I barely notice because in all his goaltending gear, in the middle of his Stanley Cup winning celebration, my childhood crush is dropping to one knee right in front of me. With a little velvet box in his hand. “Do you know what I don’t like?” His eyes staring up at mine are so clear, so bright, so unapologetically joyful. I’m still confused, still having a hard time catching up with what’s happening right now, even though it’s so damn obvious. “What?” I whisper, and I wouldn’t think he could hear me, but he must. Because he responds with, “Your last name, Sunny. I really don’t like your last
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