11. Bridget
brIDGET
My phone vibrates with a text.
DAD: Outside the front door.
I get up from the armchair. I’ve been sitting by the bed, watching Craig “The Wall” Bowman sleep.
Watching him breathe, for nearly an hour straight this time.
He looks so vulnerable, but he seems to be progressing well.
I can tell he’s frustrated that he keeps falling asleep, but it’s good for him. Poor guy must be so tired.
My heart hurts. But it’s because it’s so full.
There’s so much we need to say to each other.
But I had a call with Coach Barrett this morning, and he told me the Griffins are definitely going to want Craig back in New York as soon as a doctor here clears him to fly.
Which should be in six days. The words I want you with me uttered when he’s concussed and falling asleep are not exactly a clear indication that he wants me to go back to New York with him.
But I’ve been thinking about it.
It feels like the only option.
All the no strings and loose threads and all of a sudden, everything is tied up and leading to him. Wherever he is. I don’t want to lose myself, but I also don’t think he’ll let that happen.
And now, as I go to Craig’s front door to let my dad in, I’m crying. Because being with Craig would mean leaving my parents and Kenton, and I don’t know how to do that without losing myself. I’m in love enough to want to go with Craig, but I don’t want to let go of everything else.
My dad’s standing on the porch carrying two garment bags, surrounded by one of my dress forms, my wheeled sewing-machine tote, my craft-organizer tote, my good scissors, my travel steamer.
He already brought everything from the car so I wouldn’t have to leave the house, and that’s just how sweet he is, and how am I supposed to leave him and Mom?
His face falls when he sees mine, and he looks so worried. “What happened, honey?”
“Nothing. Come on. He’s sleeping.”
We bring everything into the kitchen area, and Dad doesn’t say anything until I collapse into a chair at the kitchen table and start sobbing.
He sits next to me and rubs my arm. “Is he all right?”
“Yes.”
“Are you all right?”
I shrug.
He gets up, goes to the counter, and tears two squares of paper towels, which he hands to me. “Coach Barrett came by the shop today.”
“He did?” I blow my nose into the paper towel.
“He told me what’s up. Confidentially, of course. My lips are sealed. I know they want him back in New York next week. I’m guessing that’s why you’re crying?”
I nod. I can’t even remember the last time my dad saw me cry, but he’s handling it a lot better this time.
“If you need to leave town to be with him, honey… We’ll miss you. But we can run the business without you. You can set up your business in New York.”
I can’t even believe he’s saying this. First of all, I can’t believe he’s okay with me moving away for a guy, and secondly, how dare he think they can get along without me? “But I don’t know anyone else there besides him.”
“He’s enough.”
“He’ll be busy all the time.”
“Not all the time,” Dad says. “Hockey players have girlfriends and families, you know? They make time for the people they want to make time for. And he’ll make sure you have good people around you when he can’t be with you.”
“How do you know?”
He scoffs at that. “What do you mean how do I know?! I know. I’m The Wall’s biggest fan.
I’ve been following this guy since he was sixteen.
I watched him become a man. I see how he is on the ice.
I see how he is when he’s interviewed. I hear how other people talk about him,” he says.
“But more than anything, I see how he looks at you, sweetheart. He spends every night with you during the offseason. That’s not a small thing.
Even if he didn’t have the right words for it.
Maybe he didn’t think he deserved more than that. That guy loves you.
“Your mom and I have been waiting for both of you dummies to figure it out, but I think you’re there.
You’ve been fooling around for four years, but you know.
You know. He knows. You broke through the wall,” Dad says.
“If you want to move to New York to be with him—do it. If you want to see how it goes for a couple of weeks first…a month, two months—do that. But don’t stay here because you think you have to.
Don’t end things with him because you think he can’t handle being in a relationship.
If he wants to, he will. Simple as that. ”
I wrap my arms around my dad. I’m about to blow his mind. “Guess what he told me?” I say into his ear.
“What?”
“He said he talks to his goalposts about me.” I giggle.
My dad pulls away, mouth gaping. “Shut up!”
“He did!”
“I am so jealous.”
“I’m sure he’ll put in a good word for you too.”
My dad wipes a tear from my cheek. “You still nervous about leaving Kenton?”
I nod. “It’s dumb. I am excited about going to New York, actually. I’ve always wanted to.”
He studies my face, in a way that he never does. My mom does this. I know I do this. My dad never does this. “You know, you don’t have to sacrifice yourself when you open up to someone you love, Biddy. This is what you do. This is your craft.”
“Say more.”
“Why don’t you say more? Tell me about gussets.”
“What?”
“Gussets. Explain to me why you add a gusset to a pair of pants if a hockey player’s butt doesn’t fit into them.”
I have no idea where he’s going with this, and I’m slightly concerned that my father might be having sympathy concussion symptoms. Sighing, I tell him, “If an item of clothing is too restrictive, I add a hidden gusset, which is extra fabric that’s added to a seam, to provide more room and reduce stress on the fabric and thread. ”
“You add it to allow freedom of movement. Right?”
“Yes.”
“It doesn’t mean the suit your client brought in isn’t the same suit. You’re enhancing it. You’ve been solving this problem for other people since you were a teenager. Now you get to do it for yourself.”
I sit with that for a minute. Examine the structure of these words. This concept. “I have no fucking clue what you’re talking about. Explain.”
He smiles at me. Mr. Ponytail Dad is soooo pleased with himself and this faulty metaphor.
“A gusset doesn’t weaken the garment. It makes it stronger and more functional.
The fabric doesn’t lose anything by expanding.
It gains a range of motion it didn’t have before,” he says.
“You aren’t cutting anything out of your life if you move to New York, sweetheart.
You’re adding a gusset. The no-strings thing you were doing…
that didn’t give either of you the freedom you thought it would.
You don’t cut the ties to something you think you care too much about if it’s a good thing.
You add a gusset. The alternative to expanding isn’t staying safely intact. ”
God dammit, Tommy Cross, now I understand why Mom is still so in love with you even though you wear Crocs.
I’ve been so afraid of losing the shape of my life—Kenton, my parents, Pressed & Blessed, Cross Stitch, Penny, everything I care about besides Craig that I didn’t notice I was already straining at the seams. Craig shaped himself into my life four summers ago, and I’ve been trying to contain that ever since, and the fabric has been pulling and pulling and pulling.
But I don’t need to choose between my life and him.
I need a gusset. A mental and emotional gusset.
This doesn’t mean I stop being myself. Cross Stitch can move with me to New York.
I can come back to Kenton. My parents aren’t going anywhere.
The shop isn’t going anywhere. Kenton will still be Kenton.
Penny will still be my best friend. I’ll FaceTime with her and the baby regularly.
I’m not leaving my life or tearing it apart, I’m letting it expand.
Like beautiful fabric around a big, beautiful, round butt.
“I love you so much,” I tell my dad.
“Love you too, Biddy. Go take care of our guy.”
When I tiptoe back into the bedroom, I can tell just from the sound of Craig’s breathing pattern that he’s awake. I place a sixty-four-ounce stainless-steel water bottle on the bedside table and say, “Hi. You thirsty?”
“Yes. Tell me how hot I am.”
Well, that’s a good sign. “You are, by far, the hottest goalie in the NHL. Would you like some water to put out that fire?”
“Yes.”
He sits up, managing well on his own. He even turns and reaches for the bottle. Another good sign. After gulping down an alarming amount of water and placing the bottle back on the table he smacks his lips together and says, “Sex?”
“Not yet.”
“When?”
“Twenty-four hours at minimum.”
He reaches for his phone. “Setting a timer.”
“Don’t look at your phone.”
“Then you set a timer.”
“Fine. I will set a timer on my phone.”
While I’m setting a timer for twenty-three hours and fifty-nine minutes, he puts his phone down on the bedside table, scrubs his very stubbly face with his hand, and says, “What about my kids?”
“Uh-oh. Say more.” I put my phone back in my pocket and sit by his side.
“Goalie camp.”
“Ah. I talked to Coach Barrett about this. He decided to cancel it. Coach is too busy to run it himself and a guy named Winslow offered to run it this summer, but Coach and the Tanners decided to just cancel it and give refunds.”
“Shit. That sucks.”
“They’ll be fine. Everyone just wants you to recover. Your agent is going to want a video call with you later tomorrow, so I’ll bring your laptop in here.”
He starts grinning like an idiot all of a sudden. It’s concerning.
“What?”
“You talked to Coach Barrett about me.”
“Yeah. So?”
“That’s a girlfriend thing. You’re my girlfriend.”
“Am I?”
“Oh yeah. As far as I’m concerned.” He grips my thigh. “What do you think?”
“I think I’ve been your girlfriend for a long time.”
“Yeah.” Craig leans forward, hooking his finger under my chin. “C’mere.”
I do c’mere, for a gentle kiss. “Don’t get excited, okay?”
He plants a soft, beautiful kiss on my mouth. “Not excited. Just happy. I love you, Bridget. I love you. I want you with me.”
“I love you, and I want you with me too. I’ll come with you to New York, if that’s what you want.”
“It’s what I want.” He takes a deep breath. Maybe that kiss was a little too much for him. “My contract is up in two years. I can ask them to trade me to Vancouver. We can be closer to Tommy and your mom and the Bradshaws. And Penny.”
Well, that was some pretty clear thinking. “Really? You can do that?”
“I can. Been thinking about this for a while. It’s not a guarantee. But I have leverage.”
“You would do that?”
“I want to. I love the Griffins, but I love you more.”
“I am definitely going to need a gusset for my heart so I can hold all the love I have for you.”
“Uh-oh,” he says, jerking his head back and staring into my eyes. “Say more. Sounds like you might need a trip to the ER…”