Behind the Net: a grumpy sunshine hockey romance

“I CAN’T BELIEVE the cupcakes worked,” Hazel says as we walk along the mountain path.

It’s been two weeks since I confronted Jamie, but between me taking care of Daisy and Hazel’s physio job and yoga classes, we’ve hardly seen each other. Today is our first chance to catch up.

Daisy sniffs something in the bushes before bounding ahead. We spent the morning doing recall training until Hazel and I felt confident letting her off the leash on a leash-optional trail in North Vancouver. As we ascended the trail into the mountains, the temperature dropped, but the sun is out, the forest is serene and peaceful, we have warm jackets on, and Daisy’s having the time of her life.

I think back to when I confronted Jamie. He looked like he was going to throw me out, or worse, call the team and ruin my chances for a future job.

But he didn’t. When I said I deserve to be treated with respect, he almost looked… remorseful.

“I don’t think it was the cupcakes,” I muse.

I haven’t seen him since he left for practice that day because he’s been busy with training, and since the season started a few days ago, he’s been traveling. His apartment is like something out of a design magazine, and sometimes, as I gaze out the windows at the mountains, it feels like I’m staying in a vacation home, totally separate from my real life. The apartment is always filled with light, so this week, I bought a few plants to make it feel more personal.

The apartment is gorgeous, and yet it’s kind of lonely, just me and Daisy. I’ve never lived alone. In university, I always had at least four roommates, and then on Zach’s tours, there were always people around. There was always someone to chat and laugh with.

I need to make more friends in Vancouver. All my friends are in the music industry.

My stomach sinks. I need to make new friends because I’m done with music.

Something I said to Jamie has replayed in my head constantly since that conversation with him. I’ll do whatever it takes.

I cringe. “I accidentally insinuated I would sleep with him to keep my job.” Hazel squawks with laughter, and I groan. “I clarified right away. But still. Awkward.”

“Has he figured out you went to the same high school yet?” Hazel’s one year older than me, one year younger than him.

“Definitely not. Have you worked with him yet?”

“Nope.” She slides a glance to me. “Are you going to bring it up?”

“Hell, no. How awkward would that be? He’ll want to know why I didn’t say anything the first time I met him.”

“Well, it won’t matter soon enough. Emma set a mat-leave date, so they’re putting the paperwork together for the internal job posting.”

Right, the marketing job. My stomach twinges with nerves and I nod eagerly. It feels a bit forced. “Great.”

“They’ll probably start interviewing in December or the new year.”

“That’s good. That gives me enough time with the team to prove myself.”

“Yep.” Hazel raises her eyebrow. “And then we can both work stable, responsible jobs for the rest of our lives, forever and ever.” Her voice takes on an airy, sarcastic tone.

I give her a flat look. Hazel’s dream is to open her own yoga and physio studio, a place where people of all body types and sizes feel comfortable, but our parents would choke if they heard that.

Risky, they’d say.

I stare at my shoes as we walk. “I mean, they’re not wrong. Having a stable job does make life easier.”

She breathes out something that sounds like fuck. “Yeah, but they’re, like, obsessed with it.”

“They want the best for us.”

Our parents didn’t grow up poor, but they were both from low-income families. Our dad was a mechanic, and our mom was a ballet dancer until she didn’t make it into a ballet company. Then she started her own dance studio. She taught ballet until they retired to a small town in the interior of British Columbia a few years ago. Although she was an amazing teacher, I think it served as a reminder of what she hadn’t accomplished. Growing up, when I’d make comments about pursuing music, she’d use herself as an example of why I shouldn’t.

Failure is really hard, she always says. Set yourself up for success instead.

They want us to live comfortable, happy lives, and to my dad, that means having a job with a biweekly paycheck and benefits. To my mom, that means something that won’t be too disappointing if it doesn’t go well. Like Hazel’s physio job. Like this marketing gig.

Not anything in the music industry. That’s why I studied marketing in university with a music minor. I wanted to major in music, but they talked me out of it.

They were right, it turned out. The music industry is brutal. I remember playing a song I wrote for Zach, and how he and his manager laughed after. Zach said it was cute.

My stomach clenches with shame. I think about that moment and my heart hurts. I’m not tough enough to withstand that.

Hazel turns to me. “Does Dad keep asking you about Streicher?”

On top of our parents wanting us to have solid jobs, our dad loves hockey, and he’s a lifelong Vancouver Storm fan. He’s thrilled that we both now work for the team. When he found out a guy from our high school was traded to Vancouver, he lost his mind with excitement.

I groan. “Yes.”

We laugh, and Daisy sprints ahead to greet a yellow Lab coming down the path.

“She’s such a good dog,” Hazel says, linking her arm through mine.

I smile at Daisy. “Yeah, she is. I love that part of my job.”

We walk, watching the dogs, saying hello to the owners as we pass them, and enjoying the time in the forest. A river flows through the trees, rushing over the rocks. There are clearings along the path with shoreline, and Daisy darts in and out of the water before returning to the path.

“You haven’t touched your guitar since you got home.”

My throat constricts, and I swallow with difficulty. “I’ve been busy.”

That’s a lie, and she knows it. My entire life, songs would float into my head. Zach and I would hang out, and I’d goof around on the guitar, and when I hit a certain combo of chords, the song would show up in my head. It was like opening a door. Like, oh, there you are.

Since Zach dumped me, nothing. Dead silence.

Our boots crunch along the path and I picture my guitar sitting alone in Hazel’s apartment, waiting for me. A weird guilt moves through me, like I’m neglecting it. I bought that guitar back in high school. It’s not the nicest or most expensive guitar—far from it—but I love it, nonetheless.

And now I’m avoiding it.

Every time I think about playing my guitar, I think about Zach arranging to have me sent to the airport. I think about all the times I played guitar while Zach and I worked on lyrics. I think about him laughing at the song I wrote.

Hazel’s mouth twists to the side, a pinch forming between her eyebrows. “Does this have anything to do with Herpes?”

I choke out a laugh. That’s what she calls Zach. “We can’t call him that.”

“I tell everyone I know that he has it.”

My chest shakes with laughter. “Herpes is forever.”

She narrows her eyes and taps her lip. “Right, and Zach is long gone. Let’s call him Chlamydia instead.” Her expression sobers. “So, does it have anything to do with him?”

I lean down to give Daisy a scratch as she trots beside me. “Probably.”

Hazel’s quiet, and there are probably a hundred things she wants to say. She never liked Zach, even back in high school.

“I wish you knew you were the fucking best.” She says it quietly. A muscle in her jaw ticks. “I wish you knew how talented you are. You’d be unstoppable.”

When she uses that quiet, serious voice, it makes me feel like crying, and I don’t know why. We walk in silence with only the sound of the river rushing beside the path.

“Well,” she shrugs, “you’ll just have to meditate him out of your head.”

“Herpes,” I say in a commercial voice, like I’m selling spa packages. “Meditate it away!”

“Chlamydia,” she corrects, and we laugh. “Seriously. Meditate that guy the fuck out of your mind.”

Her brash, no-bullshit approach to wellness has me smiling.

She chuckles. “And if meditation doesn’t work, you need to get laid.”

My face heats.

“The best way to get over someone is to get laid. Especially—” she puts extra emphasis on the word, turning to me and staring hard “—when you’ve only slept with one guy in your entire life.”

I squirm, tucking my hands in my jacket pockets. Yep. It’s true. I lost my virginity to Zach and haven’t hooked up with anyone else.

Another flicker of shame burns in my stomach. That was probably part of the reason he wanted to move on, because I can’t—

I can’t, uh, get there. I can’t have an orgasm with a guy. I admitted once to Hazel that every time Zach and I slept together, I faked it. I did it once, and he was so happy and relieved. I think he thought it was his fault that I couldn’t get there. And then I just kept faking it. I kept telling myself, this will be the last time, because it’s lying. But in the end, I wasn’t hurting anyone, so I kept doing it. If I couldn’t come, it stressed him out, which stressed me out. It was just easier to fake it.

The idea of sleeping with someone new is daunting. I’ve never gone on a formal date, and I’ve never been on a dating app. Zach and I had been friends since grade eight band class and we got closer and closer. Until one day near the end of grade ten, he held my hand and I let him. Then he started calling me his girlfriend. Everyone around us acted like it was no surprise, so I didn’t make a big deal of it.

Over the years, I just got swept away in his current, I guess. I frown, not sure how I feel about that. I can’t imagine being as familiar with someone else as I was with Zach.

Especially with my little issue. I’ll have to fake it all over again for someone new.

Hazel gives me a flat look, like my worries are written all over my face. “What?”

“I can’t—” I wave my hand around in the air. “You know.”

She snorts and copies my gesture, overexaggerated. I let out a nervous laugh.

“Orgasm?” she prompts.

I make a strangled noise. “Yes. It’s just my body. And now I have to tell a whole new person about it?”

She sighs, her head falling back. “It’s not your body. Your coochie knew Zach was a colossal loser.”

“Stop talking about my coochie.”

“Your coochie wants action!” she shouts at the forest, and I sputter with laughter, trying to cover her mouth. “Give your coochie what she wants!”

A couple passes us and we smile at them. My face is bright red. When they’re gone, we dissolve into giggles again.

Hazel throws a stick for Daisy, and Daisy takes off after it. For the rest of the walk, Hazel tells me about her snooty coworkers at the yoga studio, and by the time we return to her car, my face hurts from laughing. Daisy’s coated in a layer of mud from running through puddles, but she has that exhausted, happy dog look on her little face.

“Come on,” I say to her, gesturing to the towel-covered back seat. “Jump up.”

She stares at me before she launches into a full-body shake, tossing mud and dirty puddle water all over me. I throw my hands up, but it’s too late.

On the other side of the car, Hazel’s laughing her ass off. She takes a photo of me and smiles at the result.

I give her a strained smile. “The mud is in my hair, isn’t it?”

“Yep.” She grins.

An hour later, Daisy’s clean and curled up on the couch in the living room while I’m in the shower, washing the dirt out of my hair. Jamie won’t be home until later this afternoon, so I’m singing a Coldplay song. I sing it the way I would have recorded it, soft in some parts and raw in others.

The bathroom acoustics are amazing, and there’s something about the hot water running down my skin and the smell of my conditioner that makes me feel like this is my own little world, all by myself, where no one can touch me.

I finish the song, turn off the water, and towel-dry my hair before I wrap it around me and step out of the bathroom to check on Daisy.

Jamie Streicher is standing in his living room, staring at me in my towel.