Page 90 of Making the Save
This time I didn’t even flinch at the word.
“Right now I’m not thinking about anything,” I said, bringing our little tray of food over to the couch. She grabbed a piece of cheese and an apple slice, like I knew she would. I ate a piece of ham and a cracker.
“You know, you really don’t have to come with me to the Awards,” she said.
I looked up, sharp and surprised. “You don’t want me to go?”
“No. Of course I want you to come. But you’re going to hate every moment of it. I just wanted to let you off the hook if that’s what you wanted.”
“What about all your fake-ex’s. You let them off the hook?”
“They didn’t go to award shows with me,” she said, shaking her head. “I never wanted them to be part of it. The awards, win them or lose them, were about me. My work. Not about my personal life. Certainly not a fake personal life. This one though, is just a personality contest more than anything.”
“Do you want me there?” I asked. “Really. You won’t hurt my feelings.”
“Actually, I would love it if you were there.” She shot me a smile, a real smile, and I knew she was telling the truth. “Besides, Liam is presenting. So you’ll be able to take a picture with him on the red carpet.”
“Joy,” I deadpanned.
It would be easy to agree not to go. Easy for her to put out a statement, that her notoriously grumpy hockey player husband wouldn’t be walking the red carpet with her. Frankly, it was unlikely that anyone expected me to be there.
However, in that moment, when she said she’d always done it on her own before, I knew I had to go.
One of the things I’d learned about Syd was that she’d always doneeverythingon her own. She’d essentially raised herself,built her career by herself, enjoyed her success by herself, alone inside this reputation that had been forced upon her.
“It’s settled. I’m your husband. I’m going.”
“Okay. That’s good,” she sounded sincere and a knot of worry that had tied itself to my gut, went loose. “That’s great. I’ll call Beatrice. She’ll arrange for a stylist.”
“I have a suit.”
She wrinkled her fairy nose and shook her head. “Sorry. But there are going to be so many eyes on us and I’m only trying to save you from massive social media overreaction. If we land a solidminuteslay, we’ve done our work.”
“What the fuck is a minute slay?”
“Not minute, as in time.Minute, as in French. Meaning tiny.”
“Okay what the fuck is a tiny slay?”
She threw her hands up in exasperation. “You really don’t ever go on social media?”
“No.”
She huffed. “It’s like a scale. Slay, minute slay, slay the house boots down.”
“You’re not speaking English right now. Is this all French?”
“Look Grandpa, all I’m saying is that we have a tiny little low bar, we just have to cross it and we’ll be good. After all, you’re a hockey player.”
“Hockey players can’t slay?”
She giggled. “Hockey players, who are not Liam Locke, I imagine would struggle.”
She said it casually, but somehow it was a slap shot right to my chest. With no pads to protect me. I didn’t need a reminder that my brother would fit into her life better than me. That Syd and me outside of this cabin didn’t make any sense.
“Oohh,” She looked up from her phone. “Should we call him and get his advice?”
“No.”