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“Better air conditioning?” Georgie laughed, tugging on the camera hanging around her neck.
She watched the siblings shuffle along their row and jog down the stairs as Jimmy Holmstrom began “Eye of the Tiger” on the organ. Kaitlin, a few rows down, talked with Ezio and Terry, on a hot dog run while Vince flirted with a woman in a Guns N’ Roses t-shirt. All was right in the world. Almost.
Georgie absentmindedly curled her finger in the hem of her Armstrong jersey. “I thought shouting my face off would release all my stress, but if anything, I’m more angsty. Cheers, Leafs.”
“Yeah, they’re good at that.” Michael frowned. “What’s Eden had to say lately?”
“Just that I shouldn’t stress till summer.”
“Easier said than done,” replied Michael. “It’s kinda hard when you’ve made the job and promotion your entire raison d’être.”
Georgie’s head swivelled. “I have not!” she blurted, although her thoughts screamed who are you trying to kid?
Michael fussed with his Expos cap and cleared his throat. “If you say so.”
Georgie’s shoulders dipped. “Okay, fine,” she huffed. “I got carried away, lost sight of everything else.” Guilt pressed heavily in her chest. “I even chose work over seeing Oliver sometimes.”
Michael winced.
“I know! Eden warned me months ago, but I wouldn’t listen.” Georgie’s eyes grew hot and stingy as she shook her head. “Fuck, I’m such a loser.”
“Really? We’re doing this now?”
“Well, what do you call someone who is consumed with the big victory—one that might never come—but takes for granted all the little wins and joys that make each day sweet?”
“A typical Leafs fan?” Michael snickered.
Georgie smacked his arm and sniffed. “I’m being serious. I’ve barely acknowledged my small successes at work. I’ve stopped reading, I’ve skipped book club—all because I was consumed with the fucking promotion.”
“Hey, c’mon”—Michael pulled her in for a sidelong hug—“give yourself credit, will ya? You’ve seen the error of your ways. You got there in the end. Now just keep moving forward, and choose hope, like you always do.”
If I have any left. She straightened her jersey as he let her go.
“So what’s the latest with Houdini?” asked Michael.
“He’s on the Vimy trip. We spoke before he left. He isn’t optimistic, says he might do something else.”
“Schmooze someone else, you mean.” Michael started fanning himself with his free sign.
“I know Brian and I have had our differences, but I wouldn’t wish this on him or anyone. It’s insulting, and the stuff they’re offering us is—”
“You got an offer?” Michael interrupted.
“Late Friday.”
“If you’re only telling me now, it must be bad.”
“Yep. Teaching biology in the west end.”
Michael’s eyes bulged. “Frog dissect—you told ’em no, right?”
“Not yet. Beggars can’t be choosers. I’m trying to be adult about it, but barfing in class in front of students won’t win me many points.” Queasy at the thought, Georgie let out a terse sigh. “Fuck it, I need to search for something else.” She yanked up the cuffs of her Armstrong jersey. “Jesus! Why is it so fucking HOT in here?! I need a drink.”
“I’ll come with.” Michael followed her down to the concessions where their line tangled with another for the ladies’ washroom. He opened his mouth to say something and stopped, then went for it anyway. “What about calling Oliver? Maybe the museum has something you could do?”
“I can’t ask him that!”
“Then ask if he’d like to meet for dinner.” He fanned himself with the sign again. “I hate seeing you sad all the time and I know it’s not just because of your job.”
