Page 97 of Penalty Shot

My response is to kiss the back of her neck before straightening out her collar. We clean up quickly. Since there’s only a small mirror, we check each other out, fixing our appearance.

It’s achingly intimate when Elise smooths down my Henley shirt and combs back my hair while I confirm her ponytail is centered.

We walk out of the bathroom and stroll past the receptionist. “Thank you for joining us. Have a great flight,” he greets us.

“My girlfriend and I will see you on our way back home,” I state confidently because ladies and gentlemen, this is what we call the beginning of a travel tradition.

“Excellent. See you then” is his polite response.

“We loved the cookies,” Elise says, looking radiant and flushed.

My girlfriend walks out the door with a swish of her ponytail. I walk behind her like a man ready to follow till the ends of the earth.

Everywhere I look, there are towering evergreens and overgrown bushes and lush trees.

Southwest Ohio is an agricultural hub; I’m no stranger to plant life. But Vancouver is something else. It’s like an uncontained garden instead of a farm field or a suburban landscape.

Beyond all that greenery is clear blue sky that provides the perfect backdrop for snow-peaked mountains so majestic, it could be a mirage.

I thought I was visiting a town with a fairytale setting. Instead, I walked into a postcard.

We’re navigating light traffic while driving in our rented SUV.

“Let’s make a stop,” Randall announces.

“Your dad doesn’t expect us at home?”

“We’re having dinner with everyone, but that’s not for a few more hours.”

It strikes me that “coming home” for Randall has little to do with seeing family.

It’s hard not to make a brief comparison to my situation. No one could stop Ma from picking me up at the airport if I haven’t seen her in months. Lily, too, for that matter. It tugs my heartstrings to realize Randall’s mom would be that person for him, but she’s no longer around.

The thought makes me reach out to squeeze his shoulder. He glances at me and winks.

We’re driving down a four-lane road with condos and houses on the left side and fruit stands and mansions on the right. It’sa weird combination. Randall explains that although this part of town is dense with residents, it also has a history of fruit orchards run by large families.

He veers into a gravel road after a sign that says, “Fresh Okanagan Cherries Have Arrived!” It’s a fruit stand.

As soon as we step out, Randall holds my hand and strolls to a cashier. He taps her shoulder.

When she turns, we’re faced with a gray-haired woman whohollersat the top of her lungs.

“Randi!”

“How are you, Kim?” he asks affectionately.

“Good, good. Why didn’t you tell me you were coming in today?” she asks as she pats his jaw and squeezes his cheek.

Instead of answering, he gestures toward me.

“Auntie Kim, this is my girlfriend, Elise Chen. We just flew in from Columbus. Elise, Kim Nguyen grew up with my mother and together they were the most feared hockey moms this side of the Rocky Mountains.”

“So good to meet you, um, Miss Nguyen,” I stumble, not sure how to address her.

“Just Kim, sweetheart,” she says pulling me into a hug so soft and sweet I can’t quite picture her as a feared hockey mom at all. “Or Auntie!”

“We had to stop when I saw the sign for the cherries,” Randall explains.