“Nope, not when they’re this obvious.” I grin. “Did you know I wasn’t even supposed to go on the mission this summer? I appliedtoo late, and they didn’t have space. I couldn’t do the next round because of Noah’s wedding. They called me about four days in advance to let me know a spot had opened up.”
“Uh-huh,” she says, nodding. “Well, I’m glad you ended up going. Otherwise, we’d still be shouting at each other across the landing.”
“Right?” I smile. “Way more relaxing this way.”
Another chime, and we bring our focus back to the phone.
I voice the question. “Who scored the infamous ‘Hand of God’ goal in the 1986 World Cup?”
“This one’s all you,” Kat says, turning the phone toward me.
“Easy.” I grab the phone and type in ‘Maradona.’ “My dad was a hockey fan, but Diego Maradona was his idol.”
“Oh,” she says. “Your dad passed away, right?”
I nod. “When I was fourteen. Probably one of the worst years of my life. Not long after, Noah left for the US. It was hard to be happy for him.”
She frowns. “Wait. Noah’s only a couple of years older than you, right?”
“Yep. But my uncle—our dad’s brother, who was a high school hockey coach—took him under his wing and resolved to help him get into the NHL. Well, the plan worked.”
“And you stayed behind. That’s a little cruel.” She takes a sip of her drink, eyes trained on me.
“I guess. My aunt and uncle offered to take me in as well, but I was happy here. I was making waves at the Regents academy, and I had no desire to move to the US, where they don’t even appreciate football.”
She smiles. “Yeah, I get that. I’m glad you guys are still close, despite your rocky past. I saw you together at the wedding. Looking at you two, you wouldn’t think you’d spent such a huge portion of your childhood away from one another.”
“Yeah, I guess it just became our dynamic. We’ve been living in different parts of the world for years, so we had to adapt. We did a lot of video calls—still do—and that’s enough for us.”
“It’s the same for Grace and me. Even when we both lived in London, we weren’t able to see each other often, so it just became a habit.”
“All right, ladies and gents,” the MC announces. “Time for our third question.”
Seconds later, it pops up on our screen: InLove Actually, who plays the British Prime Minister?
Kat taps in “Hugh Grant” with no hesitation.
“That was disturbingly fast,” I joke.
“Love Actuallywas basically emotional Prozac in my house growing up. Nothing like sitting on the couch, stress-eating chocolate and ice cream while Hugh broke out his best dance moves on screen.”
I smile, picturing it in my head. “Wasn’t always easy, huh?”
Her eyes widen, as if she just gave something away without meaning to, and she plays with a crumb on the table. “You could say that. My dad left as soon as my mum told him she was pregnant, and then it was just the two of us. I told you this before, but she was quite unstable, and I had to pick up the slack. Well, she’s still a little flighty, I guess.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, taking her hand and caressing it with my thumb.
“Thanks.” Her deep brown eyes settle on me, and suddenly, I wish I could take all of her pain and worry and bear it myself. She doesn’t deserve to carry this weight. “It kind of got better, and, well, she’s having that spot removed, so that’s a small victory.”
“Yes, she told me. I was pretty relieved.”
“Oh yeah, she told me too,” she says, eyes teasing. “She was so excited that you texted her. You have no idea.”
“Do I sense a hint of jealousy?” I raise an eyebrow.
She rolls her eyes playfully. “Definitely not. And anyway, how can I be jealous of a text? We don’t even have each other’s number.”
“Is that your way of asking for my number? Because I’ll totally give it to you,” I reply in a low voice. I lean over to kiss her, but another ding pierces through the pub, and the MC announces the next question: