4. Finn
Chapter four
Finn
T he Oregon rain didn't know it was a holiday and plagued Portland all Thanksgiving day. It finally started to let up as I jogged, trying to dodge raindrops, on the way to the Golden Dragon restaurant. Multi-colored neon dragons hung over the sidewalk, the bright colors reflecting off the wet concrete below. Since it was the holiday, the streets in my neighborhood were eerily quiet. Most had chosen to stay home, tucked away in a post-celebration food coma with their families.
Not me, though. I'd chosen a different path.
Pausing at the restaurant's entrance, I took a deep breath. I'd had a brief phone call with my parents earlier, which was enough to send a wave of homesickness crashing over me. I could almost smell Mom's pumpkin pie through the phone and imagined listening to Dad yelling at the TV while the Vikings left the field in defeat again.
That was 1,700 miles away in a little town in Minnesota. In Portland, I had dim sum, and Moose was waiting to share a unique Thanksgiving dinner with me.
As I pushed the door open, a wave of warm air enveloped me, rich with the aromas of lemongrass, ginger, and soy sauce. The hostess, a petite woman with a kind smile, approached me as I removed my coat.
"Table for one?" she asked, already reaching for a menu.
"No, I'm meeting someone," I said, scanning the room. "He might already be—"
"Finn! Over here!"
Moose's deep voice rumbled across the dining room. A few other diners turned their heads. He waved from a red vinyl booth in the far corner, and his broad frame appeared slightly too big for the space.
As I found a path between the tables, dodging a server with a cart piled high with bamboo steamers, some of the tension in my shoulders faded. It wasn't the Thanksgiving I'd experienced every other year in my life, but with Moose, I knew it wouldn't be a bad one.
"Happy Thanksgiving, Rookie," he greeted me as I approached, raising his cup of steaming Chinese tea. Another of those unexpected flutters I experienced around Moose tickled my stomach.
"Hey, Moose, great to see you." I slid into the booth across from him, and the red vinyl squeaked beneath me—a hint of jasmine wafted under my nose. I wasn't sure whether it was the tea or the candle burning in the center of our table. "Thanks… you know, for arranging this."
He waved a hand. "Are you kidding? I'm happy I'm not alone this year. Good to see I'm not the only Portland transplant without plans today."
A server approached with a small electronic tablet. "May I take your order?"
Moose jumped on the question. "I'm gonna make this easy. We're going all out for the holiday. Give us one plate of everything on your dim sum menu." He nodded toward me. "Anything else you want?"
I laughed. "Did you remember there's only two of us?"
"Trust me. This is perfect. You haven't seen how I can eat."
About fifteen minutes later, dishes began to arrive at our table. The server set down bamboo steamers with a soft thud, wisps of fragrant steam escaping as he lifted the lids. Brandishing chopsticks, we immediately dove into the luscious food. Savory aromas of garlic, ginger, and soy sauce filled the space between us. The first dumpling I bit into burst with hot, flavorful broth, warming me from the inside out.
"So," Moose began, speaking around a mouthful of shrimp dumpling, "Is this your first Thanksgiving without the 'rents?"
I swallowed a bite of a crispy spring roll and then nodded. "Yeah, and it's… different. It's weird not to be with the family. You?"
"Not so big of a deal. After Mom left, Dad treated it like any other day, and he'd search the city for open burger joints." He speared another dumpling with his chopsticks. "This alternative Thanksgiving thing is becoming sort of standard for me. Having Chinese reminds me of my junior year in college."
I wiped a drop of soy sauce off my shirt, the dark liquid leaving a faint, salty stain on the fabric. "How so?"
"Well, Quinn had gone home for the holidays, but I decided to stick around on campus. It was my first Thanksgiving without Dad, but he was busy chasing a new woman. I had a big biology project, so I told myself it was good to be stuck alone in a dorm room." He rolled his eyes. "Excitement every minute. I tell ya."
"Honestly, you make everything fun, Moose."
I grinned as his cheeks flushed lightly. "Well, anyway, I sat in the dorm common room on Thanksgiving day with Petri dishes lined up on a coffee table. Suddenly, a group of international students walked in, and they looked sort of lost and hungry."
"And you decided to be their holiday host?"
Moose grinned from ear to ear. "Yep, you got me. I had Rohan from India, Kana from Japan, Sofia from Brazil, and Omar from Egypt. None of them had ever experienced an American Thanksgiving, but they were all interested."
I was mad curious about what happened and leaned forward. "What'd you do?"
"Being the culinary genius that I am…" Moose exhaled on his fist and rubbed it on his shirt. "I led a small parade to the 24-hour mini-mart just off campus. We bought all sorts of snack foods—chips, cookies, microwaveable pizzas, and Hot Pockets. When I was about to turn toward the checkout, I spotted a lonely frozen turkey pot pie and nabbed it. We couldn't do it without turkey."
I laughed, picturing Moose like the Pied Piper of Thanksgiving.
"We spent that whole evening hanging out in the dorm kitchen and common room, eating junk food while I did my best to explain the history and significance of American Thanksgiving. I did my best to avoid the politics of the Wampanoag, the Indigenous people, vs. the Pilgrims, and focused on the food and football. It all sounded a little silly to people who'd never heard of it before."
"Man, that's for sure." I popped the last bite of my BBQ pork bun in my mouth.
"I got hung up on describing putting marshmallows on sweet potatoes. Some of them thought the marshmallows were just weird. At least they'd all heard of cranberries. All things considered, it was one of my best Thanksgivings ever."
Moose raised his teacup. "Here's to unconventional Thanksgiving dinners and how they unite people."
I tapped my cup against his. Just as I was about to ask another question about his family, my phone buzzed. I pulled it out of my pocket to see Mom wearing her nutty Christmas sweater from last year. "Sorry," I mumbled and slid out of the booth. "I have to take this."
"No problem, but I'm not responsible for missing dumplings when you return."
As I stepped outside to take the call, the cold late-November air shocked my system. My hand trembled from the nerves, the cold, or both.
"Hey, Mom. Happy Thanksgiving—again."
"Finn! Happy Thanksgiving, sweetheart!" Her voice was heavy with emotion, almost syrupy sweet, and I pictured her in the kitchen, phone pressed to her ear while she was in the oven and on the stovetop. "Just wanted you to know we miss you so much."
"I miss all of you, too."
"Are you eating right—real food? Is the team making sure you eat right? You're not living on protein shakes and energy bars, are you?"
I chuckled. "Yes, Mom, I'm eating real food. Right now, I'm at a Chinese restaurant with a new friend."
"Chinese food? On Thanksgiving? Oh, Finn." She sounded like I'd insisted the Pilgrims eat Peking duck instead of turkey.
"It's pretty good."
She didn't reply immediately, and I heard Dad's slightly muffled voice in the background. "Is it a girl? Ask him if it's a beautiful girl."
I closed my eyes and grunted. "Mom, I gotta go. Is it okay if I call you tomorrow? I'll tell you all about my Thanksgiving."
"Wait, Finn!" Mom sounded like she did when relatives tried to rush out the door without spending twenty more minutes talking at the threshold. "Your cousin, Sarah, is here with one of her good friends. She's in grad school now studying physical therapy, and so is her friend. Doesn't that sound great? An athlete and a physical therapist. Maybe at Christmas, the two of you could—"
"Mom, stop." I cut her off. It was a little more abrupt than I intended, but I didn't want to hear her race down into a fantasy that wouldn't happen. "I mean, I can choose my own dates. Please don't try to set something up."
After a pause, she spoke again. "Your Dad and I, we just worry about you. You're alone in a brand-new city, and we don't want you to be lonely. We want you to be happy."
I wished I could reach through the phone and hug her. "I know, and I am happy. My teammates are great, and I'm making new friends."
"Okay, sweetheart. I'm happy to hear that." I heard the familiar sounds of my family gatherings in the background—Uncle Seth laughed loudly, dishes clattered, and voices chattered from the TV in the distance, probably a football game Dad was watching. "We love you, Finn, and we'll talk tomorrow."
"Love you, too. Give everybody a big Thanksgiving hug for me."
While I hung up, I leaned against the restaurant's brick exterior wall and exhaled. I loved my family, but sometimes, their expectations, worries, and attempts to direct my social life nearly suffocated me.
Moose raised an eyebrow as I slipped back into the booth. "Is everything okay in Finn land?" He smirked. "Get it, Finland?"
I shook my head. "Yeah, and I'm sorry to let you know you aren't the first to figure that out." I sighed and reached for my tea. "It was just my parents, and they miss me. I went to college close to home, so this is a big thing for them."
He tilted his head to the right. "And I bet there's one other thing—they asked whether you've met any nice girls yet."
I nearly choked and spat tea across the table. "How did you—"
"Call it a hunch." Moose smiled. "Dad used to do the same thing with me."
"Used to?"
Moose shrugged and snagged the last of the potstickers with his chopsticks. "Let's say he finally realized that my dating pool lacked women."
"Oh?"
He dropped a casual comment like he was talking about the weather. "Yeah, I'm bi, but lately, I'm starting to feel more like 'been there, done that' with women. I've got nothing to show but a bruised heart from those relations." He sighed. "Or maybe I've just been hanging around Quinn too much."
From the way he looked at me, I was pretty sure he was into guys, but to have him confirm it so breezily. It took my breath away. Before thinking, the words "What if… " rolled out of my mouth, but I couldn't let myself go there. I immediately followed it up with, "Must have been tough hanging around the hockey guys when you were growing up. They aren't so easy on guys into guys."
He burst out laughing.
"What?"
"Me… and hockey culture. My bubble hockey table was the only thing I knew about hockey before I met Quinn. I was the biology guy counting ants in an anthill."
I blinked. "But you seem so into it now."
He leaned partway across the table. "Or into the guys that are into it, yeah?" He sat back. "Trust me. It's mostly all new. I was definitely not an athlete, being a chubby kid."
Moose rattled off shock after shock. "You? Chubby?" I gazed at the broad expanse of his chest and the bulky arms stretching his shirt. I couldn't imagine him any other way but built like… well, a moose. My fingers itched with the sudden, unexpected urge to trace the contours of his muscles. I quickly pushed the thought into the back of my mind, but I knew it wouldn't be the last time my thoughts would go there.
He smiled. "Oh, man, yeah. I ate everything in sight—chips, candy bars, cookies. It was not pretty."
"What happened then?" I was genuinely curious. I'd always been small, and no big change ever happened to me. "I mean, you're… look at you."
"Puberty was part of it, and in college, we had a P.E. requirement, and I took weightlifting. I liked it, and the science behind it was fascinating, like personalized biology. I sort of turned my own body into a big biology experiment. Unlike athletes, though, I didn't really work that hard. Quinn noticed, and he was a great cheerleader."
"And hockey…"
"All Quinn. He worked hard to drag me to hockey games, and I finally gave in. There's something about those jerseys, too, and, um, the way you get knocked around out on the ice—somewhere between soccer and wrestling on skates."
I laughed out loud. "Yeah, I guess I understand that. So… from environmental work to sports marketing… how'd you make that leap?"
Moose's eyes sparkled. "That story would require at least two fortune cookies and possibly an adult beverage or two."
"Rain check?"
"Done."
As we left the Golden Dragon, a wicked wind gust hit us, and it smelled like rain. Moose shivered, zipping his jacket up to his chin.
"Man, I'm still not used to this Portland weather."
I grinned and watched as his breath formed little puffy clouds. "This? Wow, it's nothing compared to winter in Minnesota."
"Hey, Finn, why don't you skip the Uber and let me give you a ride home?"
"I won't turn that down, and thank you." We hurried down the sidewalk to Moose's car, a block away. As soon as he turned the key, he cranked the heat up.
"Alberta Arts District, right? How do you like it there?"
I nodded. "It's a great neighborhood, lots of art galleries, cute stores, and nice restaurants, but it's hard to get the energy to go out when it's just me."
Moose pulled up to a stop light and then turned his head to look at me. "Maybe it won't have to be just you so much anymore."
An electric sensation raced up my spine. I watched the raindrops begin to dance across the windshield, and the city lights after dark turned into a wavy kaleidoscope of color. I couldn't stop myself from stealing glances at Moose.
"I'd like that," was all I could think of to say. "And thanks for sharing the holiday. It was great."
"Anytime. That's what friends are for."
Friends. The word comforted me, but I instantly knew it wasn't quite enough. I wanted to push those boundaries, but I needed to find out whether that was on Moose's mind, too.
When we pulled up in front of my apartment building, the rain was falling steadily. I hesitated before putting my hand on the door handle. I wasn't quite ready for the evening to end.
"So, about the rain check on the environmental science to sports marketing story. Should we—"
He interrupted. "How about this? Next time we both have a free evening, I'll make dinner at my place and give you the complete Moose Moretti story, including old photos. Deal?"
"Deal," I agreed and smiled broadly.
While I stood under the small awning on my building's front stoop, I watched Moose's taillights disappear around a corner. A strange mix of emotions swirled inside. The homesickness wasn't gone, but it fought for attention with something more positive, a sense of something new and exciting around the corner.