Game Time

by Kate Christie

  “Experience,” she said quickly. “Besides, I love ice baths.”

  “Weirdo.”

  “Says the woman currently sitting in an ice bath.”

  “Yeah, but I don’t love it.”

  “You say that now…” Emma focused her eyes on Jamie’s so that she wouldn’t be tempted to let her gaze linger elsewhere, and in a moment she forgot the lure of water beading on her delicate clavicle, of her lean muscles and the smattering of moles on her forearms. Jamie’s cheeks were flushed from the cold and her blue eyes were sparkling like a super gay version of a Disney princess, which, Emma thought, should really be a thing, and her lips were curling up into the smile that Emma had always lov—Wait. But no, that was exactly right: the smile she had always loved.

  Well, shit.

  Emma had never been one to fall in love easily, not after her first high school boyfriend broke her heart. Will had said it first, three months into their relationship. Sam had said it first too, after only six weeks together. In both cases, Emma had waited a little while to be sure before saying it back. But with Jamie, they’d already exchanged those three anything-but-innocuous words. Admittedly they had never talked about what either of them meant, but Emma at least knew what she had meant at her end: She had been in love with Jamie, even if she hadn’t held out much hope of being with her.

  And now? If she was honest, she knew what she hoped now, deep inside her stupid, stubborn heart. But that didn’t mean Jamie felt the same or that the timing was anywhere close to being right.

  “Okay, this sucks,” Jamie said, her teeth chattering audibly. “Tell me a story, please? Anything to distract me from this icy torture.”

  Emma shook her head, trying to focus. “What kind of story?”

  “I don’t know. I’m too cold to think.”

  She went for the easy laugh—her mother’s relatives and their antics. Soon she was telling Jamie all about Christmas in Minnesota, focusing on the party at her aunt’s house where her multitudes of relatives had discussed hot dish recipes, ice hockey, and how someone’s boss’s cousin’s sister-in-law had her identity stolen on the World Wide Web, dontcha know. She didn’t mention that her relatives had treated her like an exotic stranger, or that she’d felt lonely watching Love, Actually. She definitely didn’t mention that she’d thought of Jamie and missed her.

  “And bursitis, right?” Jamie put in. “They talk about their bodies falling apart, don’t they?”

  It took her a second to realize that Jamie was referencing their conversation at LAX the previous month. “Right. Can’t forget those pesky joint capsules.”

  With Jamie’s encouragement, she set out to recreate a typical conversation between her Great Aunt Olga and Great Uncle Aner, two of the eight siblings who had grown up on a farm near Upsala. They had a habit of complaining about the “new” stoplight that had been installed in the 1980s and that they still blamed for “all that traffic.” Right. In a town of 427 people. In addition to their varied complaints, they would randomly say things like, “Remember that girl? You know the one, went down to the Cities that one time?” And all the old people in the room would nod, knowing which girl the speaker meant. Inevitably someone else would chime in with a scintillating response like, “She never did come back,” followed by more group nodding.

  When the buzzer went off, Jamie literally leapt out of the tub. “Oh my god! How do you guys do this after every practice?”

  “It’s not after every practice,” Emma said, laughing at the way Jamie hopped around the training room, rubbing a towel over her frigid skin.

  Emma left the tub considerably faster than she had entered it and reached for a towel. Jamie turned her back to change out of her wet clothes, and even though Emma thought she should tease her about her shyness—after all, they had both been naked in front of dozens if not hundreds of different teammates over the years—she was just as happy to turn around herself to change into dry sweats and a clean T-shirt.

  Behind her Jamie cleared her throat. “Are you…?”

  “Decent? Yep.”

  As they faced each other, Jamie asked, “Want to walk back together?”

  Emma smiled at her. “I would love to.”

  Jamie smiled back and they walked down the corridor in silence, arms brushing every so often even though the hallway was more than wide enough for two, nodding at assorted athletes and coaches they passed. The training center was home to other national programs, and at any given time there might be tennis players and swimmers, to name a few, in addition to soccer players of all ages. Being an elite athlete was the norm here.

  As they approached the main entrance, Emma caught sight of Steph Miller’s husband and son resting on a couch in the lobby. Steph must be with a trainer. Did that mean she was injured…?

  “Hey champ,” Jamie said, waving at the little boy.

  “Jamie!” Even though they had only met in December, Brodie jumped off the couch and launched himself at her. “Will you kick the ball with me? Pleeease?”

  Jamie glanced at Emma as the boy tugged her toward the door. “Do you mind?”

  “Not at all. Have fun.” Emma sat down beside Geoff, Steph’s husband. They had met in college at Southern Methodist where he was on exchange from Australia. He’d transferred to be with her, and a dozen years later they seemed as committed as ever. “Hey, G.”

  “Hey, E.”

  “You okay with that?” she asked, gesturing toward the lawn outside where Brodie had dragged Jamie.

  “Don’t worry. By now I’m used to playing second fiddle to two dozen aunties. How was the ice bath?”

  “Cold.” She pretended to shiver.

  “I’ll bet. So. That’s my wife’s competition, huh?” he asked, watching through the wide windows as Jamie dribbled away from Brodie, giggling.

  “Is that what Steph’s been saying?”

  “No, simply an observation,” he said mildly, pushing up his glasses. A sociologist at UCLA, Geoff was about as far from the stereotypical flamboyant, beer-guzzling Aussie as one could get. “She’s pretty great, though, isn’t she? And not just at soccer.”

  “Who’s pretty great?” a voice asked from behind them.

  Emma glanced back to see Steph emerging from one of the many hallways. Geoff rose and pecked her cheek. “Hey, hon. How was the massage?”

  “Good. Where’s Brodie?” And then her gaze fell on the pair carousing outside. “Oh. So that’s who you were talking about.”

  By now Emma was standing too. She watched Steph, noting the smile that inched onto the other woman’s face as Brodie leapt onto Jamie’s back and she carried him around the perfectly manicured lawn, dribbling the ball helter skelter. And she realized: “You like her, don’t you?”

  “She’s all right.” Steph glanced at her. “But you obviously think a lot of her. Why is that, Emma?”

  She took a breath and willed her body not to react. She considered Steph a good friend, admired her strength and passion, and adored Brodie, who had grown up around the team. But at the same time, she wouldn’t put it past Steph to do whatever it took to hang onto her roster spot. While there were always younger, faster, stronger players in the running, once a player hit thirty the competition intensified. Steph and Ellie had recently complained that the most common question reporters asked them—other than the ubiquitous, Do you think you’ll win the next World Cup?—was, “How much longer are you going to play?”

  If Steph continued playing the way she was currently, Jamie was a real threat. Jamie knew it, Steph knew it, and so did everyone else connected to the pool.

  “We’ve been friends a long time,” she said, her gaze fixed on Jamie and Brodie.

  “That may be true, but I don’t look at anyone from high school the way you look at her.”

  Geoff made a slight noise at the back of his throat and walked away without another word, heading outside where Jamie and Brodie had collapsed in a heap on the bright green grass, giggling so loudly Emma could hear them from ins
ide.

  “We should probably get going if we don’t want to miss dinner,” Emma said, barely keeping the bite out of her voice.

  Steph’s gaze softened. “Look, I’m saying this as your friend, not because I’m afraid of…” She waved outside. “My career isn’t going to last forever, but hers? It’s still getting going. Be careful, okay, Emma?”

  “I will,” she said. But as they walked outside into the warm winter evening, she couldn’t help thinking it was a little too late for caution.

  “Do you two want a ride?” Geoff asked as they approached, Brodie now hanging around his neck, soccer ball under one arm.

  “That’s okay.” Jamie retrieved her bag from the walkway. “I wouldn’t mind a walk. If that’s okay with you, Em?”

  She nodded. “Thanks anyway, Geoff. See you guys at dinner?”

  “We’ll be there.” Steph started to turn away, but at the last moment she stopped to smile at Jamie. “Thanks for hanging out with Brodie.”

  Jamie’s eyebrows rose momentarily. “Oh, yeah, no problem. He’s a good kid. Aren’t you, Bro?” she added, holding out her fist.

  The little boy bumped his fist against hers, giggling as Jamie opened her hand and made a whooshing sound.

  “Boo yah!” she said, completing the ritual.

  “Boo yay!” he replied.

  At the street, the little family turned one way while Jamie and Emma turned the other, strolling along the sidewalk lit by lamps stationed at regular intervals. Jamie’s display of adorableness with Steph’s small fry was making it difficult for Emma to effectively push down her stupidly stubborn feelings. Which she should definitely do—after all, as Steph had pointed out, Jamie’s future on the team wasn’t secure, and there was a World Cup coming and… Huh. She knew there were more potentially good reasons she wasn’t supposed to think about Jamie in that way, but she couldn’t seem to remember them, not with the woman in question walking so close beside her along the warm pavement.

  “You have a fan,” she observed.

  “He really is a good kid.”

  The question that popped into Emma’s head next was so ridiculous she almost snorted at her own cheesiness. There was no way she could ask Jamie if she wanted kids one day. Or, well, she could ask her that, but what if the answer was no? Actually, yes would be nearly as tricky because then Emma’s subconscious would probably go off conjuring images of Jamie holding a smiling baby with blue eyes and chubby knees and…

  “What about you?” she asked quickly, trying to divert her wayward mind.

  “What about me?” Jamie echoed, nudging her shoulder teasingly.

  “Sorry. I mean, what did you do on Christmas?”

  “I moved.” She looked down at the sidewalk. “My flight got into San Francisco on Christmas Day.”

  “So when did you and your girlfriend…?”

  “The day I got back from camp. We were planning to spend Christmas with her family, so she left early.”

  Emma frowned. There she’d been in Minnesota surrounded by family while Jamie was alone in London on Christmas Eve, getting ready to dismantle her personal and professional life. Beside her she saw Jamie shiver. Still chilled from the cold water, perhaps? She’d always been a skinny thing. Honestly, she probably didn’t have enough body fat to keep her warm.

  She slipped her arm through Jamie’s and leaned into her side. “I’m sorry. That must have been really hard.”

  Jamie’s eyes flew to her face. Still, she didn’t pull away. “It wasn’t easy,” she admitted. “Fortunately Britt was around for a while before she headed home for the holidays. But I think it was the right thing to do, for both of us.”

  The right thing. Emma wasn’t sure she knew what that was anymore, assuming she ever had. What she had believed would be right for herself, for Jamie, for the team, definitely didn’t involve the two of them walking down the street together, arms linked, strides perfectly in synch. It didn’t involve Jamie blushing at the sight of her in a sports bra or her fantasizing about skimming her fingertips over Jamie’s tattoos. It didn’t involve her heart rate increasing at the slide of Jamie’s skin against hers, or at the sense of what could only be relief at having her this close finally. Finally.

  And that was okay, she decided as the hotel came into view. She didn’t have to know what they were doing or where they were headed. It was enough that they were together like this now, and they weren’t turning away from each other anymore. Enough that they really were becoming friends again, even if this bubble didn’t extend past residency camp. They were here and they were both trying, and that was enough.

  Maddie, however, evidently didn’t think it was enough.

  After dinner they decided to watch a movie again, and this time it was only the four of them—Emma, Maddie, Angie, and Jamie. A coin flip meant Maddie and Angie got to choose. Emma rolled her eyes when Angie held up Pitch Perfect. Predictable. While Emma watched Jamie connect the laptop to the television and start the DVD, the coin toss victors curled up together on Maddie’s bed.

  “Mads,” Emma said, giving her roommate a look.

  “Ems,” her friend drawled, lazily running her hand over Angie’s hair.

  “All set,” Jamie said as the opening scene began. She straightened and turned away from the TV, and then paused as she caught sight of the seating arrangements. “Oh. So that’s how it is.”

  Emma shrugged. “Totally your call. You can either sit with me or risk being accidentally caught up in their PDA. Which, seriously, no judgment if that’s your thing.”

  “Ha, ha.” Jamie threw herself onto the bed next to Emma and arranged the pillows behind her back.

  “It isn’t PDA if we’re in an actual hotel,” Angie pointed out. “No one can exactly tell us to get a room, am I right?”

  “Of course you’re right, babe.” Maddie kissed her cheek with a resounding smack.

  “Keep your lips to yourself over there,” Emma instructed, fixing her gaze on the television. But it was no use. She could still see the couple on the other bed in her peripheral vision.

  “So in addition to being the grammar police, now you’re vying for the role of kissing police, too?” Maddie asked.

  Jamie snickered. “Grammar police? Clearly some things never change.”

  “I can’t help it if I’m more linguistically gifted than the rest of you.” Emma held up a hand as Angie opened her mouth, knowing where the younger woman’s mind had gone. “Not a word, Wang, or I will kick you out of my room.”

  “Our room,” Maddie said, smirking.

  They finally settled down to watch, and as usual everyone laughed at the questionable humor and sang aloud with the assorted a capella performances. Also as usual, the other three rolled their eyes when Jamie got excited each time Chloe and Beca shared a “homoerotic” interlude, as the Queer Studies minor insisted on referring to the lesbodrama moments seeded throughout the movie. Or when she went on a rant about the marginalization of queer characters in mainstream media, which everyone agreed was an important issue but maybe something they could wait to discuss after the movie ended.

  Half an hour in, Emma found herself watching the woman sharing her bed—er, sitting beside her more than the actual movie. And watching her, she found, made her want to move closer. So she did, ignoring Jamie’s look as she leaned against her.

  “I’m cold,” Emma finally murmured as Jamie continued to stare pointedly at her. “Maddie likes AC and you’re a heater, okay?”

  Jamie smiled a little. “Apparently some things really don’t ever change.”

  During the riff-off scene, Jamie slipped her arm around Emma. She was watching the screen so intently that Emma wasn’t sure Jamie was even aware of her hand rubbing up and down her arm, but honestly, she didn’t care. The gentle touch soothed her, and she leaned her head against Jamie’s shoulder, suddenly cast back to the week of her father’s memorial service when she’d experienced the lowest lows and the highest highs of her life, sometimes all within the same six
ty seconds. The pain of losing her father was still with her now, but as Jamie had promised, a callus had formed over her heart in the years since he’d died. The high of being with Jamie that week, on the other hand, the fragile joy she’d felt falling asleep in her arms each night was coming back ever more vividly. She had always known at some level they would find each other again, even in the in-between years when she worried they wouldn’t. Or maybe she hadn’t known. Maybe she had simply hoped, and that hope had carried her along to now, when she and Jamie curled together in a California hotel room watching Pitch Perfect as their friends snuggled on the next bed over.

  It was almost unbearably sweet, this moment, and Emma wished it could go on and on. Instead it insisted on doing what all moments do. Too soon the team curfew hour was upon them, and Jamie was slowly extricating herself from Emma’s side. As their eyes met, Jamie reached out as if she might touch her cheek, or possibly only push back the hair that had escaped from her messy bun. But she didn’t make contact. Instead she stopped herself and turned away, hopping off the bed as quickly as she had vaulted onto it. And that was that.

  Except it wasn’t.

  Later, after Emma had walked Jamie to the door and they had gazed at each other for a long moment before Emma pulled her into a hug, after Angie and Jamie had said goodnight and Emma had closed the door behind them, Maddie finally voiced the questions her eyes had been asking all evening.

  “So I know I’m not supposed to know about high school, but you know I do, right?”

  Emma removed her ear plugs and lifted her eyeshade. They had turned the lights out a few minutes before, and she had actually started to think she might be allowed to fall asleep without the third degree.

  “Right.”

  “And last I knew, you were fairly adamant that nothing could happen there.”

  “I know.” And she did know. She knew that it was dangerous for her and for Jamie to pretend that cuddling could ever mean less than it always had; to pretend that hugging each other was no harm, no foul. But somehow she couldn’t seem to stop herself whenever Jamie came close. She wanted to touch her, and unless Jamie pushed her away—which she was pretty sure hadn’t ever happened—she didn’t really see the problem.