Epilogue 3
After unsuccessfully making a pie last night, but very successfully making out with my wife, I returned home to find Ma and the rest of the family wide awake, but she wasn’t up late preparing the Thanksgiving meal.
Well, she was peeling potatoes but was also explaining to my brothers and Pop that she’d heard that Junie’s landlord may have been the one trying to sabotage her efforts in the building.
I was ready to wring necks, but she said we had a mission at zero-four-hundred hours.
Still can’t figure out where she got her intel. Mrs. Gormely, the town gossip?
After our successful sting operation, when I ask Junie why she insists I leave the handling of the situation with the Linderbergs to her brother Asher, she mutters something that sounds an awful lot like Catagen, Ionic, Alopecia.
“We’ve got to get some espresso into my wife,” I call to no one in particular as my team, coach, and family return to their vehicles.
“See you at the Ice Palace,” Hayden hollers back.
I stop short. “We have practice today?”
Pierre checks my butt with his hockey stick. “It’s a very hockey Thanksgiving.”
“But you’re Canadian.”
“Married to an American.”
He chortles. “The coach’s daughter.”
Badaszek still hasn’t spoken to me.
“See you there,” Redd says as if it’s final.
I spot Pop getting into his truck and he nods.
“But the Tigres are playing,” I say, referring to his favorite soccer team.
“It’s Thanksgiving,” he says.
Well, I know that.
Junie links her pinky to mine and says, “Come on. Maybe it’ll be fun.”
“Going to work on a holiday?”
“It’s early, maybe we can eat turkey and nap on the couch later.”
When we arrive at the Ice Palace, the main concourse is eerily empty, but the main hospitality room with a wall of windows overlooking the rink is decorated for fall with stacks of hay bales, pumpkins, and scarecrows.
Three tables, arranged in a horseshoe, are in the middle of the room, topped with flowers, woven cornucopias overflowing with gourds, along with candles and festive fall tableware.
“I’m guessing Margo had something to do with this.”
Voices rise and fall as a bevy of people arrive—the front line along with their families, Vohn and Gracie, Coach and his daughters plus their spouses, and my family, plus Mrs. Popovik.
When everyone has coffee or cider, Coach Badaszek says, “Welcome to the first-ever, and likely only, Knights team Thanksgiving.”
A few people cheer.
He turns to me and says, “And our official welcome of Mikey Cruz to the team. You’ve done well.”
Glasses and mugs are raised and everyone goes wild. I blink, not quite understanding why the hubbub, but I play along, hoping someone will explain later.
But later doesn’t come until after we’ve had a breakfast of assorted pastries, free skate down on the rink, which turns into a rowdy game of “Turkey hockey.” I don’t understand the rules—I don’t think anyone does and they’re making them up as they go.
But seeing my teammates, brothers, Pop, and the moms out here with us feels like a win.
Then, coach Badaszek skates over, expression serious.
“Hey, Coach,” I say uneasily.
He clacks his stick on the ice. “Hey, yourself. Not much gets by me and I was disappointed.”
My ears heat. Is he mad on my parents’ behalf for marrying Junie without telling them?
“I had my eye on you after last season. Sixteen months ago. Saw a real talent, but what’s more, you were committed.”
I think back to CK’s asylum-like bakery and the white room. “Sir, I don’t quite follow.”
“In a relationship, engaged to be married.”
“I can explain. Sort of. You see, some women—and men—can be stubborn. Unfortunately, at the time, Junie and I both were, leaving us at odds and—”
He slams a free puck into an empty goal. “I chose you because of your skills and loyalty. When you got here and I found out you were single, I had to question my judgment.”
Considering my stats so far this season, he doesn’t have anything to complain about, but I don’t say that.
Just then, Junie skates over, all smiles. After warming up, she’d taken off her hoodie and tied it around her waist, revealing that she’s wearing my jersey.
“What are you smiling about?” she asks, spinning into my arms.
“That you’re mine,” I whisper.
Coach winks, then claps me on the shoulder. “And I’m pleased to say that I made the right choice after all.”
“Hi, Mr. Badaszek,” she says. “Thanks for hosting Thanksgiving. It’s been an odd morning, but this is amazing.”
He shakes his head. “It was time someone put a stop to the Linderbergs’ feud. It’s been going on for years. You should’ve seen what he did when we were still using the Barn and don’t get me started on the Christmas Market. I have my son-in-law Pierre to thank for saving the day on that one.”
I’ve heard that the Frenchman wasn’t Coach Badaszek’s favorite.
Badaszek congratulates us on our marriage and then skates away, slotting a puck into the net with a nasty backhand shot. I’m impressed.
And Junie just saved the day for me. “We make a good team.”
I tell her about how Coach hadn’t spoken a word to me and what he just relayed.
“That was an accidental assist, but I’m your number one fan, so anytime.”
We both laugh, she squeezes my pinky with hers, and then we take off skating.
Margo should win an award for the outstanding Thanksgiving feast she put together, after what turns out to be short notice.
Not only is my brother a secret operative, but my best friends, including Erica, anticipated that it might not go well with the families when we told them Mikey and I secretly got married, so they decided to throw us a wedding reception today since everyone was going to get together, anyway.
I’m surprised Coach Badaszek and the rest of the players got in on it, though.
But mostly I’m grateful. When we gather around the table and say grace before the meal, I can’t help but be filled with gratitude that this move didn’t end up in a total disaster—the stuff with the salon and the Linderbergs notwithstanding.
But my brother is sitting with them at the other end of the table as if mediating or making sure they don’t start a food fight.
The platters of turkey and ham, casserole dishes filled with stuffing, macaroni and cheese, and lasagna—the moms insisted—along with green beans, potatoes, and all the fixings are amazing. But there’s one thing, or rather, a person, missing.
Papa would be over the moon right now if he got to have a very hockey Thanksgiving. I send up a little prayer.
Mikey suddenly gets to his feet, glass raised. “I want to thank you all for being here today, for welcoming me onto this team, into this family. I’m also grateful to my family for their support.”
A few people clap and Joey makes a rude noise.
“I’m especially appreciative of my wife, Junie, and her father. If it weren’t for him, getting me into hockey, encouraging and coaching me, I wouldn’t have had the desire to impress his daughter ... and I wouldn’t be here with all of you.”
My eyes water and Mama lets out a little sob. Carlotta wraps her into a friendly hug, but they’re both smiling.
Mikey continues, “Junie moved here because she wanted a fresh start for her mom and to open her dream salon. Margo raved about Cobbiton and so she took a chance ...”
Everyone cheers.
“But another reason was because Junie’s dad, a builder by trade, always wanted to buy them a house. For Mrs. Popovik to have a front porch swing and a big kitchen.”
I catch a few quick words of Italian and Carlotta saying something about a surprise on the back deck, but the ranch house rental doesn’t have one of those.
“Today, we’re celebrating the things we’re thankful for and our recent wedding.” Mikey links his pinky through mine and draws me to my feet. “But I also want to offer this meal in loving memory to Guiliana’s husband, Junie’s dad, Anton Popovik, the biggest hockey fan I’ve ever met.”
I start bawling happy tears as everyone cheers and claps. I bury my face against Mikey’s chest.
He kisses the top of my head. “I didn’t mean to make you cry. It was between dedicating the meal to him or Purr-t Reynolds.”
Now I’m laughing. My face is a pink, tear-streaked mess, but my husband kisses my forehead, then my scar, and lands his lips on mine.
“We really do make a great team,” I say.
“Happy Teamsgiving Day,” he replies.
I wrinkle my nose.
“Happy Junie and Mikey Day?”
I shake my head.
“Catch the people who were messing with your salon red-handed day?”
We both laugh and fall into another kiss and as warmth spills through me, I realize I could never live without this man and don’t want to.
“Like it or not, we’re stuck with each other,” I say.
His lips quirk. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”