Game Time

by Kate Christie

  She checked the on-board flight computer. One hour down, one and a half to go before Jamie would slip back out of her life leaving a hole the shape and heft of which Emma remembered only too well.

  “Your turn,” Jamie said as she paused beside their row, not quite looking at her.

  Emma tried to keep her distance as she slipped out, but the plane bounced a little and she stumbled. Jamie steadied her, of course, and Emma wondered if she imagined the sigh the other woman released in the vicinity of her pony tail.

  “Sorry,” she offered, extricating herself from Jamie’s grasp.

  “It’s fine.”

  It really wasn’t, and Emma was beginning to think they both knew it.

  In the restroom, she closed the accordion door and flipped the latch, blinking in the sudden weak light. She leaned closer to the mirror, noting the redness in her cheeks and the bags beneath her eyes that concealer couldn’t entirely hide. She hadn’t slept well the night before, not that she ever did in a hotel bed. That was one thing she wouldn’t miss when her career ended.

  She peed for what felt like forever and then washed her hands and patted her face with a damp towel, careful not to smudge her make-up. It was possible that she’d taken more pains with her appearance this morning than she normally would on a travel day, knowing she would be spending part of it with Jamie.

  “You, my friend, are screwed,” she told her reflection. “But whatever you do, don’t try to kiss her this time. Got it?”

  She wanted to assure herself there was no need to worry on that count, but she had a feeling she’d be lying.

  Afterward, she couldn’t remember exactly what they talked about the rest of the flight. Families, definitely. Music. The WSL. The NWSL. Europe versus America, the West Coast versus the East Coast. They talked tactics, first touch, set pieces, and it was just as easy and comfortable as it had been back when Emma was a senior in high school and she would lie on her bed for hours at a time, watching the Western Washington sky change colors while she and Jamie discussed the Premier League, high school life, the Bush presidency, the war in Iraq. At one point toward the end of the flight, they tried to come up with the starting eleven for the US in the 1999 World Cup final match, the game they had both attended as young girls on the cusp of making soccer more than a hobby. They came up with ten names, but with their phones set to airplane mode, they couldn’t for the life of them figure out who they were missing.

  And then the plane was slowing, and they were looking out the window at the summit of Mt. Rainier jutting up out of the dark gray clouds cloaking the earth from view. The plane circled north all the way to the Canadian border before turning back and beginning the final approach to Sea-Tac. Emma closed her eyes as the plane descended through the clouds, shaking and shuddering with the chop. This was why she hated flying in winter. Give her a sunny summer day and she was happy to fly. Or if not happy, at least not petrified.

  Eyes still closed, she didn’t move as she felt a warm hand clasp hers. Almost instantly some of the fear left her system as if driven out by Jamie’s touch. This was bad, she thought again, but she didn’t move her hand away. It didn’t mean anything. Jamie was only being nice; any of her other teammates would have done the exact same thing. Well, maybe not Phoebe. But plenty of others.

  Jamie let her hand go as soon as they were on the ground, and neither of them said anything as the plane taxied to the gate. Emma remembered their arrival at LAX two weeks earlier. If someone had told her they would ride home together, that Jamie would hold her hand through the turbulence, she wouldn’t have believed it. But here they were, almost friends again after the distance of the intervening years. Or something like friends. Something.

  Once the plane reached the gate, they filed off quickly, heading for the row of monitors so that Jamie could double-check her flight information.

  “Great,” she said, frowning up at the nearest screen. “It’s running late.”

  Emma tried to ignore the sudden rush of hope. “How late?”

  “An hour and a half.”

  “That’s not too bad, is it?” Emma said, more pleased than she had any right to be. “Gives us time to grab lunch. Sea-Tac has the best food court.”

  Jamie chewed her lip, and Emma held her breath. It was only lunch in the company of hundreds of other travelers.

  As she stood at the edge of the terminal waiting for Jamie to decide whether or not to say goodbye, she heard a familiar sound behind them: the squeal of a teenaged girl(s). Sure enough, the pair who had recognized her earlier on the plane had stopped and were clutching each other’s arms, a woman Emma guessed to be the taller one’s mother standing in the background watching.

  “Ohmigod,” the smaller one said, her braces flashing against her dark skin. “It is you, isn’t it? Emma Blakeley?”

  Sighing inwardly, she put on her professional smile and nodded at the girls. After all, they couldn’t know they were interrupting a more-intimate-than-it-really-should-be moment. “Hi there. Are you soccer players, too?”

  She could feel Jamie’s eyes on her as she chatted with the star-struck girls, going through the usual questions—“What are your names? What club do you play for? Which school do you attend? Did you know I played at Shorecrest when I was your age?” They did, which marked them as serious fans. When they asked for a picture, Emma consented graciously.

  Jamie took the phone they handed over and snapped a couple of shots. “Make sure they turned out,” she said.

  The blonde girl actually gasped out loud as Jamie unleashed the full force of her smile, and it was all Emma could do not to crack up even though she was hardly one to throw stones.

  The dark-haired one rolled her eyes. “I think she’d like a photo with you too. Would that be okay?”

  “Me?” Jamie’s brow rose.

  Emma reached for the phone. “Allow me.”

  The blonde girl turned red as soon as Jamie slipped her arm around her shoulders, and Emma thought she probably knew the feeling.

  “Smile,” she said, and took several pictures before handing the phone back.

  “Thank you so much,” the dark-haired girl gushed, eyes wide as she grinned up at Emma. “You are seriously like my biggest hero. I can’t wait to see you play in the next World Cup. We’re going to get tickets since it’s in Canada. It’s going to be like the best thing ever!”

  “I hope we’ll see you there,” Emma said. “In the meantime, come out and support the Reign, okay? That’s the best thing you can do to help grow the women’s game here at home.”

  “We will,” the blonde one said, seeming to recover at last. “We have season tickets.”

  “That’s great. Make sure you come say hi at one of our season ticket holder events, okay?”

  The girls nodded and thanked them again, and then they hurried off with the mother in tow, eyes glued to their phones.

  “I hope you’re prepared to have your photo up on Instagram and Twitter,” Emma said. “Three, two, one…” Right on time, her phone dinged, alerting her to the mention.

  “No way,” Jamie said, laughing. “You planned that.”

  She held up her hands. “Not even, I swear. Come on, let me treat you to lunch. It’s the least I can do before you get on a plane for another what, ten hours?”

  “Nine and a half,” Jamie corrected. “Okay, fine. On one condition.”

  “What’s that?”

  “No more booze.”

  “Deal.” She thought about offering to shake on it but recognized the impulse in time as her subconscious mind’s ploy to get her to hold hands with Jamie again.

  “You know, we were that age when we met,” Jamie said as they headed to the food court.

  “We were,” Emma agreed.

  “I don’t think I realized what a star you’ve become. I knew, but you weren’t around last year when I got called up, so I guess I haven’t seen it in person.”

  “Okay.” She wasn’t sure what else to say.

  “Those
girls looked at you like you were Mia freaking Hamm.” Jamie smiled sideways at her. “Turns out you’re a badass, Blake.”

  “Don’t sound so surprised. Besides, the tall one looked at you the same way.”

  “Nuh-uh.”

  “Yuh-huh. You’ll see it when you look at the photos.”

  She almost told her to get used to it, but she stopped herself. Even though it was almost inconceivable, in reality she knew Jamie might not make the national team. Not because she wasn’t one of the best players in the country but because of all the other intangibles that went into the selection process. At least she had a champion in Ellie. And another in Emma, even if she didn’t know it.

  They decided on Ivar’s because it was hard to go wrong with fish and chips in Seattle. The food court was crowded, but they found a table at the edge of the seating area and settled in, carry-ons at their feet. Emma was still chewing her first bite when a college-aged guy approached.

  “Really?” she muttered, and pasted on a smile.

  “Hi,” the guy said, smiling confidently at them. “My buddies and I have a bet going. I said you play for the US women’s national soccer team but they say you don’t. So who’s right?”

  “You are,” Emma said, and took another bite.

  “I knew it! You’re Emma Blakeley, aren’t you?”

  “Right again.”

  “Could I get a photo with you by any chance?”

  She finished chewing and swallowed. “Sure. Feel free to grab us when we’re done eating, okay? And thanks for your support. It really means a lot.” She smiled to take the sting out of the rejection.

  “Oh. Right.” The guy backed away. “Have a nice lunch.”

  “You, too.” Emma felt Jamie’s eyes on her and waited until the fan was out of hearing range. “What?”

  “I didn’t say anything.”

  “I don’t like it when people interrupt my meal, especially when it’s an entitled frat boy, okay?”

  Jamie laughed. “Hangry much?”

  She threw a french fry at her. “Just wait. You’ll see how annoying some fans can be. But you can’t tell them where to go even if you’re PMSing or you have a cold or you woke up in a bad mood. Once you’re on this team, you can’t afford to have an off day in public.”

  “Poor you. It must be so hard to have people adore you.”

  “You’ll see,” Emma repeated.

  Aware of the group of college boys watching them, she rushed through her lunch even though she knew it was her last chance to spend time with Jamie for the foreseeable future. Jamie still had two pieces of fish left when Emma balled up her napkin and placed it on her compostable plate. LAX didn’t have compost bins. She’d missed Seattle. Living here again was seriously ruining her for any other region of the country. Next month the first friendly would be in Dallas, and she was already bracing herself. Texas was so different from her native Northwest that she felt like she’d entered the twilight zone whenever she set foot outside the hotel there.

  “What’s your hurry?” Jamie grumbled as Emma stood up to take her trash to the bins.

  “You have a flight to catch, in case you’ve forgotten.”

  “As if I could forget.” Jamie stuffed her last piece of fish in her mouth and followed Emma from the eating area.

  They had almost escaped when Emma heard it: “Emma! Hold on a sec!”

  Reluctantly she slowed. “Do I have anything in my teeth?” she asked Jamie, smiling perfunctorily.

  “No, you’re good,” she said, and swallowed her last bite.

  “Could I get that photo now?” the guy from earlier asked, a bit less cocky this time, his buddies trailing him.

  And that was how she and Jamie ended up posing with a college boy on either side of them. Jamie slipped her arm around Emma, and Emma let her even though she knew better. She let her because she wanted it to be Jamie’s arm against her shoulders, not the random boy’s. She let her because she knew they were going to say goodbye soon and she wanted a photo of the two of them together, not separated by a stranger they would never see again. She let Jamie tug her close and she snuggled into Jamie’s side because it was the first picture of them posing together in ten years, and she wanted to look happy. Because she was happy on this, the day they started to maybe, possibly, actually become friends again.

  After the photo, they shook hands with the guys and walked across the airport together, headed to Jamie’s gate.

  “What about your luggage?” Jamie had asked earlier, and Emma had told her it probably wouldn’t go anyplace without her. Anyway, she packed anything truly important in her carry-on, after learning the hard way on a flight home from Russia that suitcases sometimes escaped, especially when they contained expensive shoes and designer purses.

  When her phone lit up, she bit her lip. Probably it wasn’t a coincidence. Quickly she swiped her screen and saw she had a new text from Ellie. Without reading it, she shoved her phone back in the front pocket of her zip-up hoodie. She wasn’t about to let the other woman ruin her final few minutes with Jamie. They were being good, even if the anecdotal evidence on Twitter and Instagram suggested otherwise.

  At the gate, they checked the flight’s status. Nothing had changed; Jamie still had forty minutes before take-off.

  “Could you watch my bag for a second?” she asked, nodding toward a nearby restroom.

  “Go for it.”

  While she was gone, Emma checked social media mentions. Sure enough, the girls from their flight had tagged her—and Jamie, too. Apparently they really were serious fans. The college boys, on the other hand, had only tagged Emma. She peered at her phone screen, noting the way she and Jamie were angled slightly toward each other, how Jamie’s dark hair contrasted with her honey blonde ponytail, the way her hand cupped Emma’s shoulder while Emma’s fingers rested on Jamie’s hip. There was a sense of easy intimacy about them, a level of comfort not typically seen in new teammates. Or maybe that was her wishful thinking.

  “That one turned out,” Jamie said, leaning over her shoulder.

  Emma had been so caught up in her phone she hadn’t noticed Jamie’s return. She almost turned the screen off, but then decided that would be even worse than getting caught staring dreamily at their photo.

  “Yeah,” she agreed, “except for the fact those guys apparently go to USC.”

  Jamie made a face. “Boo. But why don’t you like USC?”

  “Because Dani went to UCLA. Gotta be loyal to the bestie.”

  “Are you guys still friends?”

  “Yeah. She moved back to Seattle a little after I did. We live a few blocks apart now, even closer than we did in high school.”

  “That’s awesome. Tell her I said hello.” She paused. “If that’s not weird.”

  “It’s not.” She glanced at the time on her phone. Time to say goodbye. Aargh. “So anyway,” she said, looking everywhere but at Jamie. “It was really nice having you as my seat buddy.”

  “Yeah?”

  She nodded and took a breath, finally meeting her gaze. “I’m glad the soccer gods decided to bring us back together, Jamie. I missed you.”

  “I missed you too, Emma,” Jamie admitted. Then she looked away, curling the edges of her boarding pass together. “I guess I should probably call my girlfriend and let her know about the delay. But thanks for lunch and for walking me to my gate.”

  “You’re welcome.” She started to reach toward her, then stopped and glanced around to see if anyone might be watching them. But so what if they were? There was no reason she and Jamie couldn’t be friends. She stepped toward her, releasing a long breath as Jamie’s arms closed around her. She’d nearly forgotten—Jamie’s hugs had always made her feel like someone had injected liquid peace into her veins. She pressed her face against Jamie’s neck, inhaling her scent that, thanks to their celebratory cocktail, was tinged with the distinctive fragrance of oranges. Jamie’s arms tightened briefly and then released, and Emma remembered what she’d said: She needed to
call her girlfriend.

  Right.

  “Have a good flight,” she said, forcing herself to pull away.

  “Thanks. Have fun in Minnesota. Tell your mom and brother I said hi.”

  “I will. Tell your family I said the same.”

  They stood watching each other, the peace of their hug somehow lingering between them. Then the loudspeaker crackled with an update, and Emma jumped a little.

  “That’s my cue,” she said, even though she had no idea what the airline representative was saying.

  “Wait.” Jamie held out her hand. “Give me your phone.”

  Emma paused before handing it over, remembering the last time they’d done this at the edge of a road in Del Mar a few steps from the hotel where her father and Jamie’s mother had been waiting. She watched as Jamie typed in her number and sent herself a text. It didn’t mean anything. It couldn’t. Be good, Ellie had said. And she wanted to, she did, but this was Jamie, the first girl she’d ever loved.

  “There,” Jamie said, handing her phone back. “Now we can talk before camp. I mean, if you want to.”

  “I want to.” She backed away before she could say anything more incriminating. “You have to let me know what you end up deciding, okay?”

  “I will.”

  She waved a little, still backing up. “See you, James.”

  “Later, Em.” She smiled at last, eyes crinkling at the corners as she watched Emma go.

  And then Emma was turning and walking away, careful not to look back. It was harder than she’d expected, this taking leave of Jamie. At least she hadn’t kissed her. Even with the added complication of a champagne buzz, she had managed to keep things friendly and professional. Mostly. That was a good sign. She could do this. She could be Jamie’s friend. Assuming Jamie would let her.