The Christmas Olympics

Broomball

"I'm so happy you two are participating in the Christmas Olympics," my mom said the first morning of the competition. Miles and I sat at the kitchen counter sipping our coffee while my mom bustled around the kitchen, making breakfast.

"It'll be fun to have you around this year," Miles added.

I hummed into my coffee.

"I'm still surprised you wanted to do it," Miles commented.

"Why not?" I asked, a little insulted. "I'm athletic. I like competition."

"It's just that you complained so much about doing the 5K."

I rolled my eyes. "That was running. Plus, I just wasn't ready to run so early in the morning."

"And it has nothing to do with Arden?"

"No!" I snapped. "It doesn't. But if she's competing then I'll happily wipe the floor with her."

"You know she's competing."

"Then I'll make sure I kick her ass."

Mom and Miles exchanged a look.

"What?" I demanded. Then I rounded on Miles. "What did you tell Mom? What did he say to you?"

"We're both just wondering if this feud from high school is a bit . . ." Miles paused, searching for the right words.

"No, it's not." I didn't elaborate further; they wouldn't get it—no one really did. In high school, everyone had adored Arden: they thought she was so pretty, so athletic, so intelligent, so nice, so everything. I was the only one that saw Arden's true colors. I felt like the only person in this whole town who knew that Arden wasn't as great as everyone—herself included—believed her to be. I'd learned long ago that trying to convince people otherwise was a losing battle.

My mom must have sensed my distress and quickly changed the subject. "How's the job hunt going?"

That was the wrong subject change; there were three unsafe topics right now: my job, my ex, and Arden Parker. My family managed to bring up all three on a daily basis, although we were on a new record for two of three being mentioned before 9am.

"I've applied to hospitals in Maryland, Massachusetts, Rhode Island, Connecticut, and New Hampshire." I must have sent out hundreds of applications. "I haven't heard anything back yet."

"Well, give it time. You have a very impressive resume. You'll find something soon."

"Let's hope so, the air mattress is killing me."

"Sorry again, Sweetie. We really didn't anticipate you moving back home."

I shrugged. "Me either."

"We're really sorry about how things ended with Sarah."

Three for three. Wonderful.

"It's fine. I'm sure she just needed a break. After the holidays she'll realize she made a mistake and I'll move back to our apartment and everything will be fine." I forced myself to take a big gulp of coffee to keep myself from saying anymore. Miles and Mom exchanged another look. I couldn't take anymore of these silent exchanges. When had they grown so close?

"Should we head out soon?" I asked Miles.

"Not until you eat," our mother insisted.

* * *

Miles drove us downtown for the first event. We'd been given a schedule of the events for the upcoming weeks at the opening ceremonies once we'd signed up. Today we were playing Broomball, which involved tennis shoes, brooms, and a bright red ball. Broomball was, for all intents and purposes, hockey, without all the gear or rules. We were supposed to put the ball in the opposing team's goal by whatever means necessary, no need to worry about rules like off-sides or icing.