The Tales of a Professional Hockey Player

Chapter 5: Hi

~Ben~

Today, one year ago, we welcomed Ophelia. Our beautiful baby girl weighted seven pounds and three ounces and measured nineteen inches. Today, I have no idea how much she weighs or how tall she is. Is she big for her age or is she too small? Maybe she's perfect. I think I'll go with that option. I'll feel less guilty if she's perfect.

I have barely slept for the second night in a row, meaning that dark circles are starting to appear under my eyes. I have a total of four hours of sleep in the last two nights combined, but I don't feel tired at all. My brain is too busy coming up with all the possible scenarios to feel my lack of sleep. I have made them all up from seeing Eleanor and Matthew together to Eleanor ignoring me all afternoon. I have imagined everything she could say, how she would look, what emotion I'll be sensing from her. I have tossed and turned all night trying to picture the clothes she'll be wearing or how her hair will be.

At six, I gave up. I got out of bed, and, after a quick trip to the bathroom, I grabbed her book. Not the one she wrote. I still haven't gathered enough courage to open it yet. I didn't even check her picture on the back cover. I want to see what happens today before I start reading it. If everything goes well, maybe I won't have to open it at all. Maybe this was part of the problem, I think. Not reading her stuff. I promise myself to read it someday, when I'm ready. For now, I'm still not done with Pride and Prejudice. The real adult version, of course, not the one I bought yesterday, but the copy I stole before leaving for Germany. I had started it in the fall but had not had the time nor the will to finish it. I read a few chapters during the long bus rides or the lonely night in my apartment, but I stopped after Christmas. It felt too close to her, like I was stealing something that belonged to her. Not the book as an object, but the story it tells. This story somehow belonged to her, and I couldn't bear to take it away. Today, I feel differently about this story. Maybe I'm desperate to find a way to get closer to her, as if understanding her love for these characters would make me understand her love for me.

I only put the book down when I felt my phone buzz in my pocket. The fear of Eleanor uninviting me to the party struck until I saw Alexander's name on the screen. He rented a second room last night after we picked up Olive from the airport. Eleanor had invited her to the party, but she couldn't fly in at the same time as us because she had to work.

"And I didn't want you to feel bad if I went and you didn't," she said to me once she was done explaining. Olive and Alexander have done everything they can to not take sides in El and I's breakup. Both of us are important to them and they don't want to lose either of us by choosing a side. While all of this is true, I feel like it was also for their relationship that they stayed neutral. I don't want to assume anything, but I feel like Alex would have picked me, and Olive would have chosen Eleanor, creating tensions between them. I'm glad everything is fine. I could not have carried the weight of another broken relationship because of me.

We all grabbed breakfast together, during which we brought Olive up to date regarding my meeting with the Islanders. She assured she was happy for me, but the look she gave Alexander when she thought I wasn't looking betrayed her true feelings. She's worried what me being here will do to Eleanor.

When we came back to the room, Olive then helped me wrap my present in a pink bag with a pale blue bow on the side. "You did good," she said when she saw what I had bought. It felt sincere, and I know that, even if I didn't say what the gift meant to me, Olive knows. She's always been good at reading people, maybe because she listens very well. She listened to me talk about the night I left New York for hours when I first got to their place in May, endured the countless times I told her how much I miss her and regret what I did, and she agreed with me when I kept looking at old pictures of us stating Eleanor's many qualities. Olive must be a great hairdresser. Many people use their appointment as a therapy session, right? Olive would have been a great psychologist.

All of this brings us here, in the elevator that will stop at the fourth floor, leaving us at Eleanor's doorstep. I'm wearing the white button-up Olive chose and a pair of dark jeans that she also picked out. "Eleanor always liked those jeans, right?" she asked. I nodded and she winked at me. Every time I wore them, El told me they gave me a nice ass, a comment I never really understood. But, hey, I'll take every chance I have to make a good impression. I'm holding the pink gift bag, carefully enough to not wrinkle the white tissue paper. My right foot repeatedly taps on the floor, making my leg shake nervously. In a few minutes, I'll see them, and the thought mixed with this closed space and Olive's perfume make me want to throw up. I close my eyes when I hear the "ding" that announces our arrival. We all get out and start walking towards the apartment number 437. My nausea gets stronger with each step I take.

"I can't do this," I say as we stop in front of the door. I hand Olive the gift bag. "Give it to her and tell me what she said. I don't think I'll be able to," I add, shaking my head. Olive grabs my arm and moves to stand in front of me.

"I'm not going to give it to her. It's your gift and it's your daughter. You have to be present because, soon, she'll be old enough to ask where her daddy is, and I don't want Eleanor to tell her he left. You understand me?" I nod. She turns towards her boyfriend, her hand still on my arm as if she was afraid I'd make a run for it. "Alex, knock."

He obeys, and, seconds later, William, Eleanor's brother, opens the door. I have to admit I'm surprised to see him here. He usually doesn't have time to visit, especially so far away, due to his medical training at the Victoria General Hospital back in BC.

"Come on in," he says, stepping back to let us in. "I'm happy you could all make it," he adds, looking at me with a severe look. "Everyone's on the balcony, but feel free to grab a drink before going outside." Everyone? Who is everyone? Are her parents here? Are mine? Probably not, my mother would have told me Eleanor invited her to New York for her granddaughter's birthday.

I force myself to look around even if I don't want to imagine Eleanor living here by herself. It's a pretty apartment, especially for New York where you usually have to spend tons of money to rent a place with two-bedrooms. It's smaller than Matthew's place, but, in my opinion, it feels cozier and less modern, like people are actually living here. There are no toys laying around showing Eleanor's unfading passion for cleaning. Every wall I can see is a pale shade of grey that looks a lot like the one we had back in Windsor. There's a small table with only two chairs in the kitchen, but what strikes me the most is the couch in the living room. It's our couch. The one we got on Craig's List when we first moved. The one with the coffee stain in the left cushion and the popcorn in the cracks. The same fluffy blanket Eleanor kept wrapping herself in is hanging over the stain as if it was meant to be there and not hiding the fact that, one morning, not caring about the mug in her hands, I jumped on the couch to kiss her. I had been gone for about four days and I just wanted to be close to her. Turned out she had just sat down, and her mug was almost full. She jumped too, making some coffee spill out onto the cushion. We didn't care at the time, we even ended up taking things to the bedroom. When we came to the conclusion, later that day, that the stain was here to stay, we bought that blanket to cover it up. It quickly became her favorite one meaning that it was most often than not wrapped around her and not covering the stain. I wonder if she remembers that day. I also wonder if she put in the book. Probably not. I don't know why, but the thought saddens me. It was just a moment that disappeared as quickly as it happened. It was a second of our relationship. So much more has happened. Stuff that was definitely more important than the story behind that blanket.

Alex hands me a beer, bringing me back to the present. We all walk towards the balcony door, Olive, Alex, Will and me. It's then that I see her. She's talking with a woman I don't know and her father. She cut her hair. It now touches her shoulders. She styled it in their natural soft curls, a pin holding back her long fringe. I have never seen the yellow dress she's wearing, but it's beautiful. She's beautiful. She's always been beautiful, but there's something in her today that makes her stunning. Maybe it's the fact that I haven't seen her in six months or maybe I had forgotten how beautiful she actually is when we were caught up in our problems.

"Oli," she says, her voice filled with excitement. She rushes to give Olive a hug. Alexander is next. She stops moving and the smile on her face fades when she sees me.

"You came."

"Hi."