Page 8

ARUSH

The whistle blows and the screen cuts to the referee. “New York. Icing.”

“Icing,” I parrot and click the screen of my phone on to do a quick search.

“Icing is when a player shoots the puck over the red line and into the opposing team’s zone without scoring.

It’s seen as a delay of game, by sending the puck to the other side of the rink.

The offending team takes a faceoff in their zone. ”

“Wait,” Alok says. “I thought the point of the game was to get the puck to the other side so you can score. But they’re penalized for sending it to the other side?”

“That seems like a stupid rule,” Jash agrees.

“That’s what the internet says.” I shrug.

I’m sitting on the couch with my laptop, pointing at the television. My friends are on a video call and watching Julian’s game with me as we learn hockey together. It’s not as good as them being here, but it’s still kind of cool that we can do things like this together, even 8,000 miles apart.

However, every time I look up at the television, there’s something else going on that I don’t understand and it takes me away from watching the game so I can look it up. I still have no idea what’s going on, no matter how many terms I look up.

“Which one is he again?” Anil asks.

“Number sixty-four on the blue team. Julian White.”

I did an internet search for Julian White when I received the notification from MOS that he wanted to match with me.

There are thousands of people with that name, among them are rugby players, photographers, actors, authors, and tons of different athletes with the same name.

I didn’t come across the hockey player, though.

To be fair, he messaged as soon as I hit the button that I was open to a connection and that distracted me from searching. I hadn’t actually done a thorough search, nor did I even click on any links. I simply scrolled down the results to see what I could find.

I wonder if I’d have realized that maybe he made a mistake in choosing me had I followed through with looking him up. Would I have realized he was straight?

No. I wouldn’t have. The night I got here, and he showed me to the guest room, I looked him up for real. I found his profile on ShareIt and Spectrum and on some hockey sites, including the official site of the team he plays for and I wouldn’t have guessed at all.

He’s notoriously never with a date.

“You’ve been cagey,” Anil accuses. “How’s it going out there? Are you living the dream?”

He’s not wrong. I’ve avoided answering the question every time they’ve asked. “It’s good,” I tell them. “It’s freaking cold here. I don’t know why I didn’t expect that.”

“The picture you sent from the windows is really amazing,” Jash says. “That’s an impressive view and a really beautiful city.”

I nod, though they can’t see me since the camera is facing the TV.

“It is,” I agree. “He lives in a condo on a hill. Two sides of the living area are practically all windows, floor-to-ceiling. There’s a balcony, too, but it’s been too cold to go out there.

The wind! I’ve never felt anything like it. ”

“Isn’t Chicago called the Windy City?” Alok asks.

I grin as I glance at the game again. “Yeah.”

The puck goes back and forth. Someone is shoved into the wall and then the game moves on. I don’t see Julian on the ice at the moment. The whistle blows, but I don’t hear anything called verbally. Just some hand signals and the group head for one of the red circles on the side.

“I missed something,” Jash says.

“Same,” I say at the same time Alok and Anil do.

“That’s a faceoff,” I comment. “But I’m not sure what prompted it.”

“Why do sports have to have so many rules?” Anil complains.

Anil, Alok, and I have been friends since we were kids.

At one time, our fathers worked together in the same law firm before mine partnered with the one he’s at now and theirs stayed put.

We always wished they’d continued to work together since that meant we got to hang out at different company events.

While we hung out less when our fathers headed for different companies, we still hung out all the time. Then came Jash, whom I met at school. He began hanging out with us when we began dating. I’m glad that didn’t change when he got married.

I miss my friends. I’ve only been in the US for a few days, but it feels like it’s been months already. The time difference doesn’t help. It’s eight at night here and seven in the morning there. An eleven-hour time difference is a lot.

“How much longer in the game?” Anil asks.

I look up again and then search my phone for what it means. “Another eight minutes in this period. Then there’s a twenty-minute break and the last period is twenty minutes.”

“So he’ll be home in an hour?” Jash asks. “Does that mean we get to meet him?”

My stomach flips. “No,” I say, shaking my head. It’d be far too obvious that things weren’t going exactly as I thought they would if they met him. “Some other time.”

“Why are you hiding the hockey player?” Alok asks.

“I just met him. You can wait a while.”

“But seriously, things are going good?” Jash asks, repeating Anil’s question.

“Yes.” It’s not a complete lie. Though it’s not the total truth either.

Things are… unsure. It was obvious he was not happy the night I got here, but the next morning, he seemed less so. Less bothered. He smiled a few times, and just like in the airport when I caught those glimpses, it made my stomach flutter.

He stayed long enough to help me cook something to eat. It was pretty good, too. When he got home, I felt like he was more comfortable with the idea of me being here.

I had a lot of questions, but I didn’t dare bring them up. We were spending time together. Not necessarily talking about anything important, but still being together. Even though questions raged inside me, I didn’t want to break the tentative comfort we were building between us.

The same goes for this morning. I woke up determined to ask some questions, but Julian surprised me with a spread of breakfast foods I’d have had back home. Parathas, puri-sabji, and even some wonderful masala chai. I was so taken by surprise by the sight that all my questions drifted away.

By the time breakfast was over, I was left with a ball of nerves in my stomach because that was really thoughtful. It means he thought about me and cared enough about what I might like to eat to make sure I had it.

That means something, right?

The day passed before I found the determination to have a conversation with him. We spent the day much like we had yesterday after he came home from practice. Before he left, he pulled up the game on the television for me to watch, though he promised he wouldn’t be upset if I didn’t want to.

I want to. I want to see what he does. It’s his job, and it’s important to him. When I sat down to watch it as the game started, I thought I’d surprise him by knowing what happened in the game, so we could talk about it when he got home.

Thirty seconds in, I called my friends on video. I thought four sets of eyes on the game would be better than one, and together, we could decode ice hockey. Now we’re halfway through the game and I don’t feel any smarter on the subject.

Maybe tonight isn’t the night that we’re going to discuss hockey. Which is disappointing. I really want him to know that I’m trying to learn it because it’s a big part of his life. I was hoping he’d be excited that I knew some things and he’d give me a big smile again.

I love his smile. It’s probably the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

“Why does that fight get a penalty, but not the three before it?” Jash asks, pulling me from my thoughts.

Thankfully, the sports people narrating the game give us a replay and even after watching it twice on replay, I can’t answer that question. I don’t see anything special about this fight over the others. I shake my head. “No idea.”

The screen cuts to someone in the audience wearing a referee striped shirt and holding a sign that says dunce.

“That means that the penalty was wrong?” Alok asks.

“That guy in the audience thinks so,” Jash says.

“Kind of looked like everyone in the audience thought so,” I point out.

“I’m still confused about why one fight gets a penalty over another,” Alok says. “Who gets to make those decisions?”

“The refs,” Jash and I say together.

“That seems unfair though, right? Or am I missing something?” Alok asks.

“Wait, hold on,” I say as I watch the replay for a third time on the screen. “How did the ref decide who was at fault for that fight? Did they say?”

A chorus of ‘ nos ’ answer me. I laugh. This is the epitome of the blind leading the blind. We’re trying to teach ourselves hockey and it’s not going well.

I’m thankful that I don’t miss Julian’s goal. I’ll never be able to explain the kind of excitement that filled me. It felt as though I’d made the goal. That was the level of excitement that had me on my feet cheering.

I’ve always been happy for my friends’ or siblings’ big moments. I’ve even felt happy and prideful for them. This feels different. It feels… more. I’m not sure how or why, but it truly feels like it was my success as I cheer.

I can’t stop grinning when the announcers loudly say Julian’s name. The audience is on their feet screaming. They replay the shot three times. Julian celebrates briefly with his teammates before they return to the game, showing far less enthusiasm than I think should be taking place right now.

The game ends in a tie but goes into overtime, which turns out to be more confusing. Why are there fewer players on the ice? This feels more intense than the entire sixty minutes of the previous game time and I’m on the edge of my seat.

I’m once again on my feet with the audience when New York makes a goal. My booing is as loud as the television. This time, my friends are right along with me. We may not know exactly what’s going on every minute, but we can recognize the wrong team scoring.

It doesn’t end the game. Overtime still has three minutes left, which gives Chicago a chance to regain control or something. I do better just watching what’s going on than listening to the commentators. Their words are unfamiliar and end up confusing me.

My entire body is tense as we watch the last three minutes slowly tick by. It’s fast and intense. The buzzer sounds at the end of the game and I flinch. Chicago lost 4-3.

“Uh-oh,” Jash says. “Is he going to be upset when he gets home?”

I chew the inside of my lip. This is the first game I’ve been here for. I’m not sure how he’s going to feel. I bet not good.

“Probably,” Anil says. “I’d be upset.”

“But at least he scored. Did you see all the different players on his team? Not many of them managed to score,” Alok points out.

“Yes. I think you should focus on that when he gets home,” Jash says. “Accentuate the positive or whatever.”

I snort. “Thanks.”

The sports people keep replaying moments of the game, so I turn it off.

My brain hurts with all the new hockey words floating around in it.

I think I’ve got them all jumbled and confused at this point.

Definitely underestimated how confusing it could be.

I had some lofty goals to impress Julian, but that’s certainly not going to happen tonight.

I wonder if he’ll be hungry when he gets home. I glance toward the kitchen but that feels far too intimidating to attempt as a cheer up.

Is he going to want to be cheered up? Some people don’t want others around at all when they’re upset or had a bad day.

They like to wind down on their own. Others want to commiserate.

Alok likes to rant and vent and carry on until it’s out of his system.

He doesn’t need anyone to respond. Just a body to listen.

Contrarily, Jash wants to be distracted entirely. He doesn’t want to think about what he’s upset over at all. No reminders. He wants the complete opposite of a reminder and to have his mind taken off the thing entirely.

I don’t know Julian well enough to even guess what he’s going to want.

“I’m going to go,” I tell them.

“Give him a big hug and kiss for me,” Jash says. “He’s going to need it.”

“Right. Thanks,” I deadpan. I turn the computer to face me again. “I’ll text you tomorrow. My tomorrow. Enjoy living the day I won’t begin for another few hours.”

Anil laughs as he backs out of the call. I hit the red button before anyone else can say anything. In the silence, I pace around the open space for a while, trying to determine what Julian would appreciate the most.

Eventually, I end up hovering just inside the entry to wait for him to come home. I’ll just have to guess and hope it’s enough.