Chapter 9 Our Origin Story
OUR ORIGIN STORY
CLEO
I KNEEL ON THE COUCH AND PEEK OUT THE LIVING ROOM WINDOW TO SEE IF MATS IS HERE YET.
Black dress pants again? Tonight must be dinner at Marjorie’s. Knudy plunks herself down beside me.
Yeah. I don’t know why I’m even bothering to look out for Mats.
He always gets here exactly at 5:00. Actually, there’s a very good reason.
I’m used to men who run late, like hours late.
Or who don’t even show up at all. Each time Mats arrives on time feels like a miracle worth celebrating.
Of course, he’s not my date; he’s doing all this for the good of our hockey programs.
She pulls out her phone. You still have a few minutes to go.
I turn around and sit beside Knudy. She smiles, but it’s a Cheshire-cat grin that puts my guard up.
What’s up? I ask.
I have a question. How come you don’t hate me? she asks.
I squint at her. What the fuck? Why would I hate you?
Isn’t the reason you hate Mats because he had a role in getting Jordan kicked off the Mustangs? Her voice is calm and detached, like this isn’t a huge conflict that I wrestle with constantly. How can I enjoy my time with Mats after what he did to my brother?
Did Becks tell you? And after bragging that she was such a vault of secrets. Fuck.
Knudy smirks. That’s as good as a yes. Nobody told me. Not Becks or Mats. I figured it out all by my lonesome.
I groan. I fucking hate goalies. You guys are always smarter than regular hockey players.
There’s a hum outside, and I see Mats’s car. I wave at him, then stand up.
Gotta go. I’m happy to end this conversation, since I’m trying hard to keep my Jordan thoughts and my Mats thoughts completely separate.
Knudy follows me as I put on my boots.
Realistically, I’m as much to blame as Mats is. I don’t understand why you only hate him. She bends down so she can really look at my face. If you even hate him anymore…
I straighten. Do you know the reason my brother got cut?
She nods, which makes no sense at all. Then she must realize that Mats is the reason why Jordan is gone.
I zip up my jacket. Can you tell me exactly why?
Knudy shakes her head. Stupid confidentiality agreements.
Maybe you don’t have all the information, I call back over my shoulder.
Unfortunately, this conversation doesn’t put me in the best mood to face Mats.
I’ve been looking forward to tonight. Marjorie is outspoken and hilarious; Geraldine is scary yet nurturing.
And Mats is the centre of everything—tolerating our teasing, insults, and invasive questions with good humour.
He’s the straight man, and without him none of the comedy would work.
I don’t even know how to categorize our relationship.
We’re not really friends who would hang out at any other time, yet we’re bonded by this fundraising thing.
I like his bluntness, the way he calls me on all my shit, because that’s how I roll too.
And of course I find him attractive. Anyone spending more than five minutes in his company could see that he’s that perfect combination of hot yet not conceited.
But the more I like Mats, the guiltier I feel about my brother. The only way to enjoy my time with Mats is to lock all the shit with my brother in a tiny box and shove it into the back of my mental closet.
Everything okay? Mats asks, probably because I’m so quiet.
Yeah, just got a lot going on, I reply.
I debate asking him about Jordan again, now that we know each other better, but I suspect that the answer isn’t going to change. And it’ll definitely piss Mats off.
When we arrive at Marjorie’s place, she too is a little out of sorts. She and Geraldine are sniping about some earlier argument. When I was a kid and found my parents in a mood like this, I would back right out the door. But I can’t do that here.
Still, I can’t generate my usual bubbly chat.
Luckily, Mats carries the conversation tonight.
He’s been doing research into the Schultz transportation dynasty, and he asks Marjorie about some historic mergers and takeovers.
Marjorie lights up whenever she gets to discuss business, so I can tune out and relax.
I look around the upholstered living room and realize that I was wrong about rich people.
Sure, Marjorie lives in a mansion, but so many things are familiar, like the Midwestern menu and the frank way she talks.
Once we’re seated for dinner, Geraldine brings out the soup course. I’m pretty sure it’s Campbell’s tomato, which I used to make when I was in charge of dinner back home.
Marjorie has a few mouthfuls, then puts down her spoon. She looks grumpy again.
So, tell me, how did the two of you first meet? she demands.
Someone inhales sharply. Was it me, or Mats? Or was it Geraldine, who spilled the crescent rolls across the table and is now cramming them back into their basket?
Shit. It’s exactly the question that Mats wanted us to prepare for, and I was the one who was all that’s never going to happen. I can read Mats so well now. He appears calm, but he’s panicking inside. He’s not good at this kind of bullshitting. So, it’s Cleo time.
I clear my throat.
I fell for Mats the first time I saw him, I begin.
Marjorie folds her arms and smirks. She’s ready for a whole romantic spiel.
I was watching the men’s hockey practice at the beginning of last year.
I saw this one player out there, and his skating was so smooth and powerful.
‘Who the eff is that?’ I wondered immediately.
When they started scrimmaging, he really stood out.
Not only his puck skills, but his vision.
He could anticipate what was going to happen.
Marjorie nods at me to continue. Mats is hanging on my every word too, except he’s probably worried I’m going to fuck up.
I continue. He was like that Gretzky quote about ‘skating where the puck is going to be, not where it’s been.’ Mats had so much focus, and he played with such intensity. I had only one thought.
She smirks. That you liked him?
I giggle. No. Why is this guy not playing D1?
Geraldine blows out a disappointed huff at my unromantic conclusion. She’s no hockey fan.
What’s that mean? Marjorie asks.
College hockey is divided into different divisions. Monarch College is Division 3. Division 1 hockey is where the top players go, the guys who are drafted or might get a chance to play pro.
Well, go on with your story, she urges.
So, that was the first time I saw him. But another time, I was walking by the men’s weight room.
I keep the jealousy out of my voice, because of course the Mustangs have their own weight room, while the Minks share a gym with the other varsity athletes.
Mats was working out. He was doing bench presses, and…
holy crap, it was like chick porn. His tank top was damp and sticking to his broad chest, the huge muscles on his arms were glistening, and his hair was all sweaty and falling away from his gorgeous face. I literally stopped breathing. Wow.
I look around and my audience is spellbound. Marjorie is tugging at the collar of her blouse, Geraldine is standing beside the table crumbling crescent roll in her hand, and Mats is staring at me with a slight frown.
Marjorie recovers first and clears her throat. I’m sure a forthright gal like you marched in there and asked him out on the spot.
I shake my head. Look at him, Marjorie. You think a guy like that walks around without getting hit on a gazillion times a day?
Mats flinches when I say this. Bizarrely, he hates being reminded of how hot he is.
By the time I actually met him, he already had a girlfriend.
She leans back in her chair. So, how did you get in there, then?
Now for the part of my story that will take some finessing. It was fate. When his girlfriend made the dumb mistake of breaking up with him, she did it in the middle of downtown Minneapolis. Poor Mats was stranded. And guess who came riding up on her white steed to rescue him?
It was actually a Subaru Forester, Mats interjects. His subtle smile gives me reassurance. He was right all along; this whole scheme goes better if we work as a team. He took over at the beginning of the evening, and now I’ve got the bullshit portion covered.
Both Marjorie and Geraldine laugh. That’s a bit of a role reversal, Marjorie quips. But she approves of overturning gender roles, anyway.
I join in the laughter. Truthfully, it wasn’t quite that romantic. My best friend was the one driving, but we did pick him up on a downtown sidewalk. And Mats isn’t the type of guy to jump right into a new relationship. So, I had to hang around until he was ready.
I wink at him. Right?
He nods slowly. He’s giving me his mystified look. I used to think he was disgusted with my behaviour, but now I know it’s the opposite. When I surprise him, he admires that.
Well, that was a good tale. Marjorie turns to Geraldine. Are we only having soup tonight?
You haven’t even finished it yet, Geraldine retorts, but scuttles off to the kitchen anyway to get the next course.
Now Marjorie focuses her attention on Mats. If you’re such a good player, why aren’t you playing in Division I? I assume that would mean attending a bigger college, maybe an Ivy?
He shrugs. I’m not even the best hockey player in my family.
My older brother plays in the NHL, so I got to see firsthand what he went through to get there.
I decided that, rather than killing myself to make some lower tier of professional hockey, I’d rather enjoy my last years playing.
Monarch College appealed to me because it offered a small campus and excellent academics. And I liked Coach Norman.
Marjorie beams. As a proud alum, praising Monarch is one sure way to her heart.
Geraldine brings out a hot dish. She lovingly describes the recipe: ground beef, cream of mushroom soup, and tater tots. Yum. I dig in, while Mats looks at his serving like it’s going to bite him.
Do you have career plans beyond college, Mats? Marjorie asks.
He puts down his fork and straightens, like he’s been waiting for this question his whole life. Or maybe he was just waiting for an excuse not to eat.
Absolutely. My parents run a boutique financial planning firm.
My dad used to be a stockbroker, so he taught my brother and me a lot about the stock market.
Most of my summer jobs have also been in finance.
Once I graduate, I’m going to get a job in personal finance or sports management.
When my brother retires from hockey, we’re going to go into business together.
What kind of business? she asks.
We’d like to help professional athletes manage their money. Because you only make big money for a short time, you have to be smart about it.
My mouth opens and closes with no sound. His plan is beyond impressive. Even my most organized friends don’t have a vision like this.
Mats continues, So far, Adrian’s career hasn’t been as big as he’d hoped, but we realized that makes his case even more compelling.
If we can invest his league minimum salary into a portfolio that will guarantee him a solid base for the rest of his life, it would be a great example of what we can do.
Marjorie nods approvingly. No wonder you ask me so many questions about my career. You’re trying to learn all the time. Do you study business here?
Actually, I’m studying philosophy. But I take economics courses too.
Philosophy? That seems like an odd choice, she comments.
One of my mentors recommended it. He said that creative thinking is more important for entrepreneurs than knowing business terminology.
Very wise. Please feel free to come to me anytime you need a reference or referral, she urges.
As Mats thanks her, I cram more food into my mouth so nobody can ask me about my life plans.
I have none. Unless you count the drunken night when Becks and I decided to open one of those female-centric sports bars.
Our plan, written on a cocktail napkin, is guaranteed not to impress Marjorie or Mats.
Luckily, the rest of the meal passes without any more questions about careers or our imaginary relationship.
On the drive home, Mats turns to me with a scowl. I was pretty shocked at that whole story you invented about how we met. I didn’t think you had it in you.
You make that sound like a bad thing, I reply.
Yeah. Usually when you lie, you blush or get twitchy. At least, that’s what I thought.
Oh. I’m a terrible straight-up liar, but I am good at embellishing to make a story better. I learned from the best; my dad’s stories got better with each telling.
Mats’s full lips extend into a sulky pout that’s, frankly, kind of hot. But that doesn’t explain how you came up with that whole story about watching me at practice.
This cross-examination is irritating, and I narrow my eyes at him. Why does this bother you so much? I saved both our asses back there.
He frowns as he looks at the dark road ahead. I don’t like lying. Or phony people.
I laugh. Don’t worry. It was all true. Well, true to some extent. You can tell from the story of how we picked you up in Minnie—the basics are true.
Wait. You used to watch me practise? he demands.
Yeah. I hesitate about sharing the next part, because Mats gets pissed when I mention my brother. I used to watch Jordan’s practices. I wanted to see how he looked relative to the rest of the team. And that’s when I saw you. You were so good.
Mats’s eyes widen. Really? So, everything really happened? Even the gym part?
Fuck yeah. One of the highlights of my week. Clearly, Mats never saw me any of those times.
I look at his handsome profile in the darkness of the car. There’s one more truth that I’m happy not to reveal. Before I hated Mats, I might have had a tiny crush on him. I was never going to ask him out, but if he had asked me?
My answer would have been Abso-fucking-lutely.