Page 79 of Poetry On Ice
Dinner continues without any further incident. It’s a loud, decadent affair that consists of people talking over each other and then pivoting to listen to each other in a way I’m not used to. The McGuires move around each other with well-practiced ease. They seem to have an innate ability to know when what someone’s saying matters, and they hold space for it. The give it their full attention, and a second later, ridiculousness resumes seamlessly.
Robbie is right. His family does know him. It’s not hard to work out why. It’s because he’s the same at home as he is when he’s with me, when he’s on the ice with our teammates, when he’s talking to fans and people he doesn’t know. He’s the same everywhere. All the time. There’s no masking. There’s only one authentic version of him.
Knowing that makes it hard not to touch him because I feel the same way about him here with his family as I do when we’re alone. The longer the meal goes on, the harder it becomes. He’s sitting beside me, so close I could kiss him if I leaned over a little. For the first time in my life, I want to. I want to put my arm around a man’s shoulders in front of his family. I want to let my handwander up the back of his neck and tug the tiny hairs that grow there, and when he smiles, I want to kiss the smile lines near his eyes because he belongs to me and I belong to him.
I want it so much that my right hand unconsciously floats toward him unless I use every ounce of my concentration to stop it.
After dinner, Robbie suggests we play a board game. Now, between you and me, I’d rather gouge my eyes out and put them out for the birds to eat than play board games, but something about sitting on the floor around the coffee table, mildly inebriated, and playing with Robbie McGuire doesn’t feel like the worst thing in the world. Especially not when he nods at Bodie as he and Beth set up the board and says, “Just wait till you see this, Ant. Bodie goes from teddy bear to grizzly in under two seconds when he loses at board games. It’s unreal. It’s like he becomes a totally different person.”
Maybe it’s the wine I had with dinner or the two helpings of dessert, but the thought of seeing Bodie lose his shit is enough to entice me.
We settle on Pictionary, which is a relief because it is, in my humble opinion, the lesser evil of all board games. When Robbie’s parents see how the teams have paired up, Robbie with me and Beth with Bodie, they give eachother a couple of overly obvious furtive glances, seemingly passing a message back and forth between each other, and then plead exhaustion and head to bed early.
Bodie is borderline delirious about the fact he’s been teamed up with Beth, and he’s making no attempt to hide it. He’s over-smiling and laughing too loudly. Best I can tell, he’s trying to get Beth on board to do a very, very cringey victory handshake every time they win a point. From the way he describes it, it’s one of those handshakes that resembles a full-bodied hug more than anything else.
Bizarrely, the more we play, the more it becomes clear that Beth doesn’t seem nearly as opposed to the idea as she should be.
Things quickly get out of hand. Three professional athletes are playing this game, so to say it’s competitive would be a gross understatement. Even though Bodie has morphed into a rabid, frothing-at-the-mouth creature I’ve never seen the likes of before, there’s a real chance Beth is more competitive than the rest of us put together.
The two of them together are off-the-charts. Alcohol flows freely and artistic talent diminishes steadily. Every time Beth and Bodie win a point, their victory celebration gets a little more elaborate. It no longer involves ahandshake at all, just the kind of hug that requires you to take a little runup and throw yourselves at each other.
Bodie looks increasingly overjoyed and bewildered, and he takes longer and longer to recover and put Beth back on her feet each time. The interesting thing is Beth seems to be in no hurry to get down either.
When a massive argument erupts between Robbie and Beth, and they resort to furiously Googling the rules of the game and yelling them at each other, I tap Bodie on the arm.
“Dude,” I whisper urgently, “I think you’re in with a chance. Shoot your shot.”
“What? Wait, really? No, I can’t do that. Can I?”
“Do it!”
“How?” His eyes are wide with terror. “Tell me. I need a plan.”
“I dunno, bud.” I shrug helplessly. “Girls aren’t my thing. I know jack about what they want.”
Oh, Jesus fucking Christ.
This is exactly why I don’t like board games.
Or spending time with very nice people.
Happiness goes to my head and makes me do stupid things.
Bodie’s head flicks from side to side, his gaze landing on Robbie, then me, and back on Robbie. It takes afew seconds longer than if he were sober, but he gets there eventually. His eyes and mouth form three perfect circles. “You and Robbie? Is that a thing? Is that why you’ve stopped punching each other? Are you serious right now?”
“I don’t know,” I hiss. “Are you going to be cool about it if we are?”
God. I’m so drunk.
“Course I’m going to be cool about it. Are you kidding me? I’mdedicatedto the enemies-to-lovers trope, bro. It’s like my favorite one.”
“Really? I thought you’d be more of a fan of he falls first.”
He dissolves into a dopey-ass laugh. “Yeah, you got me there. I like that one too…and best friend’s sister. Phew. I’m a big fan of that one.”
When Beth and Robbie stop yelling suddenly, Beth pulls Bodie aside and lays out a new game plan. From where I’m sitting, the plan looks about as serious as your average plan to overthrow the government. Bodie’s face is lined deeply in support, and his teeth are bared. He can’t draw for shit, but he’s ready to channel Picasso if that’s what it takes to get this girl. In his drunk state, he’s convinced that a victory at Pictionary is what’s needed to change the course of his life.
The weird thing is, I have a feeling he’s right. Or at least not completely wrong.