Page 75 of Geeky Pucking Orc

As the players got to their feet and separated, it became clear there was no goal for the Tusks. Ozar skated away looking murderous. Eng, at the other end of the ice, leaned casually on his stick as though none of this concerned him. And Bwat? Bwat was laughing. His face was flushed from exertion, his chest rising and falling. He looked tired and sweaty and enormous and ridiculously pleased with himself. And happy. He looked so damned happy, like he was having the time of his life out there on the ice.

That was the thing that got me. Not the muscles, although I possessed functioning eyes and could acknowledge those were mighty fine. Not the tusks. Not even the fact that he'd just knocked a professional hockey player flat and apparently discovered he was allowed to do it. It was his joy that made my heart skip a beat.

Bwat had spent the first weeks I'd known him worrying about everything. Whether he was doing things correctly. Whether he understood the rules. Whether he was helping the team. Whether what he'd done was useful. Right now, he looked like he belonged and I was absurdly happy for him.

A warm feeling unfurled beneath my breastbone. Not fireworks. Not lightning. Not the breathless, dizzy zing I'd spent half my adult life waiting for. It was warmth, fondness, and pride. A spark caught–a spark that I hadn’t even known existed. And suddenly there was a bonfire where there’d been only warmth before.

I had an almost irresistible desire to go downstairs after the game, throw my arms around the huge sweaty orc, and tell him I'd seen what he'd done. That he was good at this game. And if the coach and owner couldn’t see that, then they were a pair of idiots.

And tell him that I loved him.

36

BWAT

We did not win Friday, but this was the first game where I felt we’d actually had a chance at winning. It was the first game where we played as a team, used strategies our coach had drilled us on in practice. It was the first game I hadn’t ended up in the penalty box. I still didn’t understand how knocking the human player down had been a legal hit where the other ones had not, but that would be a question for the coach on Monday.

Monday. The thought was no longer filling me with dread over the possibility of losing my job. The coach and the owner might still decide that I had no future with the Tusks, but after Friday’s game, I knew I would have options. Other teams might want me. And if not, then I knew I’d played well and done my best.

Saturday was one of the best days ever. Abby had spent the night at my house. We woke up and cooked breakfast together, then curled up on the coach to watch many episodes of a baking show on Abby’s computer. We went for a walk, had lunch, attended the talk at a library on the history and contributions of Black women activists and artists during the Civil Rights Movement.

Then we picked up Vietnamese braised spareribs and vegan pakora from The Buttonwood and went back to my apartment for dinner. The rest of the night we spent curled up on the couch again, watching more episodes of the baking show while I took notes on different types of icing for cakes.

Sunday morning, calm relaxation was replaced by a nervous anxiety. Abby went back to her apartment, and I paced the floor of my own, fretting over this evening’s dinner. It would be the first time meeting her mother and I wanted to make a good impression. I’d gotten flowers and several bottles of wine, but I worried it wasn’t enough, so I ran down to the grocery and purchased a large salt-cured ham that the butcher told me had been aging for over a year. I might not have killed the boar myself, but surely Abby’s mother would see this gift as a sign that I could provide for her daughter.

At the last minute, I bought a few Starbuck’s gift cards, just in case.

Abby’s eyebrows shot up when she saw everything I was loading into the backseat of her car. “Bwat, I bought wine, you didn’t have to get four more bottles. It’s just the three of us, and I do need to be sober enough to drive home.”

“The internet says that hostess gifts are not meant to be consumed that evening but are for the hostess to enjoy at a later time.” I gestured toward the bottles. “I was not sure what kind of wine you mother liked, so I thought it smart to purchase a variety.”

“And…is that a ham? A huge country ham?” Abby let out a short, disbelieving laugh.

“Meat is a traditional orc gift,” I explained. “It is a wooing-gift, a host-gift, a get-well-soon gift for friends. Basically there is no social occasion where it is not appropriate to bring meat. Ideally, I would have hunted the animal myself, but time was limited and so are the available hunting areas inside the city of Baltimore. Plus, I am not a skilled hunter. I felt it would be good to show your mother that I am able to provide for a family, even if this ham was purchased from a store.”

Abby made a strangled noise. “It’s huge, Bwat. It’s an entire leg of ham. It’ll take her a decade to eat that thing.”

I shrugged. “I do not know your mother’s appetite. And she can serve it to friends and family if she does not feel she can eat it alone. Salt-cured meat is very good, and the butcher assured me this was nicely seasoned and from a notable smokehouse.”

Her lips shook as if she were struggling to keep from smiling. “Well, the flowers are conventional, at least.”

“I also brought four Starbuck’s gift cards,” I confessed. “The internet says they are always a welcome gift.”

“Mom will love them.” She tucked the ham in among the bottles of wine and shut the car door. “Now get in. We’ve got an hour drive, and I don’t want to be late.”

“Mom, this is Bwat. Bwat, this is my mother.”

I smiled broadly and extended my hand. “I have heard much about you, Ms. Anton.”

“And I you. Please call me Kathy.” The human female shook my hand.

“Your daughter looks just like you,” I told her. “She has the same muddy waterfall of hair and green eyes.”

Abby made a strangled noise. “Green eyes like algae. I’m Swamp Woman. I never realized that I was Swamp Woman.”

I blinked at her, not understanding at all.

“Never mind.” Abby grinned. “Bwat means the muddy waterfall thing as a compliment, Mom.”