"Gemma, last time I checked it was only your knee that was injured, not your hands!" Nabilah Saad-Fitzgerald scolded her daughter with a knife in one hand and a bowl of strawberries in another. Gemma would have been scared if this scene hadn't happened countless times growing up. "Come sit at the table and cut these strawberries!"
Sitting on the couch in her living room, watching hockey commentators speak on the upcoming IIHF World Junior Hockey Tournament, Gemma rolled her eyes. "Mama, I'm watching TV!" she called back.
"You mean you don't watch TV in Florida?" Nabilah asked sarcastically, waving the knife around. "Could have fooled me! You can't tell me the World Juniors aren't on in Florida with your satellite TV!"
Gemma snorted at her mother's words. Gemma never got away with anything while she was home. She'd never win against Nabilah – she never did. Nabilah was the queen of the house; even her dad acquiesced to her. "Can you at least bring them here so I can cut them?"
"Sixteen years and she hasn't changed one bit," he mother muttered in Arabic as she brought the strawberries over to the coffee table for Gemma to cut, setting them down in front of her daughter. "If you get any stains on the couch I won't feed you for a week, understand?"
Gemma couldn't help but snort again at her mother's threat. "Yes mama, I understand," Gemma said, learning forward so she could grab the knife. "I've never gotten a stain on our couches before, I'm not going to now."
"That's what I like to hear," Nabilah nodded her head, walking away. "I'll be in the kitchen. Call me when you're done."
Gemma had been back for about a week now, at her parents' home – the home she grew up in. Her physiotherapy had stopped for about two weeks over the holidays and when she went back to Orlando in the New Year, her surgeon and doctors would be doing a full check-up and review of her injury and her progress to date. She was excited, if only because they would be able to give her a more accurate timeline as to when she could get back on the ice. She didn't want it to preoccupy her mind too much, especially over the holidays, but she thought about it a lot. Probably too much.
The holidays were her favourite time of the year, if only because her house was filled with family. Her parents always hosted Christmas, ever since she could remember. The house was full of family members young and old, big and small, and Gemma loved the craziness of it all. Growing up as an only child meant she was close to her cousins, considering them like siblings, her original best friends (before she met Jane, of course). Now that a lot of her cousins her age were getting married and having kids, the family was growing, and she was all too happy to be surrounded by toddlers and babies.
"So, what's Fergal up to for the holidays?" her father James asked as he set the table for the numerous guests – the extension and extra tables came all the way out to the living room. This was usually a job left for Gemma but Nabilah didn't want her making 100 trips to and from the basement to get the extra plates.
"He's back in Ireland," Gemma informed him, catching the look her mom gave him, a smile playing on Nabilah's face. Gemma wanted to roll her eyes. "I mentioned he has a big family, right? There's five siblings, and they're all married except for him, so there's a bunch of them."
"How lovely," her mom piped in. "Have you two spoken at all since you came back?"
They were basically on a constant chat on WhatsApp, despite the time difference, but Gemma didn't want to admit that. "Here and there," she lied. "He's busy catching up with all his friends, I bet. Plus he isn't the type to be attached to his phone."
"So all that texting you've been doing has been to Jane?" her dad asked.
"Yeah," she lied again, "and Sarah, and Amber, and Jocelyn," she rattled off the names of some of her teammates as cover.
"So this Fergal fellow," Nabilah piped in again. "Does he follow hockey?"
Gemma snorted. "Mom, he's from Ireland."
"So?"
"The Irish aren't exactly known for their love of hockey," Gemma said. "Hurling, maybe, but not hockey."
"So he didn't know who you were when you met?"
"He had no idea. One of his best friends who is Canadian clued him in."
"But now, he watches you?"
"Well, there isn't exactly anything new to watch," Gemma mumbled. "But I have no idea if he's seen any of my games or tournaments. He hasn't really mentioned it, to be honest."
"You should make sure he does, so he sees how good you are," Nabilah pointed dramatically at her daughter.
Gemma smiled at her mom. "If I won a gold medal, I think he knows, mama."
"Do you miss him?" James asked suddenly.
Another thing Gemma had to lie about. She'd never admit it out loud but she missed him like crazy. After their Ireland, Iceland, and England trip, she caught herself thinking about him more and more everyday; his contagious laugh, his toothy smile, the Finn-freeze he'd do in pictures. She missed it all. And she never thought she would. "I mean, a little bit, obviously. He is my friend. But I missed Jane more."
James smiled at Nabilah, wondering who Gemma was trying to convince more.
With the Christmas meal done, Gemma felt like she was about to explode. A mix of traditional food and Arab food was enjoyed by all, and now, almost all the adults were either passed out on the couch in a food coma, or sitting at the table trying to recover from one. Most of the babies and toddlers had gone down for the afternoon nap, which meant all the adults still had about two hours before they'd start to wake up.
Lunch was eventful. One of her cousins Aidan, only two years older than her, announced to everyone he finally proposed to his long-time girlfriend Summer, which meant a wedding was on the horizon in about a year. Another cousin, Hannah, revealed she was pregnant with her second child, which is why she couldn't partake in the traditional champagne toast.
Then, of course, there was an event created by Gemma's own stupidity. She, of course, had been texting Fergal all day, and it had continued throughout lunch, albeit in much slower conversation since she didn't respond immediately. But when she had sent him a joke and he had responded with a quick remark, she couldn't help but smile down at her phone screen in her lap. And that's when it happened.
Her aunt Eliza asked why she was smiling down at her phone. Gemma stuttered. The table went silent and every single pair of eyes was on her as they awaited her answer. When she finally admitted it was a friend, a friend named Fergal whom she met in Orlando, a tidal wave of questions flooded her. Who's Fergal? Where'd you meet him? What's he do? What's he look like? He's got an accent? He's from Ireland? Where in Ireland? What's his last name? What's his blood type? What was the name of his third grade teacher? What size shoes does he wear? Where does he get his hair cut?
It overwhelmed Gemma, but it was nothing she hadn't faced before. The same flurry of questions were asked when they learned of her last boyfriend, Johnny, an employee of the Toronto Maple Leafs head office. They were together for two years before breaking it off mutually. Still, she didn't want her entire family finding out about him, especially not now, at Christmas dinner, and especially since there was nothing to really talk about. They were friends, and that's it.
Friends. But then, when her friend got wind that she was finished lunch, and he suggested he call her, that little grin that incriminated her during lunch incriminated her again. She didn't even have to tell her mom what was going on. When she stood up from her chair and was going to explain, Nabilah just waved her off, telling her to go in to the bedroom that the kids weren't sleeping in.
Dialling his number, he answered on the second ring. "Hey you," he said warmly. "Merry Christmas."
"Merry Christmas to you too," Gemma repeated his sentiment. He wondered if he could sense the giant grin on her face through the phone. "How are you? Miss my grumpy attitude yet?"
Fergal snorted. "Pretty pooped, but I wouldn't have gone to bed without calling you," he revealed.
"Oh God, what time is it there?"
"It's only nine. But I seriously did so much today I'm ready to pass out. We opened presents, had lunch, took a walk 'round the neighbourhood, then walked to the beach, then came back and made hot cocoa…" he rattled off. It all sounded amazing to her. "What about you?"
Gemma huffed. "I got interrogated because of you," she scolded him playfully. "Twenty-five people asking 'Who's Fergal? What's a Fergal? Where'd you meet him? What's he do? Where is he?'"
"That's funny, because the only questions anyone here asked me were 'Where's Gemma? How's Gemma? Who's she with? What's she doing?' It's like I don't even exist!"
"I'm sorry you're so jealous of me, but I can't help it that I'm popular," she used a line from Mean Girls, causing Fergal to laugh. "Maybe we should have switched families for the holidays. Clearly they only care about the opposite person."
"Clearly."
There was a pause in their conversation before Gemma heard Fergal's voice again. "Hey Gem?"
"Yeah?"
"I do kinda miss you."
She could feel her cheeks flush red. "I miss you too, Ferg."
As they continued their conversation, Gemma wondered if, hundreds of miles away, if he could sense her curling up into a ball, listening to his accent like she hadn't heard it in years, a small contended smile on her face. She knew there was nothing she'd rather be doing right now.
It was all a blur to Fergal. Here he was, standing at the baggage claim at Pearson International Airport in Toronto. He'd call a cab to take him to the Saad-Fitzgerald house. He'd be seeing Gemma in just over an hour, if everything went smoothly.
How did he end up here? Well, it all happened so quickly. After a few more phone calls to and from Gemma throughout the week leading up to New Year's Eve, it was obvious to everyone around him, especially his parents, that Fergal was missing her more than he let on. Then, after spending New Years Eve with his friends, he had a quiet breakfast with his parents, where his mom told him, "If you want to go Ferg, you can go. You left me for Japan at 24…we've been doing this dance for over ten years. I don't mind you leaving."
And so that night, he booked the first flight out from Dublin to Toronto. Now, he found himself at the door of 245 Briar Hill Avenue in Toronto, knocking, his shoes covered in snow. He didn't notice a car in the driveway, and hoped to God someone was home. He was cold and the taxi had already driven away. He didn't know where else he could go.
Thankfully, he heard the rattle of a lock and chain a few moments later, and the door was opened. An older woman, wearing glasses and a cozy looking sweater opened the door. "Hello?"
Fergal smiled charmingly. "Hi, you must be Nabilah Fitzgerald?"
"I speak to you Jehovah's Witnesses once three years ago and you still remember my name!" she yelled out, waving her finger at him, about the close the door.
"Oh no! No no! It's not – I'm not – no! My name's Fergal – I know your daughter Gem -"
"Fergal! Fergal from Orlando!" Nabilah exclaimed, swinging the door open. "Fergal! Come inside from this cold! Come come come! In in in! Inside! Inside!" Nabilah all but pulled him into the foyer, closing the door behind him. "Where are your boots?!" she demanded, looking down at his paltry Vans sneakers.
Overwhelmed, his mouth gaped open, and he said the only thing that came to his mind. "I'm Irish."
Nabilah nodded her head in understanding, as if that was a legitimate excuse. "Ah yes, of course. You weren't expecting the snow."
"No I wasn't."
"I've been in this country thirty years and even I don't expect it sometimes," she joked. "What are you doing in Toronto?"
What was he doing in Toronto? Showing up announced to the Saad-Fitzgerald residence, apparently. "I uh, I came to surprise Gemma."
Nabilah had a toothy grin on her face. "Ah yes, of course," she said knowingly. "Take off your shoes. Come by the fire to warm up. Gemma and her father are out but they should be back in less than an hour." As he took off his shoes and followed her into the house, she kept talking to him. "You want something hot to drink? Some hot chocolate? Some coffee – oh no, you're Irish, you must drink tea! I've got a lot of tea -"
"Mrs. Fitzgerald, it's no bother -" he tried to wave her off.
"Bother?! What bother! It's nothing! I fill a kettle with water and I put it on a stove! Nothing!" she kept exclaiming. "You sit on the couch and warm up. You're not used to our winters and I don't want your blood to freeze."
Once Nabilah prepared the tea, she brought it over and settled into polite conversation with Fergal. She asked about his family, the holidays, and he answered all her questions earnestly. She told him the story of how she met James, how long they had lived in this house, and what Gemma was like as a kid, pointing to some family portraits in frames and pictures of her in her first ever hockey uniform that were on display on the fireplace mantle. She was about to break out a family photo album before they heard the garage door begin to open.
"That's them," Nabilah said, standing up from the couch and bringing their mugs into the kitchen. "She'll be happy to see you, Fergal, even if she doesn't show it."
It was at that moment Fergal realized that Nabilah was probably acutely aware of the issues Gemma was having with her injury. He couldn't form another thought before he heard her voice call out throughout the house. "Maaaaa! Dad still has some bags in the car!"
"I'll be right out!" Nabilah called back, barely making a move from the kitchen.
He heard the door shut, and the rustling of bags, before the squeak of some old floorboards in the stairs that signalled Gemma was on her way towards them. When she finally ascended the stairs, she still didn't notice him, too preoccupied with making sure the bags didn't break from the weight.
"Hey," he said plainly to get her attention.
She stopped dead in her tracks, her head whipping over to him. "Ferg?!" she set down her bags. "What are you doing here?!"
"I thought I'd come to Canada in the dead of winter for a vacation," he joked as he watched her make her way over to him.
She embraced him tightly, throwing her arms around him tightly and squeezing him against her body. He reciprocated, wrapping his arms around her too in a tight hug. "I missed you," she said, loud enough so he could hear but not her mother in the kitchen.
"I missed you too," he whispered, squeezing her a bit tighter. "That's why I'm here." She broke their hug to get a good look at him, as if she still didn't believe he was there in the living room. She looked good; well rested, relaxed, her cheeks flushed red, probably from the cold outside. "You cut your hair," he smiled.
She rolled her eyes and snorted, dropping her arms from around his shoulders and pushing his chest lightly. "Why do you notice these things?"
"Who's this?" a man's voice filled the air, causing Gemma to spin around. "Ah, you must be Fergal?"
"Yep, that's me," he nodded to who he assumed was James. "It's really nice to meet you Mr. Fitzgerald."
"You're in for a treat, Fergal. Big hockey game on tonight. Canada versus Russia in the semi-finals at the World Juniors," James smiled, setting down his grocery bags next to where Gemma had set hers down.
"Have you watched hockey with Gemma yet?" Nabilah asked, who was now standing in the entryway from the living room to the kitchen.
"N-No, I haven't. But I've seen her play."
Gemma's eyes went wide at the revelation. He'd actually done it – he'd looked her up on the internet. "You have?"
"Well, yeah. I looked up your gold medal game – I had to, the way everyone talks about it," Fergal admitted.
"When?" Gemma asked.
"Long time ago," Fergal shrugged it off.
"She's good, isn't she?" Nabilah winked, clearly proud of her daughter.
"She is. Best I've ever seen," Fergal smiled.
"Best of her generation," Nabilah nodded towards her daughter, who was now blushing yet looked mildly annoyed. "That's me and James waking up at 5am to take her to morning practice."
Fergal laughed as he saw Gemma roll her eyes. "Yeah, I know the feeling. My parents would do the same for me for Gaelic football. I think it killed them a little inside when I chose wrestling instead."
"Oh, wrestling! So you do Olympic wrestling then?" James asked.
"Oh no no no. I wrestling in the WWE, and I used to wrestle in Japan."
"How awesome!" James exclaimed.
"Where's your stuff?" Gemma intervened. She didn't even give him a chance to answer before she looked at both her parents. "I'm going to help him set up in the spare room," she announced.
Before Fergal could say another word, Gemma began dragging him through the house. He grabbed his suitcase quickly, never breaking stride, and followed Gemma before reaching what he assumed to be the spare bedroom she had mentioned. She turned on the light and closed the door behind her after pulling him in. "Your mother did the same thing to me when she saw me outside with only Vans on," he joked.
"You're insane," she said, but he wasn't sure if she had heard a word of what he just said. "What are you doing here?"
"I told you, I missed you," he repeated his earlier sentiments. "My mom said I was apparently all mopey around the house…and well, she knew, and I knew, that it would cheer me up if I came over to see you."
Gemma looked at him like he had three heads. "Seeing me would cheer you up?"
"Yeah," Fergal nodded. "Crazy, right?"
Gemma didn't say another word. Instead, she extended her arms out to hug him again, embracing him tightly just as she'd done in the living room a few minutes earlier. "Ferg, you're certifiably nuts."
He snorted. "Yeah, but the craziest part is…mammy was right."
Gemma stopped breathing momentarily. Had he just admitted he was happy being with her? That he would rather be here, with her, in a snowy and cold Toronto with her parents, rather than at home in Ireland, with his own parents? God.
She squeezed him tighter. A tingle went up her spine as she felt him nuzzle his face into the crook of her neck.
Fuck.
Friends my ass.
