Rosie Labrun is a lot of things: a college student on the cusp of graduation; an intern for the Portland Pirates, a romance novel connoisseur; and the most recent addition to her resume...the girlfriend of a professional athlete.
She won't let it d...
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"Sorry about all that." I tell Rosie, wrapping my arms around her waist, casually, as she looks over the dessert that's been set-up. I should add, it's an impromptu dessert bar. One my mom and Cassidy only set up after the little incident at dinner (i.e. them awkwardly thinking Rosie might've been Jewish and that they were offending her by trying to force her to eat the ancestor of a pig.)
After another five minutes of awkwardness and then Rosie disappearing to "use the bathroom" for twenty minutes, mom called dinner to an end and they worked on setting up dessert. Brownies, cheesecakes, pies, cookies; anything you can think of has been baked - more likely sourced, through an external bakery.
I recognized some of the boxes in the recycling bin in the garage but didn't say anything. Especially since I just so happen to love all the places; that, and I appreciate the effort they're trying to make. Just like I appreciate the effort they're trying to make with Rosie. But I think they've conveniently forgotten what it's like to be someone coming in from outside the King Family. What it's like to know nothing about hockey, or trades, or what it's like to live the infamous hockey life.
"Oh my god." Rosie jumps from the sudden contact, accidently dropping the brownie on her plate onto the floor. It ends up leaving a stain on my mom's favorite area rug and I feel like shit. "Crap, I'm so sorry." She says whilst I'm trying to clean it up with a Lysol wipe and some warm water. It's not her fault, it's my own for forgetting that Rosie startles easily.
"It's fine." I tell her, glancing towards the family room before subtly making a slight design change. And by slight design change, I mean moving the rug forward until it's hidden underneath the end table. Hey, my parents are barely even here - now that I live out of town and my dad has a broadcasting job in New York. I doubt she'll even notice; and if she does? Well, I'll buy her a new one.
"How you feeling?" I ask Rosie, a few minutes later when she's leaning back against the wall and I'm standing beside her. I'm supposed to be deciding what kind of desserts I wanna take for my third round, but instead all I can stare at is my girlfriend.
She looks so beautiful right now - stressed, but still more gorgeous than a million dollar art piece. One that I would really like to make love to, right now. I wonder if she'll be opposed to spending some time in bed together, in my childhood bedroom. She still hasn't seen it and I haven't been in there since before I left, but I'm sure I have some condoms in my nightstand.
Now that I think about it, they may be expired. Whatever. I'm sure I have a couple in my wallet; I always make sure to keep some handy ever since we started dating. Spending time together? I know she mentioned looking at getting on birth control, but since her doctor told her she's pre-disposed to blood clots on her mom's side, we've kind of been at a stalemate.
Hey, at least I'm getting to be inside her.
"Your family hates me." Rosie says with so much certainty that you would think it's a fact rather than a matter of opinion. And likely caused by her and her anxiety. It's a lot of pressure: meeting my parents, coming home, coming back to Toronto. I'm not blind to the fact that she hasn't been back here since she left home when she was sixteen.
