Page 49 of Goalie Secrets

A slide show of emotions passes over Vanya’s pretty face: surprise, pleasure, embarrassment. She blinks rapidly before resetting her facade of indifference.

Maybe I ought to worry about how much I stare at my doctor to know these slight distinctions in her reactions—the way her cheeks warm or her eyes soften—but I’m too captivated to worry. Her every expression is a beautiful clue to what she’s thinking. There’s not much I wouldn’t do to learn what’s in that brilliant brain of hers.

“Hello, Mrs. Lopez. Please call me Vanya.” She walks around her desk to take my mother’s hand.

“NoMrs.for me! Call me Christina,” my mom says, leaning forward to give the taller woman a loose hug. “So glad we could finally meet. I’ve heard so much about you.”

“Oh, um, I hope that’s not a bad thing.”

“It’s always Vanyathis,Vanyathat—”

“Ok, that’s enough,” I butt in.

My mother’s slight snicker tells me she’s not quite done with her mischief. “Well, it’s true! So, Vanya, how are you settling in?”

“Very well, thank you.” Her polite smile is adorable. How can someone so self-assured at her profession be this terrible at small talk?

“Living across from Jeremy is great, right? I hope he’s shown you around the neighborhood.”

“Yes. I mean no, not exactly.” She presses her lips together before deciding on a bland answer. “It is a lovely neighborhood.”

Numerous instances have proven that small talk is like pulling teeth for Vanya. She has no interest in talking for the sake of talking. Some people probably think she’s aloof; that’s not true at all. Vanya can show intense care when she’s looking out for people and passion when she’s talking about her research. She’s also not shy about her heightened emotional attachment to musicals. Especially with me. That’s the part I like the most.

“If you’re around on Christmas Day, we always volunteer at the—”

“Mom, she works constantly. Christmas is probably the only day she’s taking off.”

“Shewould very much like to hear what you were going to say, Christina,” Vanya states tritely with a fleeting glance my way.

“After Christmas Day mass at St. Joseph, our yearly tradition is to volunteer to cook and serve food at the community center across the street from the church. Do you want to join us?”

“That sounds like a great tradition,” Vanya pipes up before worrying her lower lip. “I’d love to volunteer at the community center. However, I’ll just wash dishes or something. I’m not much of a cook.”

“There are tons of other things to do. You can help with the books.”

Vanya tilts her head in confusion.

“Each kid gets a couple of books to bring home,” I explain. “Boxes of donated books need to be laid out and organized by age.”

“Or, maybe you can sing?” My mother’s question is shrill with excitement.

Vanya and I have identical reactions. We both shake our heads frantically, though for different reasons. Vanya is downright appalled at the thought of singing in public. I, however, anticipate a more embarrassing reason for the question.

“You can help Jeremy host the Christmas singalong!” My mother’s announcement is the volume of someone talking to the hard of hearing. The staff at the cafeteria could hear her.

“Once. I ran itoncebecause Mario—he’s the piano player for the church—got sick, so we had to resort to karaoke YouTube videos.”

“He’s so humble. Jeremy has a gorgeous voice.”

“I’ll be there!” Vanya’s unrestrained amusement reaches her eyes.

“Perfect. Jeremy will pick you up after mass,” she says while casually petting my upper arm.

“I can find my way,” Vanya asserts.

“Oh, he doesn’t mind,” my mother mumbles absentmindedly, halfway out the door and turned away. The second she’s in the hallway, she’s hugged by well-fed and grateful employees. Their voices taper off.

“She’s awesome,” Vanya declares with a chuckle.