Tonight You're On My Mind
Chapter 3
Marie didn’t throw the paper away. It was shoved in a desk drawer filled with junk. Old receipts and coupons and aspirin that had long since expired. Underneath it all was a personal note from Brooks Laich with his cell phone number. Marie convinced herself he had likely changed the number after giving it out to the likes of her. But she knew that Brooks wouldn’t have wasted that much thought on little old Marie Clarkson.
It’s been almost two months. She’d had a disastrous blind date three weeks ago for New Years Eve. A woman she worked with had set her up with a friend’s son. They suffered through a painful dinner before he excused himself, leaving her to find her way home alone just before the clock struck midnight. Figures, she thought. Blind dates were always a bad idea. She was one of those girls who won guys over with her witty conversation, not her good looks and killer body. Marie knew she was cute enough with layered blonde hair that fell past her shoulders and a smooth, pale complexion that was the envy of her friends. But she’d always been uncomfortable in her own skin, unhappy with her too-full stomach and too-wide hips and too-round butt. She didn’t think she’d be making the cover of Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Edition in the next lifetime.
She sucked on a blueberry popsicle as the Penguins took to the ice at the Verizon Center. The crowd was dressed mostly in bright red jerseys to support the Capitals. And Marie was oddly excited to see Brooks play. Not that she wanted the Capitals to win. But she was allowed to watch a nice guy play a great game of hockey even if he was on the other team. Right?
The game was fast-paced and physical, which was par for the course when the Pens played the Caps. Brooks was in fine form, scoring a goal late in the second period to bring the Caps ahead by one. She cursed him while secretly congratulating him on the good play. The third period was eventless and the Penguins lost by a goal. She flipped the television off and brushed her teeth. On her way to the bedroom, she walked by the desk. The desk with the drawer that held the paper. The paper had his phone number.
Marie shook her head and kept walking. And then she turned around and dug out the note to take it to bed with her. Once she was snuggled beneath the warm sheet and duvet, she typed out a text to him.
Marie: Okay, fine. I’m eating crow. Stop playing so well.
She read the message again and again. If he responded back to ask her who sent the message, then she’d just leave it at that. That would just mean he didn’t remember their conversation a couple months ago and she didn’t care to debase herself to Mr. Perfect any more than she could help it.
Holding her breath, she hit the send button and sat her phone on the nightstand. She was determined not to stay up and wait for his response. Hell, the response might never come. Maybe he did change his number. She closed her eyes and let herself drift off to sleep. Just as the exhaustion was pulling her under, her phone chirped and jerked her back into the world.
She lay still for a moment, staring the the green light on her phone as it blinked at her. It was probably her brother, complaining about the Penguins’ loss. Or her friend Sara. Yeah, she thought, it was probably Sara complaining about her husband. He worked nights and it gave Sara too much time to think up reasons why she was upset with him. Really, Marie thought her friend’s husband was a nice guy who had no idea what his wife was talking about.
Hesitantly, Marie picked up her phone and pulled up her text messages.
Brooks: I knew you’d come around.
Her heart was in her throat as she read the text. It was cryptic and didn’t really tell her that he remembered who she was. She couldn’t help responding.
Marie: I bet you don’t even know who this is.
Less than two minutes later and her phone chirped. She pulled up the message.
Brooks: Marie, how could I forget the girl who hoped I would lose even after I was nice enough to change her flat tire.
The sentence knocked the wind out of her. He did remember. He remembered everything, even her name. Brooks Laich thought she was important enough to occupy a space in his brain. The world was upside down. Obviously.
Before she could respond to his message, he had sent another.
Brooks: I thought you’d thrown away my number since I’m the enemy.
Marie: I was saving it for a rainy day.
She smiled at herself for the response, hoping that her playfulness would keep his attention, at least for a few more minutes. And she was right; it did.
Brooks: So, should I send you a jersey to wear to the next game. That Crosby one was looking pretty ratty.
Marie: I’ve been thinking about getting a Letang jersey.
Brooks: Breaking my heart here. I have a perfectly good red number 21 jersey in my closet.
She laughed and shoved her face in the pillow. And then she took a deep breath to compose herself. She was not nineteen and crushing on a boy. She was thirty and flirting with disaster. Brooks Laich was something she would never have; she had no doubt about that. It was foolish to keep this up.
Marie: Maybe you’ll get traded to the Pens and then I can get a black number 21.
Brooks: Blasphemy. Don’t make me lose my appetite.
Marie: Agree to disagree. Have a good night. And congrats on the great game.
She sighed and waited for his response. It came only a few seconds later.
Brooks: Goodnight. Don’t be a stranger.
Marie smiled and quickly shoved her phone back onto the nightstand before she texted another response. She just needed to stop.
**************************
Two days later she was pushing a cart up and down aisles at the grocery store, convinced nothing could be more depressing than this on a Thursday evening. She might as well throw in a few cans of cat food for the inevitable cat she’d be getting within the next five years. Her phone started playing Smack That by Akon. At the time she thought it had been funny and ironic to program the song as her ringtone. But in the quiet aisles of the grocery store, it was embarrassing. She fumbled for the phone and answered it without looking at the caller ID.
“Hello?”
“You don’t call, you don’t write. I’m beginning to think you really don’t like me.”
The voice was male and familiar, but she couldn’t quite place it. What man was calling her at seven o’clock on a Thursday night?
“You must have the wrong number,” she said.
“Marie, the Penguins fan?”
Brooks Laich. Her brain was screaming his name and the words “holy shit” nearly spewed out of her mouth. The silence must have stretched out far too long because Brooks cleared his throat and said, “Marie?”
“Boy, you really are on a mission to convert fans, aren’t you?” she asked.
His laughter rumbled through the phone. “I’m a team player. How have you been?”
“Are you playing a joke on me?”
“No. Why?”
Marie glanced nervously at the cereal boxes lining the shelves. “You’re being weird. Calling me and stuff. I’m nobody.”
He was silent for a moment before finally speaking up and saying, “You’re somebody, don’t be silly. Should I delete your number?”
“No,” she said quickly. “I just... Well, you’re Brooks Laich and I’m....”
“Marie. Clarkson, right?”
“Right. Stop being perfect.”
He laughed again. “I’m not perfect.”
“Bullshit. You are. Aren’t you busy playing hockey?”
“We’re in Buffalo for the night. We play tomorrow.”
She plucked a box of Cheerios from the shelf and dropped it her cart. “And you got bored so you started going through your address book?”
“Pretty much. Except I skipped straight to the M’s first so I could rub in the last win to my favorite Penguins fan.”
Her heart was thumping in her chest. His favorite Penguins fan, indeed. The man was smooth as shit. “I bet you don’t know any other Penguins fans.”
“Busted,” he replied. They both laughed before he continued by asking, “So, what are you up to?”
“Shopping for groceries.”
“Definitely buy cereal.”
She furrowed her brows and said, “You partial to cereal?”
“Favorite food.”
“I’m in the cereal aisle. Tell me what’s good.”
He hummed before saying, “Cheerios.”
“Covered. I already have a box in my cart.”
“The honey nut kind?”
“Regular.”
“Get the honey nut kind. Way better.”
She stared at the box in her cart and then put it back on the shelf to replace it with the honey nut box. A smile was on her face, but she didn’t even notice it. “Okay, Mr. Bossy. What else?”
“Special K--the kind with fruit and yogurt.”
She spied it on the second shelf and grabbed a box. “No Fruit Loops?” she asked as she dropped it into the cart on top of the Cheerios.
“Only on special occasions,” he replied.
“You’re super weird, Brooks Laich.”
“It’s endearing, right?”
She chuckled and shook her head. “Yeah, endearing.”
“I’ll leave you to the cereal. For real, though. Don’t be a stranger. Life on a road can get pretty boring.”
She wished him a good night and hung up, trying to comprehend his strange parting remark. Did Brooks Laich want her to be his friend?
****************************
The following evening she was sitting in front of her television, watching the NHL Network. The Capitals/Buffalo game was airing and Marie had nothing better to do than watch Brooks fly across the ice. And she could root for him without guilt because she didn’t care one way or another about Buffalo. The Caps won and Brooks was awarded two assists during the course of the game.
At 10:30, she brushed her teeth and crawled into bed. Before she went to sleep, she sent him a text congratulating him on the win. He didn’t respond back right away and Marie ended up dozing off. At eleven-thirty her phone chirped and vibrated across the nightstand, waking her from sleep. She rubbed her eyes and read his response.
Brooks: Give in. You know you love us.
She shook her head at him and smiled. What a little shit he was.
Marie: You’re okay. It’s a shame you’ll lose in two weeks.
Brooks: It’s a shame you don’t know what you’re talking about. You coming to see us play the Pens then?
Marie: I might try to get tickets.
Which was a total lie. She’s beg, borrow, and steal to get tickets to see him again. It was all in an effort to extend the fantasy. Plus, how many people in the arena could say they had the phone number of a player? She could. And half the women in the place would probably be jealous if they knew.
Brooks: We’ll be there the night before. Maybe you can show us around?
She sat the phone down and stared at his last message. Life was strange. She almost said no, but he was such a nice guy that she couldn’t bear to say anything but yes.
Marie: Okay.
It’s been almost two months. She’d had a disastrous blind date three weeks ago for New Years Eve. A woman she worked with had set her up with a friend’s son. They suffered through a painful dinner before he excused himself, leaving her to find her way home alone just before the clock struck midnight. Figures, she thought. Blind dates were always a bad idea. She was one of those girls who won guys over with her witty conversation, not her good looks and killer body. Marie knew she was cute enough with layered blonde hair that fell past her shoulders and a smooth, pale complexion that was the envy of her friends. But she’d always been uncomfortable in her own skin, unhappy with her too-full stomach and too-wide hips and too-round butt. She didn’t think she’d be making the cover of Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Edition in the next lifetime.
She sucked on a blueberry popsicle as the Penguins took to the ice at the Verizon Center. The crowd was dressed mostly in bright red jerseys to support the Capitals. And Marie was oddly excited to see Brooks play. Not that she wanted the Capitals to win. But she was allowed to watch a nice guy play a great game of hockey even if he was on the other team. Right?
The game was fast-paced and physical, which was par for the course when the Pens played the Caps. Brooks was in fine form, scoring a goal late in the second period to bring the Caps ahead by one. She cursed him while secretly congratulating him on the good play. The third period was eventless and the Penguins lost by a goal. She flipped the television off and brushed her teeth. On her way to the bedroom, she walked by the desk. The desk with the drawer that held the paper. The paper had his phone number.
Marie shook her head and kept walking. And then she turned around and dug out the note to take it to bed with her. Once she was snuggled beneath the warm sheet and duvet, she typed out a text to him.
Marie: Okay, fine. I’m eating crow. Stop playing so well.
She read the message again and again. If he responded back to ask her who sent the message, then she’d just leave it at that. That would just mean he didn’t remember their conversation a couple months ago and she didn’t care to debase herself to Mr. Perfect any more than she could help it.
Holding her breath, she hit the send button and sat her phone on the nightstand. She was determined not to stay up and wait for his response. Hell, the response might never come. Maybe he did change his number. She closed her eyes and let herself drift off to sleep. Just as the exhaustion was pulling her under, her phone chirped and jerked her back into the world.
She lay still for a moment, staring the the green light on her phone as it blinked at her. It was probably her brother, complaining about the Penguins’ loss. Or her friend Sara. Yeah, she thought, it was probably Sara complaining about her husband. He worked nights and it gave Sara too much time to think up reasons why she was upset with him. Really, Marie thought her friend’s husband was a nice guy who had no idea what his wife was talking about.
Hesitantly, Marie picked up her phone and pulled up her text messages.
Brooks: I knew you’d come around.
Her heart was in her throat as she read the text. It was cryptic and didn’t really tell her that he remembered who she was. She couldn’t help responding.
Marie: I bet you don’t even know who this is.
Less than two minutes later and her phone chirped. She pulled up the message.
Brooks: Marie, how could I forget the girl who hoped I would lose even after I was nice enough to change her flat tire.
The sentence knocked the wind out of her. He did remember. He remembered everything, even her name. Brooks Laich thought she was important enough to occupy a space in his brain. The world was upside down. Obviously.
Before she could respond to his message, he had sent another.
Brooks: I thought you’d thrown away my number since I’m the enemy.
Marie: I was saving it for a rainy day.
She smiled at herself for the response, hoping that her playfulness would keep his attention, at least for a few more minutes. And she was right; it did.
Brooks: So, should I send you a jersey to wear to the next game. That Crosby one was looking pretty ratty.
Marie: I’ve been thinking about getting a Letang jersey.
Brooks: Breaking my heart here. I have a perfectly good red number 21 jersey in my closet.
She laughed and shoved her face in the pillow. And then she took a deep breath to compose herself. She was not nineteen and crushing on a boy. She was thirty and flirting with disaster. Brooks Laich was something she would never have; she had no doubt about that. It was foolish to keep this up.
Marie: Maybe you’ll get traded to the Pens and then I can get a black number 21.
Brooks: Blasphemy. Don’t make me lose my appetite.
Marie: Agree to disagree. Have a good night. And congrats on the great game.
She sighed and waited for his response. It came only a few seconds later.
Brooks: Goodnight. Don’t be a stranger.
Marie smiled and quickly shoved her phone back onto the nightstand before she texted another response. She just needed to stop.
**************************
Two days later she was pushing a cart up and down aisles at the grocery store, convinced nothing could be more depressing than this on a Thursday evening. She might as well throw in a few cans of cat food for the inevitable cat she’d be getting within the next five years. Her phone started playing Smack That by Akon. At the time she thought it had been funny and ironic to program the song as her ringtone. But in the quiet aisles of the grocery store, it was embarrassing. She fumbled for the phone and answered it without looking at the caller ID.
“Hello?”
“You don’t call, you don’t write. I’m beginning to think you really don’t like me.”
The voice was male and familiar, but she couldn’t quite place it. What man was calling her at seven o’clock on a Thursday night?
“You must have the wrong number,” she said.
“Marie, the Penguins fan?”
Brooks Laich. Her brain was screaming his name and the words “holy shit” nearly spewed out of her mouth. The silence must have stretched out far too long because Brooks cleared his throat and said, “Marie?”
“Boy, you really are on a mission to convert fans, aren’t you?” she asked.
His laughter rumbled through the phone. “I’m a team player. How have you been?”
“Are you playing a joke on me?”
“No. Why?”
Marie glanced nervously at the cereal boxes lining the shelves. “You’re being weird. Calling me and stuff. I’m nobody.”
He was silent for a moment before finally speaking up and saying, “You’re somebody, don’t be silly. Should I delete your number?”
“No,” she said quickly. “I just... Well, you’re Brooks Laich and I’m....”
“Marie. Clarkson, right?”
“Right. Stop being perfect.”
He laughed again. “I’m not perfect.”
“Bullshit. You are. Aren’t you busy playing hockey?”
“We’re in Buffalo for the night. We play tomorrow.”
She plucked a box of Cheerios from the shelf and dropped it her cart. “And you got bored so you started going through your address book?”
“Pretty much. Except I skipped straight to the M’s first so I could rub in the last win to my favorite Penguins fan.”
Her heart was thumping in her chest. His favorite Penguins fan, indeed. The man was smooth as shit. “I bet you don’t know any other Penguins fans.”
“Busted,” he replied. They both laughed before he continued by asking, “So, what are you up to?”
“Shopping for groceries.”
“Definitely buy cereal.”
She furrowed her brows and said, “You partial to cereal?”
“Favorite food.”
“I’m in the cereal aisle. Tell me what’s good.”
He hummed before saying, “Cheerios.”
“Covered. I already have a box in my cart.”
“The honey nut kind?”
“Regular.”
“Get the honey nut kind. Way better.”
She stared at the box in her cart and then put it back on the shelf to replace it with the honey nut box. A smile was on her face, but she didn’t even notice it. “Okay, Mr. Bossy. What else?”
“Special K--the kind with fruit and yogurt.”
She spied it on the second shelf and grabbed a box. “No Fruit Loops?” she asked as she dropped it into the cart on top of the Cheerios.
“Only on special occasions,” he replied.
“You’re super weird, Brooks Laich.”
“It’s endearing, right?”
She chuckled and shook her head. “Yeah, endearing.”
“I’ll leave you to the cereal. For real, though. Don’t be a stranger. Life on a road can get pretty boring.”
She wished him a good night and hung up, trying to comprehend his strange parting remark. Did Brooks Laich want her to be his friend?
****************************
The following evening she was sitting in front of her television, watching the NHL Network. The Capitals/Buffalo game was airing and Marie had nothing better to do than watch Brooks fly across the ice. And she could root for him without guilt because she didn’t care one way or another about Buffalo. The Caps won and Brooks was awarded two assists during the course of the game.
At 10:30, she brushed her teeth and crawled into bed. Before she went to sleep, she sent him a text congratulating him on the win. He didn’t respond back right away and Marie ended up dozing off. At eleven-thirty her phone chirped and vibrated across the nightstand, waking her from sleep. She rubbed her eyes and read his response.
Brooks: Give in. You know you love us.
She shook her head at him and smiled. What a little shit he was.
Marie: You’re okay. It’s a shame you’ll lose in two weeks.
Brooks: It’s a shame you don’t know what you’re talking about. You coming to see us play the Pens then?
Marie: I might try to get tickets.
Which was a total lie. She’s beg, borrow, and steal to get tickets to see him again. It was all in an effort to extend the fantasy. Plus, how many people in the arena could say they had the phone number of a player? She could. And half the women in the place would probably be jealous if they knew.
Brooks: We’ll be there the night before. Maybe you can show us around?
She sat the phone down and stared at his last message. Life was strange. She almost said no, but he was such a nice guy that she couldn’t bear to say anything but yes.
Marie: Okay.
8/2/13