"I don't know. I think Charlie's right."

Julie still sat curled up next to Adam, her legs still draped over his lap. Her head rested against his shoulder; this time together too lovely to pass up.

"Oh you do, do you?"

"Oh I do. I do." She giggled, looking up at those big blue eyes.

.

They'd been lined with age, but the magic was still there.

.

"Well I tell you what." He shook his head. "First kid who does that gets to stay with you."

"What?"

"Yeah. Green hair and tattoos sound like a pretty good indication that Laura and I haven't done our job. A sign that they need a little change of scenery. Maybe a school year or two in Boston. Let them be your problem."

"I think we might be overreacting." She chuckled, tickling his hip as she thought back to their phone conversation so many years ago.

She'd never actually seen it in person, but she knew the general location, and her hand squeezed around the area of his hip as he doubled over laughing. "I mean, don't think that I've forgotten about your tattoo."

Charlie's eyes grew wide.

"Wait. What?"

"Yeah, he doesn't get to be all high and mighty."

"Hey now!" Adam corrected Julie, squirming away from her tickle attack. "First of all, it's safe to say that my parents definitely did not do their jobs. Like, I'm an exceptionally awful father, and I'm still lightyears ahead of either of them. That kid who was dropped off in the Russian forest had better parents than mine. And secondly, that doesn't count."

"And how doesn't it count?"

Adam thought about it for a moment, chewing at the side of his lip before he gave up and shrugged.

"Because I said it doesn't."

"Good logic."

Charlie just looked back and forth between the two of them, bemused.

"I'm still curious about the details of this tattoo, cakeeater."

Adam turned pink, his harmless college indiscretions ironically the ones that the fewest people knew about.

"Julie's just making things up."

"Am not."

"Are too."

"Am not."

"Are too."

"You're not exactly a great liar." Connie reminded him. "I'm pretty sure the color of your face is giving this one away."

Oh Lord...

"Okay, fine. But at this point, it's hidden by my fat rolls, so it probably really doesn't count anymore."

"Well, now I'm curious to see."

Jesus.

Just kill me now.

February 8, 2002

"Oh my gosh! Really?"

Back at her dorm, Julie was making the final arrangements before Salt Lake City; the excitement of the Olympics playing second fiddle to less glamorous logistics.

.

After a solid week of scheduling alternate exam dates and trying to get assignments finished ahead of time, she was really starting to envy all of those men who didn't have to balance hockey with day to day life-even Dartmouth's unremarkable male athletes typically chose majors that came with flexible schedules and light workloads.

She, on the other hand, was stuck trying to reschedule labs around a two-week absence.

As she stared down at her Organic Chem textbook, she realized that a degree in marketing had never sounded better.

.

"Of course."

"You're actually going to fly out all that way?"

"It's just Utah." Adam laughed. "And besides, I wouldn't miss it for the world."

"Is Laura coming?"

"Not really her thing. And besides, this is about celebrating you."

.

Julie could feel her heart fluttering as he spoke, the logistics of her own school work melting away as she thought of seeing him again. Her mind drifted to that jersey retirement ceremony the month before, and how perfect he'd looked. How dreamy he was in that dress shirt, and how as he walked up to that podium, it was almost like nothing had ever happened.

He was back, in all of his perfect Adam-glory. He was still the same high school dreamboat who'd made her swoon at 15; the same prom king who made her feel like a princess as he twirled her on the dance floor.

And he was going to be there to cheer her on.

.

"Have I reminded you lately that you're kind of the greatest?"

"I'm not going to be the one making those Canadians choke on their maple syrup." He joked, sitting back at his apartment in Minnesota, looking out at his usual view of snow-covered trees and a frozen parking lot.

"I'm so excited to see you!"

"I'll be pretty excited to see you, too. I've missed you."

"I've missed you."

.

As she went back to studying after their call, her mind teemed with thoughts of that jersey retirement ceremony. Of life before-of how perfect the world felt in his arms, and of him cheering her on their sophomore year before the doctors cleared him to return.

On how seeing his smiling face in the stands was always one of the best parts of the game during that period; her biggest fan, never once letting on how badly he longed to be out there himself.

That couldn't have been easy, she thought, realizing for the first time just how difficult it must have been for him then. How difficult it must be now: Flying all the way out to Utah just to see someone live out his own dreams.

I'm really lucky to have someone like that in my life.

Really, really lucky.

Adam's cheeks burned crimson; the mounds of flesh that had been carefully hidden under well-tailored clothes and medical binders for the last eighteen years now out on display. He could hardly believe that Julie had gotten him into this mess: If it were Scott or Larson, he would have been ready to strangle them on the spot.

Of course, in this case, Julie was the reason it was so embarrassing.

His first love realizing that he was built like the Michelin Man was hardly what he'd had in mind for the day.

Jesse, meanwhile, just laughed.

"You really are a special level of white."

"I mean, I feel like you should have known that already..." Adam reminded him, tucking his shirt back in over the two-inch "artistic rendition" of his fraternity letters that had seemed like a good idea for exactly ten minutes back in 2000, and never again thereafter.

"Well, yeah, but that just confirmed it."

"I don't know. There are probably whiter things I could have done."

"Like what? Become the national spokesman for ranch dressing?"

"Larson was a KA...

"They had a giant oil painting of Robert E. Lee hanging above the fireplace." Adam continued, struggling with his pants. "And for formal, they had to dress up in confederate uniforms. That shit was definitely whiter."

"That ain't even bein' white. That's Larson being a racist ass motherfucker."

"He's not racist." Adam laughed. "I think that was just Virginia being Virginia. Besides, his dad was a KA."

"His dad was a racist ass motherfucker."

"He drives a Subaru."

"They aren't mutually exclusive."

Adam shrugged, still no closer to fastening his jeans. As his fingers fumbled with the waistband, his mind started to fill with dread: Absent a miracle, he was going to have to spend the rest of his life walking around with unfastened pants; his pale muffin top hanging out over the top of his boxers.

"I mean, I guess not, but he isn't. He like, voted for Obama."

"Cakeeater logic..."

As Charlie chimed in that Larson was definitely a racist ass motherfucker, Julie took notice of the button struggle.

Reaching over, her hands did what his could not; her fingers grazing the exposed sliver of tummy as she fumbled with the button of his Levis.

.

Feeling the warmth of her touch, a part him wanted to die right then and there; the humiliation of the situation almost too much to bear. Here he was, a 37 year old overweight felon, and his first crush was trying to manipulate his fat into place so that she could fasten his pants for him.

Though maybe not his lowest moment, he was pretty sure this at least cracked the Top 100.

More than that, though, it made him think of his old life.

A life where he could still button buttons, and score goals, and get pretty girls into bed with him. A life where he could Julie into bed with him.

He'd felt her touch plenty back then.

Just thinking about the incongruity, he shuddered.

.

"Are you alright?"

"Oh, of course."

"Are my hands cold?" She asked, her brow furrowed with concern as pink overtook her cheeks. "I'm sorry."

"No. No, you're perfect."

So perfect.

"I'm sorry." She apologized. "I should have asked. I'm not normally a weirdo who goes around fastening people's pants without permission."

Adam grew serious, only the twinkle in his eye giving him away as he fought back the desire to take hold of her hand and never let go.

"So do you normally ask permission first? Because that sounds like a very unique hobby."

"Heh, yeah, you guessed it." She smiled, her hands still on his pants. "Whole reason I became a doctor. Easy access..."

"Good hobby to plan your life around."

"That's what I thought."

"You have like, any preferences?" He asked. "Or is all pants-fastening created equal?"

Julie paused before nodding solemnly.

"Circus clowns. The pants are just so colorful. All of of that satin and polyester. Polka dots. Rainbow stripes. You can't beat it."

"Well of course not." He agreed, smiling. "You've got me wanting to go on tour with Barnum and Bailey, but they probably won't have any use for a pants-fastener who can't who can't actually fasten pants."

By this time, Julie had conquered pants impasse, taking hold of Adam's hand as she guided him back down to the couch. Curling up beside him, she rested her hand against his thigh.

She shook her head.

"That is definitely the saddest part of your injury."

"It really is."

February 13, 2002

This is happening.

This is really happening.

Looking out the clouds, Julie tried to steady her thoughts.

.

Until now, it really hadn't felt like that big of a deal.

In peewees, she'd taken Bangor to the state championships every year since she was eight.

Eden Hall had three state championships, two national championships. She'd played two years on the U.S. U-18 team in high school. Three years on the U.S. Women's team.

She wasn't ten year old Charlie, dreaming of what it would be like to play in a state championship one day. She didn't grow up using copies of The National Enquirer as pads. Her life had been spent on well-funded, powerhouse teams; for as long as she could remember, winning was the default. As big of a deal as the Olympics were, in many ways, they felt like a logical continuation of the last twelve years.

But now the time had come.

And it was sinking in that this was a very big deal, indeed.

.

Staring out at the wing of the plane, she thought about how the whole world was going to be watching. Not just the hockey world, but the world world. People who didn't know the first thing about hockey were going to be watching her every move. Judging.

And she wasn't sure how she felt about that.

Somehow, this wasn't nearly as scary at 12, she thought; the years having smoothed the edges around the Goodwill Games.

.

The frustration of being overlooked; the agony of that first loss to Iceland-all of that faded. She no longer felt the sting of classmates back in Maine who were too happy to capitalize on her lack of playing time, or her parents' disappointment when she got herself ejected. She no longer recalled crying in her dorm room after her dad spent half an hour lecturing about sportsmanlike conduct, or arguing with Connie about taking too long in the shower.

Those things had all been lost to the passage of time.

All that remained was the glow of victory, and memories of sitting on a California pier with a certain very cute boy.

A certain cute boy who she looked forward to seeing again in a few days.

Just like I remembered...

Julie shook her head, her body still curled up against Adam's.

"I'm uh, sorry for torturing you like that." She said quietly, giving his thigh a quick squeeze.

.

He didn't have to say anything for her to know he was embarrassed. He'd been self-conscious enough back when everything worked normally.

.

Pulling her in close, he chuckled, his cheeks still pink from the ordeal.

"Heh, I think I'll live."

"That's good." She smiled. "I kind of prefer you alive."

"Even if I'm an awkward fatass who can't put on pants?"

"Well duh. If I didn't like awkward, we would have quit being friends a long time ago." She reminded him, looking down at the now-covered tummy that did stick out a bit.

Unable to get everything as neatly in place as it had been, the buttons of his shirt now strained at the bottom.

"And besides." She pointed out. "I don't think that counts as being a fatass."

"I'm pretty sure it does."

"Yeah, but it's like, it's not really your fault. You look the same as ever from the chest up. And the rest isn't bad."

"I don't know. Caroline keeps asking me if I'm going to have a baby, too..."

"Nice."

Yeah." He shook his head. "Whenever people talk about how sweet and innocent kids are, those people are fucking liars. They're more like heat-seeking missiles, pointed directly at a person's self-esteem."

Julie laughed, recalling Adam's own reputation as the Lee Atawater of peewee hockey.

He'd always done his best to downplay it, but she'd heard the stories. He was the one who once made the Hawks so fearful; the reason that everybody dreaded the Boys In Black. There was hardly a kid in Edina who hadn't been on the receiving end of his wrath a time or two-his ability to outsmart defensive lines rivaled only by his gift for honing in on the insecurities of his peers.

"I'm pretty sure that from everything I've ever heard about you as a kid, that is well deserved."

"That part is true." He agreed. "I'm starting to think ol' Brian might have been justified, after all."

"Yeah, but I kind of like all of your brain cells."

"Are you sure that you're a doctor and not a zombie?" He joked, leaning down to kiss the top of her forehead.

She snuggled in even closer, her face nuzzled against his shirt collar.

"Well of course. If I were a zombie, you'd be making me go hungry."

"Good point."

February 21, 2002

Salt Lake City

Fuck.

As Julie watched Adam approach the doors of La Trattoria, she realized what a horrible mistake she'd made.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck.

.