38. Penelope
“She’s staring at her phone again.”
“Someone should take it.”
“Sure, if you want to lose a fucking arm.”
“Penelope?”
My friends are talking around me like I can’t hear them, in this moment, I kinda wish I couldn’t.
“Mm?” In fairness to Athena, Eloise, Edith, and Savannah, I’m here, but also not.
“Your drink’s getting cold.”
They’re not wrong. My hot chocolate’s past the point where it can be called hot anything, it’s just liquid chocolate now.
“I’m sorry you guys. This is the worst impromptu girls’ night ever.”
By chance, we walked in and found Savannah and Athena chatting in a quiet corner of Bitches Brew. Since Edith and I were here, we felt like we couldn’t be here without Eloise and Tori. Tori has plans, but Eloise got here lightning fast.
“We’re here for you.” Eloise leans forward and pats my hand. “You’ve been through a lot.”
Accurate. I have. Tate’s been through more than me, but as Karlya keeps pointing out, just because he’s been through more, doesn’t mean what I’ve been through is irrelevant, or less than.
Since we got here an hour ago, I’ve mostly cried and stared at my screen. I’m on my second lukewarm chocolate beverage, and my friends are staring at me like they’re waiting for me to snap and trash the place.
Huh. Now that the thought’s in my head it’s kind of tempting.
Taryn, the owner of Bitches Brew, would kick me out and never let me back, though, so that’s a no. This place is one of the cornerstones of life with the Raccoons and the... shit, we need a name. What’s a female raccoon called? We can’t call ourselves the Raccettes, cause that sounds like someone’s about to smack us with a tennis racket. Can’t call ourselves Raclettes cause that just makes me want cheese.
“What’s a female raccoon called?”
My friends stare at me like they’re truly concerned for my mental health. Don’t blame them, I’m kind of concerned too.
Edith blinks slowly. “A sow, why?”
I burst into an unexpected fit of giggles which results in a different kind of tears trickling down my face. “Fuck.” I flap my hands at my cheeks like that’s going to stop me from my hysterical laughter.
No one else at the table is in my brain, no one has a clue what’s so funny, and right now, I can’t even catch my breath enough to tell them.
“I was...” I gasp. “Trying to come up with a name for us.” I point around the circle. “Like... the girls attached to the Raccoons.” I still can’t catch a full breath. “But we aren’t sows. Fuck that.”
“So what’s so funny?” Athena’s perfectly manicured nail taps against her perfectly lined lips as she arches her perfect brows in question. When I grow up I want to be Athena de la Pe?a.
“All I could think of was Raccettes and Raclettes.”
“Now I want cheese,” Eloise echoes my own thoughts.
“Same.” I snort, dissolving into giggles again.
My friends fall silent for a long moment, staring at each other, at me, at their mugs and glasses.
“Bandit Belles.”
“Raccoonitas.”
“Rac Pack.”
“Paw Prints.”
“Who says we need anything to do with the Raccoons in there at all? Sass Squad?”
“Snark Sisters.”
“Sparkplugs, because they can’t run without us.”
Each suggestion is thrown about as the girls get more and more animated, raising their glasses to toast between the ideas.
“Snark Syndicate.”
I feel like we’re going to need to work on that for a while before we settle on one. Maybe we’ll write in to Tabitha’s column and see what she thinks? Surely she’ll have some kind of witty, snarky name to attribute to our growing group of hockey girls. So far, though, I think Sparkplugs is my favorite, because we are certainly an explosive bunch of women.
After a good laugh at all the suggestions, I wipe the tears from under my eyes and drink the rest of my cold chocolate. “I needed that, thank you.”
Edith holds up her mug. “Told you we’ve got you.”
Another glance at my phone tells me the screen’s still dark. No word from Tate, or Apollo for that matter.
“Can you take a breath, please?” Savannah crouches next to me, holding my palms in my lap, the table close to cracking her in the head as she squats next to me. “He’s going to be okay. He’s got you, the team, the coaching staff, he’s not alone. We won’t let him sink.”
He’s been sinking for weeks. Right now, I’m not sure he even wants to be saved.
My screen lights up, but it’s not my boyfriend sending me a message, it’s my brother.
Spare Parts: You hanging in there?
I pick up my phone and sniff.
Me: Can’t wait for a Copycat hug over the holidays.
Spare Parts: Fuck, you must be bad.
Spare Parts: Not long to go. There’s a noogie waiting with your name on it.
When Tate’s name lights up my screen next, I start laughing again. His text is one word, and I know there’s hope for my guy.
Tate: Head?