Now
"I'm really sorry." It's the 10th time I've said it in the past five minutes, but I mean it. I feel terrible.
There's a red mark on her forehead but how she looks at me, it appears she doesn't mind.
"It's ok, it doesn't really hurt." Rebecca replies and it seems like she means it. The mark indicates otherwise, but I take her word for it.
And now I don't know what to say. I've been looking forward to this all day and now she's here, next to me and I find myself tongue tied. I cast a glance at her and see she's gazing out the window and I'm afraid she's bored already. Every second of silence equals more time for her to think this is a bad idea. To doubt the idea of this, of us.
And so I just start talking, filling the silence. "The construction on 279 sure is getting out of hand. Took me twice as long as usual to get to this side of town. I thought about taking 65, but that seems really bad too lately."
It's truly the worst small talk I've ever come up with and that's saying a lot.
Rebecca looks surprised at first, then nods in agreement. "I know, it took me over an hour to get to Cranberry the other day. It seems like it's been down to one lane for months now."
This is lame. But good. We're talking, chatting. Like this is normal. That we are normal.
I want to ask her what she was doing in Cranberry. I wonder what she does when her day is over. When I'm out of town. On evenings and weekends. Her Instagram showed the big moments and the mundane. But I wonder about what happens in between?
But I don't ask.
"Yeah, the construction here never seems to end. And every year I seem to forget about it, until the second week in September." I give a small laugh to indicate I'm joking, since my voice is stiff in fear the jitters may become exposed.
She smiles and her fingers play with the hem of her jacket, "I bet."
And then the silence is back.
But not for long. After a few seconds, she continues, "I just read an article the other day that says Pittsburghers spend an average of three days a year stuck in traffic. I guess all those hours add up."
And like that the conversation continues. It's about highways and traffic cones, but it keeps us talking until I pull up to the restaurant about 15 minutes later.
To be honest, I'd much rather talk about construction than other topics. I've promised myself that tonight, no talk about the past or the future. Both of those topics are hard. They're complicated. And I want tonight to be easy. Simple. Fun, even.
The conversation dies down as she looks out the window at where we are. I've chosen a Vietnamese restaurant because according to her Instagram she traveled to Vietnam a few years ago and said the food was amazing. I did some googling and this place got the best reviews, so here we are.
Only from the outside, I'm starting to question my choice. I'm familiar with the neighborhood, but the restaurant looks...modest.
But Rebecca looks pleased, she seems to recognize the building, then looks at me happily.
"I've been wanting to try this place," she says excitedly, as I put the car in park. "How did you know this was my favorite?" Her expression becomes curious as her brow furrows questioningly.
Instead of answering, I quickly exit the car and come around to her side to open the door for her. She must have caught on, because there are no door incidents this time.
I have to admit, I'm a little apprehensive. Most places I go in town I know are...safe. Meaning, they don't make a big deal of me being there and for the most part, people are polite. There are a few interruptions here and there, but not bad. New places make me a little nervous and as we walk around to the front of the restaurant and go in, I brace myself for the unknown.
Turns out I needn't worry. Despite being just after eight on a Friday night, the place is pretty dead. It's definitely a lot more modest than I thought it would be. But it's clean and welcoming. The lighting is low and there are white table clothes covering the tables. Huge paintings of places on the other side of the world hang from the walls and what I can only guess is Vietnamese music pipes through the restaurant. But I look at Rebecca and she seems genuinely excited, so I'm happy.
There are a few full tables in the restaurant and although my gaze stays forward, I can tell there are some double takes. We are seated at a table in a quiet corner. The nearest tables are occupied by an older couple and a young Asian family.
"How did you know I liked Vietnamese?" Rebecca asks again, as we pick up our menus.
"Lucky guess?" I try to say nonchalantly, but Rebecca isn't convinced.
I feel the pink stain my cheeks and despite the lighting, I'm sure she can tell.
"I saw on your Instagram." I confess, then watch as the wheels turn in her head as everything clicks into place.
"So that's how you knew about my drink and the croissant," she says, referring to my gesture earlier this week.
I pull at my collar a bit, "Do you think we're too overdressed for this place?" I ask, trying to change the subject.
She ignores my question and a sly smile appears on her face, "How did you find my Instagram?"
I can feel the heat on my face and take a sip of water, not quick to answer.
"Sid," her voice is light and amused, "Were you cyberstalking me?"
Now I'm extremely uncomfortable, I wasn't "stalking" her. I just did a few searches. But it's too embarrassing to admit.
Luckily I'm saved by the arrival of the server. It's an older gentleman with dark hair and a large smile. He wears a white dinner jacket and starts speaking to us quickly and animatedly with his hands.
I scan the menu, but it's mostly in Vietnamese. Rebecca orders a plum wine and the shrimp crepes, then the man looks to me for my selection. I'm trying to make sense of the options but coming up with nothing. I tell the server I need a few minutes, he nods, but doesn't move. I repeat myself and he nods, but doesn't move. He just stands there smiling as I fumble over the menu.
From across the way, I see Rebecca stifling a laugh. I order the wine too, but I'm scanning the menu quickly now, but I can't make heads or tails of the options.
Finally I see noodles. I know noodles, I like noodles.
The server and I go back and forth as I try to indicate what I want. Finally we seem to be on the same page.
"You want spicy?" The man asks.
I look to Rebecca for help, but she shrugs, unsure.
"You like spicy?" The man puts his hand on my shoulder, "I can make spicy for you."
I do like spicy things, so I nod, eager to wrap things up. The man jots down a few things and then he's gone.
"I wasn't cyberstalking you," I say, resuming our previous conversation. "I just wanted to know you a little more. See what you like, your interests." No matter how I say it, it sounds creepy. Sounds a little desperate too. But with her plans to leave within a month, I don't think desperate is too far off from what I'm feeling.
She has a twinkle in her eye and despite my unease, she seems to enjoy watching me squirm.
But finally she puts me out of my misery. Her face softens, her eyes crinkle and she quirks a shy smile. "Hey, it's only fair, right? It's not much of a challenge to find you online. Although I'm not sure how much someone can find out other than your love for crocs and your wicked backhand."
I smile, "You think my backhand is wicked?" I ask, relieved that conversation seems to be flowing a lot better now.
She gives me a look that tells me she's not going to feed my ego.
The wine appears and I'm grateful for a sip of the soothing liquid and it coats my throat and instantly relaxes me.
"Well, regardless of how I found it, your pictures were incredible. You seem to have a knack for photography."
She looks a bit bashful but thanks me. "I really love it. I try to go somewhere different every summer. I'm planning on Iceland this summer. I've heard it's incredible. But really, just here in Pittsburgh there are some beautiful places where you can get some great shots."
I nod, "Yeah, I saw all your pictures of the bridges. They were really fascinating."
She seems impressed that I've taken the time to notice and I'm silently thanking Kuni for the pointers.
"I started taking pictures about three years ago. My dad has found an old shoe box in the attic filled with all these pictures of my mom. We didn't have many around the house growing up and he thought I might like to have them. It was amazing, Sid. All those memories. Things I'd forgotten, came flooding back. It sounds cheesy, but it was like I could remember everything about her. I could remember her smell, how she felt, how she spoke. I hadn't had that in so long."
She looks away, blinking quickly and I can see the self-consciousness come in like a cloud over her as her eyes begin to pool.
"Anyway, as much as I loved having those memories, I felt lost. Stranded almost."
She seems hesitant to continue and she won't look at me. I think back to three years ago. What a bad place I was in. How I'd isolated myself during the concussion. How we hadn't been with each other for months, while I went through scans and studies. Dark rooms and double vision, progress and setbacks. Without sounding narcissistic, I start to wonder if that loneliness she felt, that desertion had something to do with me.
"I needed to feel connected to something again. So I started taking pictures. Trying to find fulfillment. I love my job, but it's not exactly...challenging to the mind. So I became interested in bridges. I don't know, they just seemed so intriguing to me. Here you have these structures that are so intricate and involve so much math and science and the incredible architecture, and yet they serve such a simple but important purpose. They're so beautifully complicated and yet so simple. It's like people, you know? How complicated we can all be, and how we can start to question everything, if we don't know what we are here for, what our point is. We crave simplicity and purpose. Direction. To feel like we were built for a reason. To have purpose. I don't know if I'm even making sense. Maybe they are just interesting to photograph. Maybe I'm just overthinking things."
He cheeks are bright and I can tell she's worried she's said too much.
I want to tell her that I think she's brilliant and beautiful. That I understand exactly what she is saying. That I spent my whole life trying to find purpose, to make my imprint in the world, so much so, that I worry constantly about what I've had to cast away, sacrifice for that simplicity that without simplicity, I can't be the best and if I'm not the best what is my purpose, what is my reason?
I want to say all those things. But I don't.
Because I'm afraid. I'm afraid to say it out loud. To admit that on this path, something has become lost. That I too have felt stranded. That in three weeks I will fight for another chance to bring this town victory and if I don't, if the team doesn't? Then everything will change. And I'm scared of that.
But I can't say that. Not to her. Not even to myself.
So instead, I choke out a feeble, "Yeah."
I've don't it again.
I finally look at him and it's clear that he's uncomfortable.
He has a strange look on his face and he's pulling at his collar.
And I can't help but think that I'm too much. Too intense. We're supposed to be having fun and I'm in tears and trying to philosophize about brides. I'm too wrapped up in things that should be nothing more than they are what they are. And I think again, that I shouldn't be the one sitting here across the table from him. That there is someone else, more appropriate out there. Maybe it was Katy or maybe it's someone he hasn't even met yet.
We're at an awkward silence. My head is throbbing and Sid looks a little green.
Finally our food comes.
I'm only two bites in when I notice Sid squirming. I look up at him and I see his face is looking pinkā¦.ok, not pink, red. Purple even. He covers his mouth and stifles a cough.
"Are you ok?" I ask.
He just nods. But he coughs again. Then again. And he's grabbing his water and he's not coughing anymore but I'm pretty sure he's not breathing either.
Is he choking?
I'm out of my seat in a flash and by his side. He looks at my wide eyed and panicked. I can see sweat at his temples and without thinking I start hitting him. Striking his back, hard and swift.
"Lift your arms," I say, my voice high and panicked. I smack him again.
He's gesturing wildly, but he can't speak. I don't know what to do.
So I start yelling.
"He's choking!" I shout to anyone who will listen. "Help, he's choking!"
He wasn't choking.
Twenty minutes later, he's paying the tab.
Sid's noodles were spicy. Too spicy. He wasn't choking, he just bit into a chili and while his mouth was on fire and he couldn't breathe too well, he wasn't choking.
But when you announce to an entire restaurant someone is choking. Everyone is going to take notice.
And well, when that someone is Sidney Crosby...well, like I said, he's paying the bill and we're leaving.
He doesn't say much on the way back to the car. I don't know if he is mad at me or just disappointed that this was a disaster, that I am a disaster.
He still opens the door for me, but I can't look at him. Instead I just mumble a thank you and he nods and heads over to his side and climbs into the SUV.
"You can just take me home," I tell him quietly and I glance over at him. His jaw is set tight and he doesn't say anything as he stares straight ahead, not looking at me. His hair is damp at the temples and his cheeks pink. I look at the shadow of his profile in the darkness of the car and appreciate how handsome he is and how this could be the last time I ever see him close up. I have only three weeks left at the Consol. And then it's over. It's all over.
"Ok," his voice is tight and resigned, like he too knows this is over. Done before it even began.
I stare out the window and I can't help it, the tears start to fall and trail silently down my cheeks, hoping its dark enough that he can't tell.
The drive is agonizingly long and completely silent. Finally, we are put out of our misery when Sid pulls up into my driveway and sets the car in park.
I just want to get out of here. My heart can only take so much and there is a pity party waiting for me when I get inside.
"I'm sorry I ruined our date," he says softly into the dark.
Wait, what?
My head whips in his direction.
He looks at me sad and disappointed and I'm confused.
"I ruined our date." I tell him.
Now he looks confused and with his eyes adjusting to the dark, he sees the tear tracks on my face.
He reaches out and touches my face. His fingers follow the path of the tears.
"How can you say that?" he asks, his eyes searching mine.
I lock onto his gaze, despite feeling extremely self-conscious.
"I embarrassed you in front of everyone in the restaurant, I got all serious about stupid stuff and started crying, I'm crying now. I'm always crying."
I choke out an embarrassed laugh, but it's true.
Speaking of laughing, Sid has started to chuckle himself. And I'm not sure why.
"Are you kidding? I'm the one who embarrassed us in the restaurant, I didn't even know what to order. Not to mention I hit you with the door. And I completely bombed on our conversation after you poured your heart out to me. All while I'm trying my best to impress you. I totally failed. And I'm disappointed because I wanted everything to be perfect. I wanted to show you that this...us, was a good idea."
I should know by now that our complete lack of communication has completely dictated how we've been with each other for years now. So it's no surprise tonight would be any different.
He looks defeated and I feel my heart breaking. That's one of the tough parts of loving someone. When they hurt. You hurt.
And I don't want to hurt. Not tonight. Not after how hopeful I was about this evening, despite all my doubts and concerns.
"It is a good idea." I blurt out. "Sure my head hurts and your taste buds are destroyed, but it's not over. Not yet. I don't want to give up."
Sid quirks a smile and in his eyes I see relief and renewed hope.
"Me neither."
And just like that, the date was back on.
Only we didn't go to a restaurant or a show or any of the things Sid had initially planned for.
Instead we camped out on my couch with delivery pizza and a House of Cards marathon on Netflix.
We start off on separate ends of the couch, but a few episodes in we've gravitated to where our shoulders are touching as we share a bowl of popcorn. We don't talk much, I think we are both exhausted by tonight's chain of events. Just being together seems to satisfy us both. By episode five, I'm fighting yawns, but I don't want to fall asleep. I don't want this to end. Without thinking, I drop by head down onto his shoulder. My eyelids are heavy as I rub up against him. He doesn't say anything, but instead extends out an arm and I quickly burrow into him. I'm asleep in seconds. I don't know how long I'm asleep for. Five minutes, an hour? When I open my eyes, he's looking at me. Watching me. It's intimate. Too intimate. But I can't make myself pull away. There are so many things I want to say, to do. But I wimp out and whisper, "It's late."
He nods but doesn't move. Finally, reluctantly, I pull away and he lets me.
Quietly he stands and gets his stuff. I stand there, straightening my dress and smoothing my hair.
"I had a good time tonight," he says softly.
"Me too," I reply.
I want him to kiss me. I want him to pull me up in his arms and drag me to my bedroom. It's sort of neanderthaly but I want it. My whole body aches for him. But my heart aches too and it knows that I'm not ready for that. Not after everything.
He's lingering. As if he knows. Finally he gives and nod and leans forward, his lips brushing softly against my cheek, warm from sleep and the heat of his chest.
"Good night," he says his gaze intense.
"Night," I whisper my eyes locked on his.
HIs fingers brush softly against my forehead and then he's gone.
Then
"You have a fake ID?"
Rebecca nodded, her head swimming from too much peach schnapps. "I'm only 20."
"But you're graduating this year. You were at the bar." Sid said with an air of disbelief.
"I graduated from high school a years early. And I know, that's why I have the fake ID. It's my cousin's. If I wear glasses and leave my hair down, it's pretty close," explained Rebecca.
Sid just shook his head. "I'm surprised. You don't look like a fake ID type of girl."
Rebecca giggled, clearly feeling the effects of the alcohol. She and Sid were shoulder to shoulder sitting back on her lumpy thrift store couch. Her feet were propped up on the coffee table in front of them, while Sid's stretched out in front of him, the tips of his feet hitting the bottom of the table.
The movie was over and it was approaching 3:00 a.m. The conversation had turned to "things people don't know about you." Rebecca had started with the ID confession.
"I'm not really," she said shrugging. "But it comes in handy every once in a while. I'm always afraid I'm going to get caught, but it hasn't happened yet."
"How many times have you used it?" Sid asked curiously.
Rebecca looked sheepish, "Twice."
Sid just laughed, fully and heartily. Rebecca frowned, peeved a bit that he found that funny. But his laugh was infectious and soon she found herself laughing too.
When the laughter finally died down, Rebecca poured two more juice glasses of schnapps and handed one to Sid. He took it in one gulp, while Rebecca sipped at hers slowly. Her head was sort of spinny, part from the alcohol but also from the laughing.
"Your turn," she said, not noticing the slight slur in her voice.
Sid looked pensive. She watched as his brow furrowed and his eyes squinted as he thought about.
Her heart flip flopped. He smelled so good, she thought. His shoulder pressed up to hers was warm and solid. She felt her entire body buzzing with just the nearness of him. She didn't want to think about Katy, even though lines were definitely being crossed at this moment.
"I sing in the shower. Loudly and badly." he finally confessed.
Rebecca smiled, although picturing Sid in the shower led her to thoughts of him being naked with water dripping off his muscled form and she felt herself falling into a bad romance novel.
Reluctantly pushing the image out of her mind, she asked, "What do you sing?"
Sid cheeks pinked, "Phil Collins mostly."
Rebecca choked on a sip of her drink, "Really?" She knew she shouldn't laugh. But she couldn't help it. The image that had once gotten her hot and bothered, now just gave her a fit of the giggles.
She felt the tears streaming down her cheeks as the alcohol burned her throat but her amusement was too strong to care.
Now it was Sid's turn to look insulted, "It's not that funny."
But Rebecca nodded, "yes it is." She wiped at her tears and tried to catch her breath.
"Ok, it is." He finally agreed and gave into the laughter.
For the next few minutes they traded embarrassing facts as each got more and more buzzed.
"I have another good one," she said laughing.
Sid looked at her, with a goofy smile and bright eyes, the alcohol having done the job he had hoped for.
Rebecca hopped up, standing in front of Sid, the glass in one hand, the other waved out in a grand gesture. She took a big gulp, as Sid looked up at her, amused at what would be her next confession.
"I'm not going to Yale!" she exclaimed, laughing. "Something no one knows about me? I'm not going. Isn't that hilarious? I'm poor. What a riot, right?" She began to laugh, only this time it was hollow and forced. It bordered on maniacal.
Sid's smiling face turned to stone. His mouth turned up in laughter, closed and then opened slightly in shock.
"What are you talking about?" he asked.
Rebecca looked at him, the laughter now gone and a blurry, bummed out looking Sid sat in front of her.
And it was his face, his confused but disappointed face that did it for her. And instead of happy tears, the sad ones came.
And once again, Rebecca remembered why she didn't drink very often.
She crumpled back onto the couch, the tears falling steadily. She wasn't going to talk about this, she didn't want to ruin the night. This unexpected visit, this was just about being with a friend and not thinking about reality. But it had happened anyway and the sadness and disappointment was overwhelming.
Sid turned to her, his face concerned. She just stared down at her glass, the tears falling steadily. "I got my financial aid package in the mail. I didn't get enough to pay for school. I'm short."
Sid swallowed, his heart breaking for her. Money might not be a problem now, but it was at one time. He remembered how badly his parents had struggled financially and how that had almost dashed his dreams.
"How much?" he asked.
Rebecca just shook her head, "It doesn't matter. Too much. I'm going to try and save up the money and go in a few years. I'm going to figure it out."
"I could give you the money." Sid said impulsively.
Rebecca looked at him, surprised, then angry.
"No. You're drunk. You don't know what you're saying."
"I'm not that drunk, you could pay me back. When you're a big time lawyer."
Rebecca shook her head, adamantly. "I barely know you. I'm not going to borrow $40,000 from you. That's crazy."
It was crazy. But Sid wanted to help and he couldn't help but be insulted by her 'barely know you' comment.
"It would fix things." He said lamely, not sure what else to say.
But instead of Rebecca agreeing, she just began to cry harder.
And Sid realized, she didn't want a fix. Not right now and not something that made her feel like a charity case to someone who had become her friend.
So instead, he reached out and pulled her into his arms.
She came freely, burrowing herself into his hold. The tears wracking her body as the waves of disappointment and failure consumed her. The alcohol helped but the pain was real.
And so they stayed that way for a little while.
Two people defined by success, but bruised with defeat.
In a few hours Sid would have to go deal with the fallout of Michel's firing. And Rebecca would wake to find that her dream was still out of reach. This was the part that was hidden. Unseen. The aftermath of defeat. The pain, the raw, gut-wrenching feeling of failure. Of not being good enough. Of not being what everyone wants you to be.
The feeling of losing yourself. Your identity. And everyone being mad at you because of that. And feeling lost and alone while everyone points fingers and makes accusations. And that defeat is the same whether it's not making the playoffs or not getting into the school you wanted. Because it's still pain. It still hurts the same. And no one knows what that specific pain is like. No one but you can define it.
Because it's yours.
Eventually the tears subsided and Sid realized that Rebecca had fallen asleep. His eyes grew heavy and he surrendered to his exhaustion as well.
He's not sure when he woke. The sun hadn't come up yet, so it couldn't have been too long. Rebecca was still in his arms, her head pressed up against his chest. His arm had fallen asleep and he tried to move slowly to shake it awake. He wasn't drunk anymore, the piercing headache and cotton mouth told him he was going to have a heck of a hangover. Peach schnapps gave the worst hangovers. Despite his best efforts, his movement caused Rebecca to stir. Her eyes slowly opened. The forest green fringed with thick dark lashes stared up at him and his hangover and tingling arm were forgotten. She looked so beautiful. He swallowed and bent his head towards her, the need for her suddenly so strong. The feelings assaulting him.
"Don't you dare kiss me." she whispered.
Sid stopped and frowned.
Rebecca pulled herself from his embrace. Her hand coming up straight to her head as she groaned.
Maybe she was afraid of morning breath, or maybe she thinks she is going to throw up, Sid thought.
Rebecca leaned back against the couch, her hair was in disarray and her cheeks were flushed from sleep.
"You have a girlfriend." She said plainly.
Oh that.
"No," Sid said, shifting to make himself more comfortable. "We broke up. She dumped me actually."
Rebecca looked at him. "When?"
"A few weeks ago. That night, in the car, when she called. It wasn't working. Us."
"Oh."
Rebecca stared at him and he could see something in her eyes that he couldn't quite figure out.
"I think you should get going." She said softly.
Sid nodded reluctantly and gathered his things. Rebecca walked him to the door. "Thanks for last night" he said. "It really helped."
Rebecca gave a small smile, "Me too. It will all work out." She said hopefully.
Sid's chest tightened. "Yeah it will, for both of us."
And with a duck of his head he was gone.
Now and Then
It hadn't even been a minute when there is a knock on the door.
The door opens, a questioning look, did he forget something?
Yes he did.
And then hands are on cheeks and mouth is on mouth. Lips sliding against one another. Tongues seeking acceptance. Bodies molded against another. And there it is. That feeling that this is right, that they are right.
And now is then and then is now.
So what went wrong?
And how do they make it right?
***Author's note: Thank you so much for your reviews on the last chapter, it means so much to get your feedback and you all give me such inspiration! There is still a lot of story to tell, so thank you so much for your patience! Writing this chapter has been a roller coaster and the real life Pens haven't made it easy! But I hope you enjoy the chapter and that the next two games go our way! Going to the game on Friday and I'm already a nervous wreck! GO PENS!***
***Author's note 2: I hate saying this, but I feel like I need to. I'm going on vacation next week and ***hopefully*** the playoffs will begin. In the past writing during the playoffs has been a disaster, so I'm pretty sure that the next chapters are going to be a while. I will try my best to keep writing, but the anxiety is already building and when I'm anxious I'm distracted and I feel like I don't put out a quality product like that. I will try my best though! And I'd rather see success in the playoffs than write in the off season :/***
