Push (Colorado Storm Hockey #3)

Chapter 7

7

ADALINE

My teta’s house is in the classic Cory-Merrill neighborhood, on the east side of Wash Park. She and my jedo moved in decades ago, long before the home prices became out of reach for most Denver folks, and never left. She raised four boys here, built a beautiful garden in the back, and cooked countless Sunday dinners for her growing family filled with grandchildren and great-grandchildren.

For me, it’s always been my home base. The place I keep coming back to, the place that grounds me. And Teta is the person in my life who does all of those things too. I haven’t been here since we got back from Las Vegas and I’ve been avoiding it because I’m afraid she’ll see right through me about what happened there.

It’s been a few days since my unexpected encounter with Nik at my workshop, and I can’t shake the memory of the time I spent with him. Or the feel of his skin beneath my fingertips. I hope it’s not too obvious to my very nosy grandmother.

The house key I’ve had since middle school might need to be replaced soon, as it gets harder every time I visit to unlock her front door. “Teta, it’s me,” I say as I enter the foyer .

I’ve arrived a few hours early to help her cook before the family comes over for our usual Sunday meal together. And by help, I mean I take orders from her to stir the pot and set the table. She’s given up on me doing any of the actual cooking.

“I’m in here,” Teta Lena calls from the den. When I get to her, she’s rising to greet me with a hug. “I’ve missed you.”

I smile, feeling some of my tension melt away in my grandmother’s arms. She may be small, but she’s still mighty. “I’ve missed you too, Teta. Sorry, I haven’t been around since Las Vegas. Things have been... a little busy.”

“Too busy to go to church this morning?” she asks with a raised eyebrow.

“I’m behind on orders,” I explain.

Teta Lena ushers me to the couch she’s had for at least twenty years now, a floral print I could recall by memory. “Tell me all about your trip to Las Vegas. Did Kyla behave herself?”

I can’t help but laugh at Teta’s knowing expression she’s giving me. “You know Kyla. She always knows how to make sure all eyes are on her.”

Teta leans back in her recliner and lets out a small laugh. “I hope she took good care of you during your trip.”

“She did,” I say, knowing that by Kyla's standards, it was the best I could expect.

“Did you gals get up to no good?” she asks and winks at me.

“Maybe a little,” I reply, knowing that Teta would expect a little bit of mischief, but she surely doesn’t need to know just how much that’s true.

She leans forward, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. “Do tell, habibti. I can always count on you to tell me what really happened.”

I suppress the feeling of guilt that gnaws away at me when Nik comes immediately to mind. I wish I could share the story of my impromptu wedding in Vegas with her, but I’m not that foolish. That would turn our pleasant visit into a full-blown family drama that would take weeks for me to defuse. No, she wants to hear about our night out—drinks, dancing, maybe some harmless flirting with strangers we met. That’s as wild as she likes it. Although, she might get a kick out of our adventure at the Magic Mike show.

“Let’s start cooking and I’ll tell you,” I suggest.

Teta checks the time and gives a small nod. The blue and purple beads on her glasses chain catch the sunlight streaming through the window. “Yes, we’re making kibbeh today.”

An hour later, Teta’s got the kibbeh in the oven and the rice cooking on the stove. I’ve regaled my grandmother with Las Vegas stories and even talked about Magic Mike. Her cheeks pinked as I told her about how one performer danced just for Kyla during one of their numbers.

“Stir the loobyeh,” she instructs me. I lift the lid on the delicious garlicky green bean and tomato stew and give it a good stir, then set the spoon on a piece of aluminum foil Teta always keeps next to the stovetop.

“You know, Adaline, for someone who spends all day measuring, blending, mixing, and testing, I don’t know why you don’t cook more often. I think you’re playing dumb about it.”

“Why cook this on my own when you make it so perfectly?”

“I won’t be around forever, habibti. You need to learn how to do this for when I’m gone.”

She likes to remind me of this frequently, and it always makes me roll my eyes. “Don’t talk like that, Teta.”

“It’s true, my dear.”

“Is there someone special in your life?” And there it is. The inevitable conversation that always comes up when I visit. “You know, with your cousin’s wedding coming up, it would be so wonderful if you had a handsome date by your side. Then one day you could make him loobyeh and kibbeh.”

It’s a question I’ve answered many times. “I’m not seeing anyone right now. I’ve been focusing on my work at the shop and…” I trail off, knowing I can’t explain my current situation with Nik.

She fluffs the rice and shakes her head. “I know, habibti. But remember, there’s more to life than just work. I want to see you happy, settled with a good man who appreciates and supports you before I die.”

“We’ve got plenty of time before that,” I tell her. But I’m not so sure. Teta is in her eighties and getting slower by the day, it seems.

“I’d love to see you married,” she goes on.

I nod, swallowing the lump in my throat. If only Teta knew the truth—that I’m already married, but to a man I barely know, and that our union is likely to be short-lived.

Her face is etched in concern as she urges me, “Maybe you should go to the wedding with George. He’s going anyway, so why not go together? He’s such a good Lebanese man.”

Poor, poor George. It ain’t ever going to happen with George. Especially now that I’ve met Nik. We may not have a real marriage, but I now know what it is to have a spark with someone. With George, there is no spark. Absolutely none at all. And if I’m not feeling that, what’s the point? I have a successful business. I’ve got my own place and the only person I have to clean up after is myself. And I’ve got a drawer full of toys that keep me satisfied. I don’t need a George or any man. Nik, on the other hand. I definitely don’t need him, but I wouldn’t mind having him.

As if on cue, my phone buzzes with an incoming text message. I glance down, my heart skipping a beat when I see Nik’s name on the screen .

Nikolas Huxley: I spoke with my attorney. The annulment paperwork is in progress. I’ll keep you updated.

I stare at the message, a mix of relief and disappointment washing over me. It’s really happening—our brief marriage will soon be nothing more than a memory.

Teta Lena notices the change in my expression and raises an eyebrow.

“What’s that about?” she asks, ever the nosy grandmother.

I manage a weak smile, trying to push aside the conflicting thoughts swirling in my mind. “It’s nothing. Just some work stuff.”

Her gaze lingers on me for a moment longer before she nods, accepting my vague explanation. But Teta is perceptive, and I know she sees through my facade. She’s always been able to sense when something weighs heavy on my heart.

But that’s where we leave it because my loud and boisterous family streams through the door. And just like that, the cozy tranquility of Teta Lena’s house is shattered by the arrival of the extended family.

There’s Uncle Peter and Aunt Vicky, and their sons Peter Junior and Richard with their wives and their kids.

Then there’s Uncle Joe and Aunt Esther, with my cousins Daniel, Jack, and Joey. The boys all have girlfriends, but never bring them over, which I don’t blame them for.

Uncle Ray probably isn’t coming because his new wife, Regina, feels like we don’t like her. That’s true to an extent, but we’d never want her to know that. She just takes everything so seriously and has no sense of humor and the Khourys don’t play that way. But my cousins are here—Raafe, Rasheed, and Shad, with their wives and kids too.

My dad and my stepmom moved to Washington state years ago after they retired, but my brother Mark is in the crowd. He gives me a brief hug as he passes by with a six-pack of beer to put in the fridge .

The noise level is through the roof, between all the kids screaming and all my cousins and uncles talking over one another about sports and politics.

Kyla is one of the last to arrive. She has David in tow today and I shake my head. That poor man. I do not know if his family is nearly as loud as ours, but he’s gonna have ringing in his ears by the time he leaves. Kyla doesn’t even acknowledge my presence, instead making a beeline for her mom, Vicky. I’m guessing it’s for wedding talk. Vicky is playing a big role in the planning.

I watch as my cousins and their spouses chatter excitedly about upcoming events and family gossip. I’ve always envied them for fitting in so well. They make it seem so easy. Their only concern in this family is getting their voice heard over each other. It’s not that I don’t fit in, it’s just that it takes a little more effort. I’ve never cared about sports. I try to not get too heated about politics, and I’d rather hang out in Teta’s garden instead of in front of her TV. In that way, I’ve always felt a little on the outside, like the odd one out. And since I haven’t settled down with anyone yet, I feel like they’re always observing me, trying to figure me out.

Teta Lena is in her element, giving hugs, catching up with the family, and asking lots of questions. But throughout it all, she keeps glancing my way and stays close.

“Ada, habibti, can you help me set the table?” Her gentle voice pulling me along.

I nod, grateful for the task that gives me something tangible to focus on. Together, we lay out the plates and silverware, creating a space for each member of our sprawling family, and I take on the kids’ table for all my cousins’ kids. As we work side by side in comfortable silence, I think about how Teta Lena has been my anchor all my life. She practically raised me, yet I feel further from her than ever. I hate keeping secrets from her .

Once the table is set and everyone is gathered around, Teta Lena raises her glass, a look of pride shining in her eyes.

“To family,” she says, as always. The clinking of glasses echoes through the room, mingling with the joyful chatter of my relatives. As we begin feeding our faces much too fast, the room gets louder and louder with chatter. I’m okay with it, because no one seems to notice the inner turmoil I’m feeling about Nik.

No one pays much attention to me until Kyla’s mom shouts across the table, “Ada, are you bringing a date to the wedding? We need to finalize the list.”

Everyone stops talking and looks over at me, chewing loudly. There is nothing these people do quietly.

Before I can answer, Kyla speaks for me. “Mom, I already told you she’s not going to bring someone. George will already be there.”

The frustration I’m feeling is about to boil over, like over-brewed coffee in a rakweh. Why is it always assumed that George is my go-to date? Can’t they see how little I care for him? “I’m not going with George,” I snap, my voice thick with exasperation. “I have a date already. His name is Nikolas.”

The moment it comes out, I wish I could pull it back in.

The room falls into a stunned silence at my announcement. My relatives exchange puzzled glances, clearly caught off guard by my revelation. Teta Lena’s confused expression is probably the most concerning.

Kyla’s mom breaks the silence, her voice filled with a mix of surprise and curiosity. “Well, why haven’t we met this Nikolas yet?”

I take a deep breath, steeling myself for the inevitable questions and judgments that may follow. “He’s…”

“Wait,” Kyla says. “Is that the guy you were making out with in Vegas? ”

My brother Mark lets out a low whistle, his head shaking with a laugh. I kick him under the table.

I clear my throat. “Yes, we met in Las Vegas. He lives here too.”

“Habibti, I thought you said you weren’t seeing anyone,” Teta says.

“It’s very new,” I explain.

“What does he do?” Kyla’s fiancee, David, asks out of nowhere. The look on his smug face rubs me the wrong way. Is he competing without even knowing the guy?

Without considering the consequences of my words, I blurt out, “He’s a hockey player for the Colorado Storm.”

There’s a clatter of silverware dropping to plates. Kyla’s father Peter pipes up, “Nikolas Huxley?”

“Yeah, that’s the one,” I say.

If they weren’t staring before, they’re staring at me now.

“Who is this Nikolas Huxley?” Teta asks.

“Hux?” my brother adds, his jaw practically on his plate.

I take a deep breath, my heart pounding in my chest as I prepare to reveal what little more I know about Nik. The weight of their expectations and the significance of this moment press down on me like a heavy bag of bulgar. I glance at Teta Lena, her eyes filled with a mix of concern and curiosity, silently urging me to share more.

“He’s…he’s Nikolas Huxley,” I begin, the repeated words tumbling out in a rush. “He’s a hockey player for the Colorado Storm. And...” I hesitate, unsure how they will react to what comes next, “we met in Las Vegas. We’ve been talking since we’ve been back.” That’s not altogether a lie. “He helped me fix the shelves in my workshop.” And now they know everything I know.

Unbeknownst to my husband, I’ve made him my wedding date. And now I’m going to have to bribe Nik. I wonder if he likes baklava? But what if he has a nut allergy? Or what if he has a game that day? This is going to be so embarrassing when this all falls apart.

My revelation that it’s Nikolas Huxley, a hockey player for the Colorado Storm, has stunned everyone. My family members exchange incredulous looks, their expressions a mix of surprise and disbelief. Kyla’s mom breaks the silence with a disbelieving gasp. “Ada, you’re dating a professional hockey player?”

I nod and the room erupts into conversation, most of it directed at me.

Kyla’s facade immediately crumbles, revealing the jealousy and insecurity brewing beneath the surface. Her eyes dart between me and the rest of the family, trying to decipher if my newfound connection with Nik is genuine or just another one of my rebellious acts. David’s attempts to comfort her fall on deaf ears, as the family asks a million questions.

“Can we get tickets to games?” Uncle Peter asks repeatedly until I give him a shrug.

“Have you told dad?” Mark asks. I shake my head and make a note to tell him as soon as possible so he doesn’t hear about it from someone else.

“Does he know The Great One?” Joey asks

“The who?” I ask back. For some reason that causes all the men at the table to groan.

“Are you two official?” Esther asks, which I pretend I don’t hear.

“Is he retiring after this season?” Rasheed wants to know.

That makes my eyebrows raise. Is he? I give him a non-committal shrug.

“Why isn’t he here?” Vicky follows up.

“Hockey,” I answer vaguely and hope no one calls me out on it.

And this goes on and on.

The only one who doesn’t ask questions is Teta Lena. She just watches me the entire time with soft eyes and a gentle smile on her face, as if I’ve given her some kind of hope. And that feels dangerous to me. I don’t want to let her down.

Nik’s name becomes the focal point of conversation for the rest of the meal. What on earth have I done?

God, if only they knew we were actually married and on our way to annulment. The idea makes me want to laugh as much as it makes me want to cry.