The Romantic Pact (Kings of Football)(19)

The comment hits me harder than I expected, and when my bleary eyes glance at her, she catches my trepidation.

“That didn’t come out right,” she says quickly.

“No, it’s okay. I know what you meant, and yeah, I’m avoiding opening anything right now.”

She picks up her fork and spears one of the worm-like noodles. “Want to talk about it?”

“Not really. Just the same old bullshit of not wanting to let go of something that’s already left my life.”

“That’s not bullshit. That’s a valid feeling. But unfortunately, you’re on a trip with me, and I’m not going to let you hide from your feelings.” She smiles at me, and then, from her side, she lifts the white envelope we were given at the front desk.

“Why do I feel as though you’re about to rip off a Band-Aid?”

“Because I am.” She comes to take a seat on the arm of my chair.

“You can’t hide from the loss of Pops, but you can start to learn to accept it, and there’s no time like now to do that.”

She tips the envelope over and a letter falls out, along with a picture and a map. I pick up the picture and immediately smile. It’s a picture of Pops and his wife, Gloria, who I never got to meet, but I’ve heard about many, many times.

They’re standing in front of a Christmas tree. Pops proudly has his arm around Gloria, and they’re both smiling at the camera.

“Oh my God. Look at Pops’ plaid pants. Those are killer,” Hazel says.

I chuckle. “I never knew he had it in him to pull off something so stylish.”

“You think that’s stylish?”

“Back then, I believe they were.”

Hazel leans in. “Gloria is so beautiful. She reminds me of your mom so much it freaks me out.”

“She does,” I say softly. “They look really happy in this picture.”

“They do,” Hazel agrees and then picks up the map and unfolds it. It’s a printout of the Christmas market and the best way to visit each stall. “Well, this is well thought out.”

“I wonder how much time he worked on this.”

“Let’s see.” Hazel looks in the envelope and then gasps.

“What?” I ask.

She slowly pulls out a wad of Euros. “Uh, he just had this sitting at the front desk?”

“Holy shit,” I say, thumbing through the bills. There has to be at least eight hundred euros in here. “Why would he give us so much money?”

“I have no idea.”

I nod at the envelope. “Is there anything else in there?”

She looks in the envelope. “Nothing. Oh, wait—duh—the letters are in my backpack.” Hazel runs over to her backpack where she sifts through the letters and then holds one up in the air. “Here we are.” She takes a seat next to me again and hands me the envelope. It’s labeled “Munich. Letter #2.” Hazel nudges me with her shoulder. “Read it out loud.”

“Not making this easy on me, are you?”

“Nope. Come on, time to rip.”

Sighing, I open the letter and unfold the paper. I instantly take comfort in seeing Pops’ very familiar handwriting.

Clearing my throat, I read the letter out loud. “‘Hey kiddos, glad you made it to Munich—at least, I hope you did. How was the drive? Crew, I hope you took the wheel. Knowing Hazel’s track record, you two could have ended up in a ditch.’” I laugh out loud while Hazel protests.

“It was one time. Good God, you can’t hold that against me for life.”

“I think we can,” I say before turning back to the letter. “‘Anyway, welcome to Munich at Christmastime. It’s unlike anything you’ll ever experience, and this is where your road trip starts. Yes, road trip. Did you think I would send you on anything else?’” I look up at Hazel. “Told you.” She just rolls her eyes. “’You’re probably wondering why I sent you on this trip, and the answer is . . . something you’ll find out later, but the real road trip hasn’t started quite yet. This is a small detour until you get up to the starting point. For now, I want you to take the night—don’t let sleep take you over—’”

“Ha, told you.” Hazel nudges me.

“Congratulations, you were right about one thing.”

“Uh, I was right about you opening this letter.” She pokes my cheek. “See? You’re smiling and enjoying it.”

Damn it, I am.

Ignoring her, I go back to the letter. “‘Immerse yourself in the holiday culture today. Spend time walking through the stalls, taking in the intricacies of all the handmade works. Buy yourselves a trinket, something to remember these moments by. That’s what the cash is for. That and food and drinks. Find things that mean something to you, things that will remind you of each other, of me, of your families. Munich is about reconnecting.’”

Hazel drapes her arm over my shoulder and gives me a good squeeze.

“‘You might have thought I didn’t notice, but I did. I noticed how you two grew apart. Don’t worry, Twigs, I place all the blame on my idiot of a grandson.’”

Hazel laughs, and I chuckle as well, imagining Pops’ look of displeasure over me ignoring Hazel’s emails. He’d have smacked me on the back of the head and asked, “What the Abraham Lincoln were you thinking?” And honestly, I wouldn’t have had an answer for him.