Ryan and Kyle are the two best guys at Tuesday morning drop-in hockey, and they just found out they also have something else in common – wives!

They made this fine discovery in the dressing room. It continued on the bench with me sitting between them, an inconvenient piece of baloney in their conversational sandwich.

“Hey! Kyle!” Ryan leaned over me. A fat blob of sweat slid off his face and onto the thigh of my hockey pants. “How long you been married for?”

Kyle spat his gummy yellowed mouth guard into his glove. “Three years!”

This information excited Ryan. “Oh! That’s just great! I just got married – September 10!”

Kyle nodded and offered congratulations. He’s a pastor, so these types of exchanges must be part of the job, I figured while trying to wipe off the accumulation of Ryan’s sweat on my pants with my elbow.

 Ryan had more questions.

“Hey! How many people were at your wedding?”

Kyle told him 130.

“We had a huge wedding with about 235,” offered Ryan. “Well, I guess that’s not so huge.”

Kyle said, no, that’s a pretty big wedding. Ryan, gaining traction, now stands, leaning on the inside of the rink boards, blocking my view of the game and ability to glare at the ice hogs.

“So, Kyle,” Ryan readies himself for the big question. “How MUCH was your wedding?”

Kyle tells Ryan that it cost twenty thousand dollars. Kyle allowed for a bit of cautious incredulity to slip into his voice at this personal reveal.

Ryan banged the board with his gloved hand in a burst of relieved commiseration. “Yeah! Mine was eleven thousand, and that was just for the food!” Ryan said. He added that the wedding was actually a lot more, but his wife’s family paid for it. Oh, and she’s Catholic.

Finally! A shift change of one! Kyle’s on the ice, Shannon’s on the bench.

Ryan was on a roll still. “Hey! Shannon! How much was your wedding?”

I know Shannon got married in Vegas by Elvis. She made her dress. People attended on their own bill, including her husband-to-be.

“My wedding? Oh, it was 500 dollars.”

 “You mean, just for the food,” Ryan asked, sounding hopeful.

“No. The whole thing.”

This piece of information deflated Ryan into silence. I went on the ice and stayed out as long as I could.

Rebecca Blissett is a Canadian writer and photographer. This excerpt is from her forthcoming book Fused.