Bending the Rules (The Rules, #1)

37

Brenna

On Boxing Day, I'm relaxing on the couch, wearing the romper Shea bought for me. It's been a week since our Christmas party, and I haven't taken the thing off. Okay, I have. But it doesn't feel like I have. I'm in love with this romper. It's soft and sustainable and comfortable. Everything, from the drawstring at the waist to the hood to the grey colour, has me hypnotized. Plus, I can't wait to pair it with a leather jacket and my new Canucks hat.

Shea will never hear the end of my gifts.

Nor will I ever hear the end of the pink sweater. Whenever Shea wears it, he sends me a selfie. Selfies I'm tempted to create a collage of and use as my new phone's background. He looks too damn good.

What I can't get over is how excited he was for the hot-pink sweater. Shea's more observant than I thought. He clued in about the sweater being a nod to our trip to Scandia.

The blush that spread across his cheeks was adorable.

Now that we've expressed how we feel, things seem easier. It feels like a weight has been removed from my shoulders. Until I think about hockey.

I've scheduled a meeting with both coaches. Matthias Stryder and Aiden Jameson. They're not intimidating. What's intimidating is the topic I'm bringing up. Hockey shouldn't restrict my dating life. Being the only girl playing the league shouldn't bother the people who run it. By restricting me, they're sexualizing my body and personality and removing my rights. No one may dictate what I do with my life except myself. They're not allowed to assume my goal is to sleep with every hockey player. Or that I'll mess with their game by flirting and such.

Feminism is a double-edged sword. Sometimes, I believe we should erase the terminology and just call out the people who are being sexist. That way, it would seem more inclusive regarding equality. No matter, I still support the context of the word. It's called feminism because men have never been suppressed the way we have. Even then, it's not that simple. 

Discussing it offends some men. Makes them uncomfortable. It's a view I enjoy. Without support, though, it's difficult to prevent yourself from drowning. I still get nervous about bringing it up, which is an effect of the patriarchy. One I'm trying to get rid of. 

Sighing, I set my book down and pick up my phone. Concentrating on a book feels impossible. There's too much running through my mind. The meeting is tomorrow, before the break is over. We play hockey again on Friday. Plus, I still haven't had a discussion with Mom.

I glance over my shoulder. All morning, she's been working in the kitchen. Mom bakes when she's stressed, and something tells me that stress is originating from me. I've been hard on Mom. She should've told me. It's like Shea said, though. She has a reason. One I should sit down and listen to.

My stubbornness doesn't want to, though.

Which is why I text Shea first.

Any way you can save me from speaking to my mom?