Outside the Lines

by Kate Christie

  Kitchen cleaned, Jamie and her sister joined Todd at the small, upright piano Meg had found on Craigslist. It wasn’t fancy by any means, but they kept it tuned. Todd was one of those people who could play multiple instruments by ear. This talent made him good to have at a holiday party, as Meg often joked.

  “Pick a tune, any tune,” he said to Jamie now, riffing up and down the major scales.

  “Um, ‘Rude’?” she said, offering up the song that had inexplicably been stuck in her head for weeks now.

  Meg and Todd stared at her from the piano bench.

  “You know,” she added, “why you gotta be so rude, don’t you know I’m human too?”

  Meg covered her ears, laughing. “Stop, please! I forgot that you’re tone deaf.”

  “I am not tone deaf!” Jamie protested for at least the eighty-seventh time in her life.

  “Sure, Jan,” her sister said. She glanced at Todd. “What do you say?”

  “I think I know the tune, but you’ll have to help with the rest.”

  Google gave them the lyrics, and soon they were singing and laughing their way through the pop song about a slacker musician whose girlfriend’s father refuses to approve their marriage. When they reached the end, Todd launched into background music and told the story of how he had asked the senior Maxwells for Meg’s hand. Jamie had heard the story multiple times, but it never got old listening to Todd describe the way their parents had reacted—their mom jumping out of her seat and flinging herself into his arms while their dad watched, tears (of joy, Todd insisted) shining in his eyes.

  This time, though, the story left a slightly sour taste in Jamie’s mouth. Lately any talk of weddings or engagements only served to remind her of her own persistent second class citizenship. In May, a federal district court decision had made gay marriage legal in Oregon. But for the rest of the country, a hodge-podge of state and regional laws both for and against same-sex marriage still existed. More than a year had passed since the US Supreme Court had invalidated the Defense of Marriage Act (yay!) while simultaneously refusing to rule on the legality of state prohibitions against gay marriage (boo!). At this point, several cases seeking a decision on the Constitutional right of same-sex couples to marry were on their way to the highest court in the land, but no one could predict when—or even if—SCOTUS would agree to hear them.

  When she was younger, the lack of federal recognition of her relationship status had bothered her more on a theoretical level. But she was in her mid-twenties now, and everyone around her was getting married and starting families. When—if—she did get gay-married, she didn’t want to have to worry that if she and her future wife crossed state lines (say, for a soccer game), their marriage might not be recognized if one of them were to get injured and require hospitalization. If and when she and her future wife (okay, Emma) started a family, she didn’t want the possibility of their children not being considered hers because they didn’t share genetic material. Her sister and Todd didn’t have to worry about any of those things. The older they got, the more Jamie became aware of the gap in their experiences.

  They sang a few more songs, Jamie muddling through the lyrics as best she could, enchanted as ever by her sister’s alto harmonizing with Todd’s baritone notes. Then, reluctantly, Todd tore himself away from the piano to plan for the following morning’s classes.

  “Do you have to work, too?” Jamie asked Meg, but her sister was already topping off their wine mugs (so classy, Jamie had teased) and tugging her outside to the front porch swing where they could spy on neighbors and strangers alike.

  “There’s always more work to do,” Meg said as they settled on the swing side-by-side, chains rattling noisily. “But I don’t get to see my baby sister all that often. Oh! Speaking of babies, did you hear about Becca and Rhea?”

  Becca was Meg’s best friend from high school, Rhea her wife of only a few years. “They’re having a baby already?” she asked, mildly shocked by the news.

  “Two, actually.” Meg grinned. “They’re having twins!”

  “Holy crap! When are they due?”

  “In March, but possibly sooner since twins are full term at thirty-seven weeks. Who knew.”

  “Wow.” Jamie tried and failed to imagine Becca pregnant with one child, let alone two. “How’s she doing?”

  “She’s a nervous wreck. Rhea’s handling it well, though, considering she has two human beings gestating inside her body.”

  “Wait, Rhea is carrying the babies?” She was the slightly more masculine of the pair, so Jamie had assumed that Becca would be the baby mama if and when the time came—for no other reason than heterosexism, she realized belatedly. Awesome.

  “Yes,” Meg said, letting the heterosexist assumption slide by unchecked. Jamie peered at her sister, noting the faraway look in her eyes, the slight smile lurking around her lips.

  “Wait.” She turned to face Meg more squarely. “Do you and Todd have news on the baby front?”

  “What? No.” But her protest was feeble at best.

  “Oh my god, you do! Should you even be drinking?”

  Meg laughed and held her mug of wine out of Jamie’s reach. “It’s fine. We’re only talking about timing at this point. Like, should we wait until we both have jobs? Or start trying when only one of us has a job? Ideally we would find a spousal hire, but what about tenure?”

  “I hear it’s never the right time to have a baby. You just have to do it.”

  Meg eyed her curiously. “Who did you hear that from?”

  “Ellie. Although it isn’t true in her case. If she and Jodie decided to have a baby before the World Cup, quite a few people would have something to say about it.”

  “Oh. I thought maybe you were talking about Emma.”

  “Emma?” Jamie blinked at her sister. “We haven’t even been together for a year.”

  “I know, but wasn’t that one of the reasons you and Clare split up? I thought maybe you and Emma would have talked, you know, to make sure you’re on the same page.”

  “I already knew from forever ago that she wanted kids,” she said dismissively.

  Her sister stared at her. “And yet you’re still together.”

  Jamie peered back. “Obviously.”

  “I thought you didn’t want kids. If you’re changing your mind to be with her…”

  “What? I never said that.”

  “You said the thought of being a parent terrified you,” Meg insisted, “and that you and Clare broke up because she wanted to get married and have kids.”

  “I meant she wanted to start a family right away. And yeah, the idea of being a parent does terrify me. But just because something’s scary doesn’t mean it’s not worth doing. I’m legitimately worried I’m going to get cut again at the end of this camp. Jo is bringing in twenty-nine players, and only twenty will be selected to the qualifying roster in October. But even with the odds so clearly not in my favor, I wouldn’t miss this camp for anything.”

  Her phone decided to beep at that moment, and she glanced at the screen, smiling as she saw the photo Emma had sent her. She was seated on her bed with her laundry in giant piles around her. Talk about terrifying—post-season catch-up could be a bitch.

  Meg rolled her eyes indulgently as Jamie sent back heart emojis. Then Jamie set her phone to selfie mode and posed beside her sister. “Say cheese.” Meg obliged, and Jamie sent the photo to Emma with the caption, “Wish you were here!”

  Immediately the reply came back: “Me too!!! And not only because I’m currently surrounded by dirty clothes. Tell Meg hi. Can’t wait to see you soon!”

  Jamie knew her smile was loopy as she typed back, “I can’t wait either. Love you!!!!!” But she couldn’t find it in herself to care.

  “Looks like things are going well with you two,” her sister commented.

  Jamie nodded and tucked her phone back in her hoodie pocket. “They are. Not perfect, but good.”

  “No relationship is perfect. I imagine being apart all
the time can’t be easy.”

  “It’s not,” she admitted.

  “Want to tell me about it?”

  Disarmed by her sister’s lack of sarcasm, Jamie found herself opening up, explaining to Meg the challenges of long distance dating while playing on rival pro teams. The inequality of having one be on the national team and the other not wasn’t exactly easy to manage, either.

  “But in general, we’re good. Solid,” she added. And they were. So much so that sometimes she couldn’t help wondering when the other shoe would drop. “I’ve never dated someone I was such good friends with before we got together. Emma and I have actual history, and while sometimes that’s not a good thing, most of the time it is.”

  “You two have definitely known each other a long time,” Meg said. “You both want kids and your relationship is going well. Does that mean you could see yourself settling down and starting a family with her?”

  Jamie gulped hard. When you put it like that… But then she remembered Emma’s hand beneath hers all those months ago on the last night of January camp, Tina’s baby spinning and kicking inside her mother’s abdomen and her own flash of longing, quickly stifled, to see Emma similarly glowing. She remembered babysitting that same baby with Emma in March, the calm and joy she’d felt in the newborn infant’s–and Emma’s—presence. She remembered Emma explaining oxytocin to her, and the peace of dozing on the couch with Emma beside her, both of their arms wrapped around the sleeping child.

  “Yeah,” she said finally, feeling the same dopey smile as before stretch across her face. “I can. After the World Cup, of course. And the Olympics.”

  “Of course,” Meg said, but her tone was affectionate. “You two and your crazy obsession with soccer…”

  “Says the pot to the kettle.”

  “People have been making and studying music for millennia, I’ll have you know.”

  “The same goes for the game of soccer.”

  “I don’t think that’s true at all.”

  “Yeah, but you don’t know that it isn’t.”

  “I may not, but you know who will?” She held up her phone, eyes challenging as she said, “Siri, when was soccer invented?”

  Jamie waited, smirking, because she already knew the answer. Sure enough, Siri reported that while England had invented modern football, a similar game was first played in ancient China—two thousand years earlier.

  “Told you so.”

  “Whatever.” Meg tossed her hair, apparently forgetting that she had chopped it to chin-length. “Anyway, back to the issue at hand.”

  “Which is…?”

  “Emma. Mom and Dad will be here next week for the game against Mexico. Will you be bringing your girlfriend to any family get-togethers?”

  “Absolutely.” Then she paused. Was that a question she needed to ask Emma? Was it too early in the relationship to assume she would attend family events? Emma already knew her parents and had hung out with them in California after January camp. She already knew Meg, too. The only Maxwell family member she hadn’t met was Todd, and he was technically a Kirschoff.

  “Want to do a big dinner out?” Meg asked. “I know a great place. Mom and Dad will want to treat us, I’m sure.”

  Jamie elbowed her. “Is that grad speak for you can’t afford a fancy restaurant and the rent on this house, so let’s get M & D to foot the bill?”

  “Maybe,” Meg said, holding her mug in both hands.

  “Sounds good to me. I make less in a year than you do, so…”

  “Seriously? Freaking sexism. Speaking of which, what’s happening with the turf issue? Did Emma and the other players file their lawsuit?”

  “Not yet,” Jamie said, and then stopped herself, remembering belatedly that she wasn’t supposed to know details of the lawsuit planned against FIFA and the Canadian Soccer Association. But when you lived with the lead player on the case and dated another player who was nearly as involved, certain information was bound to come your way. Like, for example, that the players didn’t have high expectations for the lawsuit but were pushing ahead anyway because it felt like the right thing to do.

  Meg, she knew, faced her own gender discrimination battles. Todd’s research was higher profile than hers, and he was already being courted by a number of universities on both coasts. They were hoping for a spousal hire, where they would both be employed by the same university. But if Meg were to be hired mainly because one of the schools wanted Todd, she worried that their careers—and therefore their marriage—would start off on uneven footing. What would that mean about her standing in a career she’d chosen before she ever met him? Would her career always be secondary, and if so, what would that mean to their plans to raise a family together?

  But they didn’t have to solve the world’s problems—or even their own—that night, a fact for which Jamie was grateful as they finished off the bottle of wine and watched the Utah sky darken.

  Her cell buzzed long after she and Meg had said goodnight, after she’d used the tiny tile bathroom and gone through her nighttime tai chi routine. She’d already slipped between the guest futon’s sheets and was getting settled on the noticeably hard bed when her phone signaled an incoming video call from Emma. Smiling, Jamie hit accept and propped the phone up on the knee that allowed her to display her good angle.

  Emma always got irritated when she said that. “Every angle is a good angle,” she would insist. But Jamie wasn’t completely ignorant of the crap said online about her physical appearance. Just because she identified as genderqueer didn’t mean she wasn’t vain. In fact, it probably meant she was more insecure about her looks than the average cisgender person.

  “Hi!” she said as Emma’s face flickered into focus. Her hair was up in a messy bun and her face was make-up free. This was Jamie’s favorite Emma—the casual, unencumbered version she allowed few people outside of her teammates and family to see.

  “Hi yourself,” Emma said, face softening into a smile. “It’s good to see you.”

  “You, too. I miss you.”

  “I miss you too, sweetie.”

  They discussed their days, Jamie describing the time with her sister and Emma detailing her cleaning/packing progress. She didn’t have that much to do, a situation Jamie knew was only made worse by the fact that US Soccer was enforcing a mandatory weekend off for Seattle and Kansas City players. Because they’d competed in the NWSL championship match the previous weekend, they weren’t allowed to participate in the first few days of residency camp. It was part of the federation’s strategy to combat burnout, a very real issue for athletes who played an average of ten months out of every calendar year.

  “Why don’t you go to that spa you like for a couple of days?” Jamie suggested. “The one on the island with the natural springs hot tubs. That would be relaxing, wouldn’t it?”

  “Actually,” Emma said, eyebrows lifting, “that’s a good idea. It’s September, so they should have some openings. And since I can’t come early and hang out with you…”

  Jamie almost asked her if she was sure about that, but managed to catch herself. No need to make Emma feel worse than she already did about missing the beginning of camp. “I wish. But speaking of hanging out, you know how my parents will be here?”

  “Yeah. I’m excited to see them again.”

  “Excited enough to spend some time with the whole Maxwell-Kirschoff clan?” Jamie asked, squinting hopefully into her phone’s camera.

  Emma’s smile was subtle, but it was definitely there. “I’d like that. But are you sure you want me tagging along? I know you guys don’t get much family time…”

  “Are you kidding? You have no idea how much my parents are looking forward to seeing you.” Jamie wasn’t sure if she should be gratified or peeved that her parents seemed more excited about the chance to see Emma than they were about Jamie’s call-up.

  “Oh. Well, good,” Emma said. “My mom feels the same way about seeing you. I’m sure she’ll make it to a game soon now that you’r
e—” She broke off. “Sorry.”

  “It’s okay,” Jamie said, even though her stomach was twisting up again, undoing all the good relaxation work she’d achieved through tai chi. The next two weeks could determine if she was destined to be just another player in the pool who might have been. Fewer than 200 players in history had suited up in red, white, and blue, and she knew that to be among that number was impressive. Still, for her, it wasn’t enough.

  Taking a breath, she pushed away her ever-present fears. “Anyway, I’m glad you want to hang out with everyone,” she said. “My sister was thinking we could all go out to dinner next week.”

  “Dinner? With your whole family?” When Jamie nodded, Emma sighed. “Dang it—now I’m going to have to figure out how to fit a decent outfit in my luggage, aren’t I? And shoes, too.”

  “Yep,” Jamie said. “Sorry not sorry.”

  “Jerk.”

  “You know you love me.”

  “That, I do.”

  They talked about random topics they’d saved up for each other until, somehow, it was past midnight and more yawning was being done than actual speaking.

  “Sweet dreams,” Emma said, starting their customary sign-off.

  “Sweet dreams to you too. Love you.”

  “Love you more.” She stuck out her tongue, and then the call suddenly ended.

  Laughing, Jamie texted, “Love you most!” before plugging her phone into the charger on the bedside table. Emma always wanted to have the last word. Occasionally Jamie even let her.