Playing to Win: A Contemporary Romance Box Set
Page 17
“I’m not sure I can pull that off, Alex.”
“I’m not sure we can be together then.” We were silent for a few moments before Alex yawned. “I’ve got to get to sleep. Good night, Jasmine.”
I didn’t want to let him go, but I whispered, “Good night, Alex.”
After Alex and I hung up, I couldn’t sleep. Restless, I pulled my laptop onto my bed. I first googled my mother on my 17th birthday. Before then, it hadn’t occurred to me, a simple Google search could reveal her whereabouts.
My search was unsuccessful at first. I scoured through the search results looking for my mother. Clicking on links about a Natalie Fontaine who was a professional tennis player. A Natalie Fontaine that worked for the mayor's office in Portland, Maine. So many other Natalie Fontaine's, but not my mother.
A week later, I googled my mother's maiden name, Natalie Gardner. She was the first link I clicked on. The link brought me to the current list of Ph.D. students at Columbia University. The paragraph bio of my mother informed me that she was an art history doctoral student.
Her research focused on food, drink, and Xenia, the ancient Greek concept of hospitality, as depicted in Homeric art. I stared at the small thumbnail photograph of her. She looked to be walking on a busy street somewhere, smiling and looking over her shoulder mid-stride, as if someone special in her life had caught her on a leisurely stroll. I wondered who that special someone was.
It had been a few years since I’d searched for my mother again. I typed my mother’s name into the Google search bar: Natalie Gardner. It was odd to me that my mother had re-assumed her maiden name, even though my parents were not officially divorced.
When were my parents ever going to officially divorce each other? How could my dad every really move on without severing their marriage for good?
The search results revealed my mother was a faculty member in the art history department at Northwestern. I followed a link to her biography page that detailed her past work and a long list of publications. Reading the bio, I learned my mother had participated in excavations in Turkey, Greece, and Germany. She was a member of The Archaeological Society at Athens and The American School of Classical Studies at Athens.
I tried to imagine my mother in Athens, Greece, but I couldn’t. I had never been to Athens and I no longer knew my mother. Her photograph, a little bigger than her doctoral student one, showed her smiling against a backdrop of jagged rocks. I could only guess this was taken somewhere in Greece.
Her bio page included contact information: a telephone number, email, and even her office’s address. Through the years, there were many times where I wondered what a mother’s advice would be, not particularly my mother, just any mother in general.
I loved Alex, but I also loved my family, my dad and my brother. There was no need to wonder what advice my mother would have given me if she was here. I was certain she would tell me to leave, quit the family and the restaurant as she had done, and never look back.
My mind wandered to Rebecca and Laney and their mother and daughter relationship. Rebecca and my mother met at UF when they were undergrads. Despite studying different majors, they’d naturally been drawn to each other since they were both mothers going back to school for their degrees.
When my mother left, Rebecca attempted to reach out to me and offer a motherly shoulder, but I was precocious enough to politely rebuff her kindness, preferring to embrace motherlessness as soon as possible.
Rebecca was surely crushed when Laney transferred to Cal, but she wanted her daughter to be happy. She supported Laney’s decision and even threw a huge going away party for her. Eating cake on their patio, I remembered the look on Rebecca’s face: happiness, pride, and sadness mixed into one. She hugged her daughter fiercely with tears in her eyes. Admittedly, I was jealous. I ate three pieces of cake that night.
When I woke the next morning, I made a quick call before hopping in the shower. The phone rang for five rings before she answered.
“Rebecca. Hi. This is Jasmine. Can you meet me for coffee today?”
12
Alex
My mind drifted during the game against Wake Forest. I couldn’t stop myself from searching the stands for Jasmine’s face.
Where was she? What if she didn’t show? What if I never saw her again?
Luckily, Wake Forest wasn’t a very strong team. We were leading 3-0 with little to no help from me. I had a wide open shot with no one on me, but I foolishly went for the goal with too much power. To my horror, the ball went completely over the goal. Wake Forest’s goalkeeper shrugged but fist pumped in happiness all at the same.
Ronnie jogged over to me afterward. He wiped sweat from his face with his wrist. “Alex, you okay?”
I shook my head from missing such a ridiculously easy shot. “I’m okay. I just can’t focus.” My soccer tots could have made that shot blindfolded without shoes and a nap. A shot like that would most likely end up on a humiliating reel on YouTube titled ‘Top Open Goals Missed in History.’
Ronnie looked over to the stands. “She’s not here?”
After another quick scan of the crowd, I sighed. “Nah. She’s not here.”
My friend quickly patted me on the back. “I’m sorry, man.”
Regret sweltered inside me. I’d given Jasmine an ultimatum. I was being as pushy and stubborn as Jose. She wasn’t going to show, and it was my fault.
All I wanted to do was think about something else. When Ronnie sent me the ball, I guarded it with care, relieved to have the chance to vindicate my absurd missed shot minutes before. I broke free from Wake Forest player, Roger Franks, and skirted around their goalkeeper before shooting the ball at a sharp angle into the right side of the net.
I leapt into the air with my arms raised defiantly, once again searching the stands for Jasmine’s pretty face. Distracted by my disappointment she wasn’t there, I landed stupidly at a bad angle on my ankle. Next thing I knew, my chin landed in the grass. The crowd’s cheers hushed into murmuring concern.
Clutching my ankle, I cringed, thinking about how this shot would be in another YouTube video. This one titled, ‘Soccer Player Injures Self in Victory Leap.’ The soccer medics ran onto the field and hoisted me up on the stretcher. I covered my face with my arm, not out of pain, but sheer embarrassment.
For a moment, I was actually glad Jasmine wasn’t there to see my bungled footwork. The medics carried me into the locker room where our team doctor, Dr. Patel, stood by ready to treat me. I hobbled onto the exam table.
Dr. Patel rolled up the sleeves of his crisp white shirt. He was always dressed impeccably and never had a hair out of place. Leaning down, he examined my painful ankle.
Gingerly, he pressed his fingers into my ankle joint. “This hurt?”
“Yes!” I yelped.
He wiggled my foot to the left and right. “How about this?”
“Yes!” I screamed again.
“Good news.” He stood up with a smile on his face.
I sighed, hoping it was actually good news. Dr. Patel often delivered bad news saying it was good news, because he was a doctor that tried to spin positivity in every diagnosis.
"It's just a sprain." He patted me on the knee. This was, in fact, good news, but also bad news. I’d have to rest my ankle for the next few days.
“Thank you!” I clapped my hands together grateful, looking up to the heavens.
“I saw you out there.” Dr. Patel retrieved an ice pack already ready for me on the side table. He placed it on my ankle. The cold instantly felt soothing.
“Which humiliating part did you catch?” I grimaced.
Dr. Patel held up his phone. “I saw them both. When you missed that wide open shot, I thought, this clip is going to go viral! But then your last move? That was golden.”
My hands flew to my face as I groaned. “Terrible!”
“What’s going on with you? Something on your mind?” Dr. Patel cared about his players. He believed in holistic sports medicine,
often treating our emotional ailments along with our physical ones. Our team was lucky to have him.
I groaned again, squeezing my eyes shut. “Yes. Is it that obvious?”
Dr. Patel grimaced kindly and held his index and thumb finger close together. “A little. I’m sure I’m the only one who noticed.”
“I sincerely doubt it.”
“Well, what’s going on? You want to talk about it?” He crossed his arms ready to take on his patient’s next problem.
“It’s this girl I’ve been seeing.”
He shook his head. “It’s always a girl, isn’t it? What’s the problem?”
Looking around, no one else was in the locker room. I decided to spill my guts. “Her father doesn’t approve of us being together. In fact, he doesn’t even want her to go to college. He wants her to just work in the family business. She has to sneak around just to go to class. The only time she has for me is an hour a day for lunch. She works all night every day.”
Dr. Patel nodded thoughtfully, tapping his chin with his finger. “An hour, huh?”
“I know right? It’s ridiculous.” I threw my arms up.
He leaned back on the exam table, looking up at the ceiling then back down to me. “Sounds like she really cares about you.”
“What? It does?”
“Yes. She goes to school during the day and works at night, but still has time for you during the day, even if just for an hour? She could be studying in that hour. Reading. Sleeping. Anything, but she is spending it with you.”
I sighed, thinking over what he said. Then the thought of Jose with his narrowed brows snarling at me resurfaced in my mind. “But, what about her dad? She won’t stand up to her dad!”
“That’s between her and her dad. Try to be more supportive and understand how difficult it is for her because she doesn’t just love you. She also loves her father.” Dr. Patel raised his eyebrows diplomatically.
Rubbing my eyes and groaning loudly, I realized he was absolutely right. “Thanks, Doc.”
He took off the ice pack and brought out an Ace bandage and wrapped my ankle carefully. “You know the drill: RICE. Rest. Ice. Compression. Elevation.”
“Okay. Will do.” I grabbed the crutches he handed me.
“I’ll take a look at it again tomorrow, but for now, your ankle needs rest.”
Positioning the crutches underneath my armpits, I gingerly rolled my ankle, testing it out. Yup. It still hurt. “Will I be ready for the game against Miami next week?”
“I don’t see why not. In a few days, I’ll wrap it up properly whenever you practice.”
I gave Dr. Patel a salute and hobbled out of the locker room, wanting to get to my car quickly to call Jasmine right away to apologize. In the parking lot, I saw her leaned up against my car, scrolling through her phone. When she looked up, she ran to me.
“Omigod. Are you okay?” She folded me into her arms. The smell of her lavender scented hair comforted me instantly.
“I’m okay. It’s just a sprain. I landed on it awkwardly.”
She winced, holding up her phone. “I saw.” She took note of the horrified expression on my face. To make me feel better, she added, “The goal was fantastic, though. You know, the second one.”
I laughed. “Wow. The power of smartphone technology.”
Jasmine giggled. “It didn’t look so bad. It didn’t look great, but not so so bad.”
Happy she was there, I held onto her, feeling her warmth against me. “How long have you been out here waiting for me?”
“I went to the game, but you weren’t on the field. I asked some people in the stands and they said you were hurt and showed me the videos.” Jasmine squeezed me tightly. “I was so worried!”
“I’m okay. The doc said I’ll be in good shape in a few days.”
“That’s great. The Gators are going to need you in the Miami game.” She rubbed my lower back with her palm.
Jasmine cared about me. She had little interest in soccer, but she followed my game schedule and cheered me on. With everything she had going, she made space in her mental capacity to think about me and things important to me.
How could I have doubted she cared for me?
“Can you come home with me and spend the night?” I was fully prepared to understand if she said she couldn’t.
Jasmine’s cheeks blushed. “I was hoping you still wanted me to.” She looped her arm gently around my waist, leading me to the passenger side. “I’ll drive.”
In my Rover, Jasmine had to push up the driver seat really close to the steering wheel. I teased her. “I’ll get a booster seat for you next time.”
She slapped my shoulder playfully. “I’m not that short! It’s just this car is too big.”
As we drove out of the parking lot, I didn’t want to ruin the moment, but if I didn’t ask it would bug me all night. “Does your dad know you’re with me?”
Jasmine’s sunny face dropped into an apologetic expression. She stared straight ahead. “No. He doesn’t.” I watched as she braced herself for my response, actually wincing for the counterattack.
I felt awful for making her feel so on guard about everything. Leaning over and rubbing her knee, I kissed her on the nose. “That’s okay. As long, as we can be together that’s all that matters to me.”
Jasmine’s elated face returned. Squeezing my knee back, she said, “Thank you, Alex.”
13
Jasmine
I met with Rebecca at Orange Spot for coffee. Orange Spot was a cozy little coffee house that made up for its lack of size with kitschy endearing charm. Knit orange and green gators hung from the ceiling. Each table was overlain with glass protecting felt woodland animals smiling up at you.
It felt good to talk to someone who knew my family, my mother included. Pouring my heart out over a caramel latte, I told Rebecca everything. She listened kindly and wasn’t pushy with her observations or suggestions. It was too bad I had refused her friendship when I was a kid. She was the perfect person to talk to about life’s dilemmas.
She squeezed my hand from across the tiny table. “Your father loves you very much.”
“It doesn’t feel like it sometimes.” I fidgeted with my coffee cup’s handle looking down at a baby deer who had a sparrow perched on his antler.
She rested her chin on her hand, grinning. “When you were growing up, your father would ask me for advice about you. He was worried he’d screw up raising a teenage daughter on his own.”
I shook my head in disbelief. “I didn’t know that.”
“You know all those walks your father and I took around the farm.” She raised her eyebrows. “Still take, on occasion?”
I nodded, shrugging. “Ya. You guys talk about dad’s oxen.”
“Sometimes, but mostly we talked about you. He asked me for advice about you.” She chuckled. “Your dad was terrified to raise a girl all on his own. If you ask me, he did a wonderful job.”
I sat back into the seat of the chair. “Really? You guys talked about me?”
"He loves you and your brother so much. I try to tell him he has to let grow a little, but you know your father. Truly stubborn as an ox."
We both laughed. My father, the ox whisperer, was in fact, himself, an ox. All these years, when my dad was in the paddock with his oxen with Rebecca, they were talking about me? I exhaled slowly. All the things I never knew about my father.
Earlier that morning, my brother had knocked on my door to tell me my dad still insisted he didn’t need me at the restaurant. Instead of having another uncomfortable day of hiding in the shadows of the kitchen, I decided to stay away from the restaurant.
After coffee with Rebecca, I went home and caught up with schoolwork. If I was going to spend the night away from home, I needed to make sure I studied beforehand. I had a Biochem exam later that week that I intended to ace. There was so much I needed to cover that I got caught up in enzyme thermodynamics. When I realized what time it was, the game had already started.
By the time, I’d gotten to the stadium, Alex was not even on the field. I was in a panic that he was really hurt. I blamed myself for not being there. Seeing him upright and okay, staggering into the parking lot, my panic and worry lifted. I was so happy he was okay.
When we got back to his apartment, we weren’t in a frenzied rush like the last time I’d been there. Not just because Alex’s ankle was sprained but because we had the whole night in front of us to be together.
Kneeling, I gently unwrapped the bandage from Alex’s swollen ankle. It looked so puffy I kissed it. “Poor ankle.” I giggled feeling silly, but when I looked up at Alex’s face, he was charmed by my kiss.
He smiled devilishly. “I think I’m going to need your help in the shower.”
I stood up, laughing. “You think so?”
He pulled me to him burying his face in my stomach. He nodded and said in a muffled voice, “Yes. Definitely.”
I felt my face heat with a blush. “I’ve never taken a shower with a boy before.”
Alex stood up carefully. Limping towards the bathroom, he said, “Good. Because you are about to take one with a man.”
He had one of those large walk-in showers in his gorgeous blue and white tiled bathroom. There was more than enough space for the two of us. To my delight, the shower was designed with a tiled bench.
“Have I ever told you before that I love your bathroom? It’s perfect for couples.” The gleaming white his and her sinks were marvelously large with tons of space.