” Trey says, ruffling his hair.