Page 23

ARUSH BAKSHI

I always try to text Julian during his games now.

Ever since he told me it motivates him to know I’m thinking of him and watching his games, I make a point to do so.

Usually, I wait for him to make a goal or something exciting to happen that involves him.

Contrariwise, I may wait until he’s been wrongfully penalized or slammed hard into the board.

This game has been… not great. I don’t know hockey well. Still. I think it’s going to take me more than a season to figure it out entirely. But somehow, I can tell when the game isn’t going to end on a positive note.

Or on a note at all. Sometimes the game goes downhill from the moment the first puck drops. This is one of those games. Chicago is all over the place and never where anyone is needed. I can practically feel their frustration through the screen.

Weird thing is that I feel like most of them are actually trying. Like, they all have an idea, but they’re all different ideas and none of them align. Even the commentators are feeling it and pointing it out.

I’ve heard disjointed, wrong plays, absent, no communication.

While I find I’m usually rolling my eyes at the judgy commentators who sit in a box somewhere and pass judgment when they’re not the ones playing the game, I find tonight that I’m nodding along.

I can see all those things as if they’re hanging over everyone’s head.

In the middle of the second period, I’m spinning my phone between my fingers, wondering what I could text that would be helpful. What can I send that’s going to be motivating?

I glance to my right where my laptop usually is while my friends watch with me. They’re not here tonight. Jash and Chaaya are celebrating Chaaya’s sister’s birthday with a large morning meal. Alok is talking to his father about a potential match this morning, which I’m dying to know about.

Secretly, I always thought the brothers were gay. They’ve never shown any interest in women. But, having said that, they’ve also never shown any interest in men, either. I’m not sure where this is going to go, but I’m definitely curious.

I’m not sure where Anil is. Maybe he’s with Alok in the potential match meeting.

Since my friends couldn’t make it to watch this game, I asked my parents and all my siblings if they wanted to tune in the way my friends usually do. I was shocked that literally all of them agreed that they’d like to.

Maybe it’s a sign that they miss me.

My mother and father are in one frame, then all my siblings are in their own. I lean forward to see what they’re thinking. Part of me expects that they’re here to be here, but they’ll be distracted by something else. You know, here for support. A family obligation thing.

But every one of them is watching. Every time I look, their eyes are all locked on the screen. I’m surprised by how much that means to me.

A whistle on the screen blows, and I look away.

“What just happened?” my youngest sister, Sona, asks.

“Ohh, look. Whatever just happened, it’s leading to a fight,” Navi says.

We watch in silence as the teams on the ice end up gathered around the two fighting. As if something is spread through the air, one by one, they all begin fighting. The four refs are trying to break them up.

I’ve noticed that Julian rarely fights. He generally skates away. There are times when he’s tripped or intentionally bulldozed and he’ll retaliate if the refs don’t call it. Otherwise, he doesn’t get involved. He says sitting in the ‘ sin bin ’ is frustrating, so he avoids it when at all possible.

“Interference, two minutes, Minnesota number eight. Instigating, two minutes, Chicago number twenty-two,” the ref on the television says.

“What does that mean?” Sona asks again.

“So, from what I’ve read, interference is when one player stops or slows down another player when that other player doesn’t have the puck,” I say.

“You’re allowed to interfere when someone has the puck?” my oldest sister, Ishika, asks.

I nod. “Yes.”

“Why?”

“If they couldn’t interfere, that means there’d just be goal after goal,” Navi says. “In every contact sport, you need to be able to make contact with the person who has the, uh, object that is used to score to attempt to prevent that goal. That’s why there’s a defense position.”

“Ah,” Sona says. “Yeah, okay.”

“Then why did the other team get a time-out for fighting? I’ve seen like three fights today that haven’t had timeouts,” Kiaan asks.

It’s fun having all my siblings here. It also makes me realize I know a little more about hockey than I realized.

“First, it’s a penalty. Not a time-out. They laugh when you call it a timeout.

And second, Julian says that all refs make shit calls.

Sometimes calling a penalty and sometimes not calling the same penalty later. Why they chose this fight? Don’t know.”

“That’s crap,” Sona says.

I nod. “I guess it’s pretty normal in all sports.”

We’re not an overly sporty household. Navi keeps up with a bunch of sports, though I’m not sure he does so because he’s highly invested in the sport. I think it’s more about statistics and watching the standings change every week. It’s the numbers that fascinate him more than the sports themselves.

Otherwise, the only sport my father’s taken an interest in was golf, and that lasted a few years before he declared it was far too boring and slow paced to spend time. My brother thought maybe Dad wasn’t good at it and didn’t want to take the time to become good at it.

Then we watched golf on television and after an hour, we decided it was definitely too boring to watch. But maybe it was more fun to play? We were trying to give it the benefit of the doubt.

Just before the second period ends, I send Julian a text. Just something simple.

Me

You’re the highlight of this entire game. I can’t wait till you get home.

My finger hovers over the send. Is that too corny? It’s definitely the truth. This game is rough and I’m certainly more invested when he’s on the ice. I hit send and drop my phone onto the couch.

The sound signaling the end of the period has the gameplay stopping. Chicago’s team is heading directly for the chute without lingering. I bet it’s hard for them. The stress and frustration.

“Turn the screen,” my father says.

I obediently do so and am looking at my family now.

“Is this what all games look like?” Ishika asks.

“No, but also yes. They won yesterday’s game.

Sometimes they can even win by a lot. Last month, there were two games in a row where Chicago had seven-point games.

That’s a lot for a single game. Julian says that ‘ once in a blue moon ’ they play as a team and when they do, they come together really well.

But then they sleep and they lose that cohesion the next morning. ”

“That’s incredibly frustrating,” Sona says.

I nod in agreement. “You should see how it affects the players. Julian says that so much of hockey is a mental game, so when defeat and sense of failure messes with them mentally, it only adds to their downward spiral.”

“Incredible,” Kiaan says. “What a strange game, though curiously fascinating to watch.”

I grin. He’s not wrong.

“When are you coming home to visit?” Navi asks.

“I don’t know. Why?”

“I think I can speak for everyone when I say we want to meet your partner.” He grins hugely.

I roll my eyes. “Okay. I’ll bring Julian home when you decide on a partner,” I counter.

Veer, the brother who hasn’t spoken yet and is usually very quiet, snorts and nods in agreement. Sona tries to hide her laughter behind a poorly executed cough.

Navi rolls his eyes. “I’m talking to someone now.”

“Your lack of enthusiasm really emphasizes how much you’re into her,” Ishika deadpans.

I glance at my parents. Both are amused as they listen. Dad once told me he loves when we all come together. Not just because he loves to have his family together, but also because siblings have a way of pulling out reluctant truths in a way parents do not.

Navi huffs. “She’s perfectly nice,” he states.

“That’s perfectly clinical,” Kiaan says.

“Why are we ganging up on me? Arush is the one who’s thousands of miles from home!” Navi argues.

“Arush isn’t going through women like they’re dirty socks,” Ishika says.

“Or guys,” Sona points out. While I know that we’re not looking directly at each other, I know she turned her eyes to my block on her screen and flashes me a wide smile. I return it.

Navi sags. “Look. Maybe I’m not ready to get married.

Maybe I’m just not into being someone’s husband.

I thought that maybe when I met the one , I’d feel differently and I’m trying to feel differently.

I keep telling myself that maybe I can just make it work, but then I think that I’m going to spend my life miserable if I do that, so I freak out and tell Dad I don’t like this one. ”

Dad bows his head. He all but said the other day that Navi didn’t want to be in a relationship.

“Navi,” Ishika says, her eyebrows knitting together in concern.

“Why didn’t you just say something?” Mom asks.

Navi shakes his head. “Do we have to talk about this now?”

“No,” I tell him, and he gives me a grateful smile.

“But for the record, if you want to just vent about how you’re feeling, I think any one of us would listen.

You were only fifteen and listening to me vent and carry on about the unfairness of my situation with Jash, and I really needed someone to just listen and agree with me. ”

“I did agree with you,” Navi says. “I still do. That’s kind of shit, Arush. I still think his parents were crappy to do that to you both.”

“Jash is happy, isn’t he?” Sona asks.

“He is. And so am I. Should it maybe have happened differently? Yes. I think someone somewhere in the Jash household was really a jerk. That jerk might actually be Jash.” I shrug. “It’s fine. In the end, we weren’t meant for each other.”

“Because he was just experimenting with you and didn’t know how to get out of it?” Mom asks. “So he had his parents arrange his marriage and they’ll happily take the blame for hurting you?”

I know I’m not the only one who looks at Mom with surprise.

“Do you know something?” Kiaan asks, eyes narrowed.

Mom doesn’t answer, but I can see her unimpressed expression. My heart races at the idea and yet, I’ve had that thought myself. Jash and I loved to hang out. We loved to cuddle, and I believe we really did love each other. But he was a horny guy who wanted to touch and fuck and I… wasn’t.

We weren’t meant for each other. That’s not one of us not liking the window coverings. Sex isn’t something easily compromised on and the longer we were together, the more obvious it became that maybe loving each other just wasn’t enough.

“Are you still going to be friends with him now?” Sona asks.

I nod. “Yeah. It was six years ago and we’re both happy. I know it’s easier to say now that years have passed than it would have been then, but we’re much better friends than we were partners.”

Sona doesn’t like my answer. Actually, I’m not sure anyone likes my answer. Only Dad has the hint of a smile on his face.

“I’m glad things are going well for you,” Ishika says. “You’re happy now, and that’s what matters.”

“I am,” I agree. The smile on my face doesn’t need to be forced.

“Does that mean we get to meet Julian this summer?” Kiaan asks.

Promising something I haven’t talked about with Julian feels really heavy. I don’t want to commit him to anything without asking. We’re not at that point in our relationship, and honestly, I’m not sure I’d ever do that.

“Maybe,” I answer. “We haven’t talked about this summer more than in broad terms yet, so we’ll see what the plan is.”

“Does he have hockey this summer?” Sona asks.

I shake my head. “I think he has a few hockey related commitments, though I don’t really know what that means. Hockey camp doesn’t begin until the end of summer, early fall, though.”

“And you said his last game is coming up?” Kiaan asks.

I’m afraid to answer this question. “Yes. In eleven days.”

He nods and I get the distinct impression that he’s planning something. I press my lips together, but movement on the television catches my attention from the corner of my eye. “Game is starting again,” I say, and turn the laptop to face the television.

The third period goes much like the first two. It’s not pretty. There are like three people on the team who seem to be making a solid impact on attempts at goal, but otherwise, Chicago looks like a hot mess.

As I sink into the couch and watch from behind my splayed fingers over my face, I can’t help but wonder why they’d been so damn on during their recent games against Arizona and Anaheim to score seven goals each game to follow it up with a loss by shutout the very next game? Then they go on to win a game 5-2.

Sometimes they’re really decent. But sometimes, they’re a train wreck. Julian says that unless Arizona truly fucks up, Chicago will place eighth in the division. Last.

That has to sting.

The Chicago Breeze lose to the Minnesota Firebirds 4-0. I end the call with my family and get ready for bed, so I’m waiting by the door when Julian gets home. He doesn’t say anything as he pulls me into his arms and holds me tightly.

I fumble behind his back to make sure the door is locked before picking him up the way he did me several weeks ago. I’m rewarded with a puff of quiet laughter as I wrap his legs around my waist and carry him down the hall.

While I’d like to just get him into bed, I know he needs to get out of his suit. So I set him down and let him go about his routine. He does so in silence. When we finally climb into bed, I grip him tightly and hold him close until he falls asleep.

I imagine it’s tough playing eighty-something games and working your ass off to be the last team in the standings at the end of it. That has to be difficult. I wish I knew how to take that frustration away.

For now, all I can do is hold him and hope that’s enough for tonight.