Lessons in Lemonade

by Andrews, Kathryn

  “Or maybe he just needs his girl to work it out of him,” I state, thinking that’s the best solution for him. Since Lexi has come into the picture, he’s been less serious, happier, but then again, with that slight change in his personality, the sharks have come out to feed. The media has had a field day talking about his performance, his relationship—hell, all aspects of his life. For someone like him, this is just about the worst thing to happen.

  “Speaking of girls, it’s time for me to go find mine,” Billy says.

  “Me too,” comes from Reid, and together they head back up to the party.

  Alone on the dock again, I move to take a seat on a decorative patio chair that’s been set on the lower level. Leaning back, I prop my feet up on the accompanying one and pull my phone out of my jacket pocket. Suddenly feeling overwhelmed by the need to know what Meg’s up to, I scroll to her contact and fire off a text: Out on the town tonight?

  I don’t expect her to reply; in fact, as much as I have the urge to know the answer, a huge part of me hopes she doesn’t. I want her to be out and having fun, living her life, but she does reply, almost instantly.

  Meg: Not really. Taylor had people over to her place. I told her I would come, but I have to open in the morning so now I’m on my way home.

  Relief floods me in a way I know it shouldn’t. I also know I shouldn’t have been jealous over some random guy she kissed this month, but I was. It’s my own fault for asking her, and there’s definitely something to be said for the idea that ignorance is bliss.

  Me: Well, you look beautiful.

  Meg: Thank you. Lexi mentioned a party at Reid’s house—are you there?

  Hearing her speak about my friend as if he is hers warms a place in the center of my chest, and I can’t help but rub it.

  Me: Yep. Wish you were here, though.

  And I do. I had the best time with her over Thanksgiving, and it would be fun to show her off to my teammates.

  Meg: Sounds fun. I probably could have talked one of your teammates into being my date.

  Wait, what? Uh, no—not a chance in hell.

  Me: What am I, chopped liver?

  I try to keep my response light, because although she isn’t mine, just the thought of her with someone else has me grinding my teeth together.

  Meg: No, silly. You’re my friend.

  Me: Correction: best friend. But friend or not, I make a great date.

  Although I have seen how she is with her dates over the last few months—one and done. As far as I know, she hasn’t repeated with any of these guys. I actually feel bad for the poor schmucks. She’s a great girl, and I can only imagine how being tossed aside has bruised some egos.

  Meg: But then I’d have to kiss you at midnight.

  Me: And that’s a problem . . . why? I’ll have you know I’m an excellent kisser.

  Meg: I’m sure you think you are.

  Me: Ouch. You’re wounding me with your inaccurate assumptions.

  “Good evening, ladies, gentlemen, and teammates,” I hear loud and clear over the partygoers. I stand and tuck my phone in my pocket as that’s my cue to head back up. Chuckles ripple across the crowd as people gravitate closer to the stage Reid and Camille are standing on.

  “I’ll keep this short as it’s almost midnight, but Camille and I wanted to say thank you to all of you for coming tonight and spending New Year’s Eve with us. We know y’all have many places you could be and you chose here, so thanks again. As we ring in the new year, I would be remiss if I didn’t give a shout-out to the one that’s ending. After all, some amazing things happened.” He looks over at Camille, and whistles rip through the air. “I can’t imagine this next year being better than the last, but I welcome it with open arms.” He bends down to kiss her and then pops up, grinning. “I mean, how many seasons have we gone undefeated?!”

  The guys roar, and I can’t help but smile at my teammates, my brothers.

  “I’d like to make a toast, so raise your glasses. As we head into this year, I hope it brings each of you good luck and happiness, and may all our dreams come true.”

  Someone coughs, “Super Bowl,” and the crowd cheers through laughter.

  “Happy New Year, everyone!”

  We all raise our glasses, and after Bryan’s clinked his with Lexi’s, he turns to face me. He knows I’ve been keeping an eye on him tonight. He hasn’t said anything, but between him trying not to scowl all night and overhearing some of the comments that have been made, I know he’s struggling.

  “You know it’s just noise, right?” I say to him, catching his eye.

  He doesn’t answer me, but he knows I can read his nonverbal cues. Admitting it to me would mean he believes it’s true, and it’s not. This is just how the game is played.

  “I’ll be on the field at ten tomorrow morning. Think you’ll be ready by then?” I ask him, my question more about his mental state than his physical. He needs the negativity gone, and our team needs our quarterback back and focused on what’s next, not what’s passed.

  “I’m always ready,” he tells me definitively.

  “That’s my boy!” I again knock my drink with his and grin as we down the rest of these bottles in one swoop, eyeing each other as we do.

  Around us, champagne glasses are distributed as people start counting down. Deciding I want this moment to be with Meg even though she isn’t here, I hold up my phone and take a portrait photo with the focus on the bubbles, my teammates and the patio lights blurred out in the background. Posting it on social media at 12:02 a.m., I caption it: This one’s for you. Happy New Year.

  Almost instantly, a notification from her pops up with the clinking champagne glasses and wink-kiss emojis. It may as well have been the real thing, because in my chest, that’s what it feels like.

  Champagne Punch

  I CAN’T BELIEVE they made it to the Super Bowl.

  I can’t believe I’m here at the Super Bowl.

  When Lexi called last minute and told me we were going, there wasn’t one second of hesitation. The ticket was offered, I called Taylor—who was almost as excited for me as I was about getting to go—and packed a bag, and then I boarded a plane to Tampa. There, I met Lexi, and together we flew to Seattle with just our backpacks, no plans, and an anxious giddiness.

  At the airport, we hopped in a cab and took it straight to the stadium. Because we were heading from east to west, the timing couldn’t have worked out better if we’d tried.

  The last time I was at an event like this was when Lexi and I went to watch her brother (and secretly Bryan Brennen) play in the College Football Playoff National Championship game. Yes, that game was insane, but so far this one is nothing like it.

  For starters, the average age of the attendees is older, but also, this time I’m here to cheer someone on, someone that’s for me. Well, sort of for me. Actually, I take that back—definitely for me. As he keeps claiming we’re best friends, this is definitely something one best friend does for the other, and with how much our friendship has grown since Thanksgiving, there’s nowhere I’d rather be.

  I’m so excited for him. He’s been talking about this game nonstop for months, and now here we are—or I should say now here he is playing in the game of his dreams. I couldn’t possibly be any happier for him, and I’m over the moon that I get to share in this experience with him.

  Arriving at the box—yes, Bryan gave Lexi box tickets, not just regular tickets—a girl I instantly recognize as Camille from Lexi’s photos squeals when she sees us enter and jumps up for hugs. The energy in the box is palpable, and I find my heart is racing with adrenaline for Jack and his team.

  “I’m so glad you guys could make it! And I’m so happy to finally meet you,” she says to me, beaming from ear to ear. “I mean it feels like we’ve already met. I think I’m the last to meet you, and Jack talks about you nonstop, so this is just the best! He’s going to be so happy.” Her blonde hair is slicked back into the perfect ponytail, and her blue eyes are so large an
d bright. She’s genuinely happy to meet me, and that only ratchets up my excitement to be here for him.

  Nerves flutter a little at the idea of that. I hope he’ll be happy to see me. Jack mentioned last week that he could get me a ticket if I wanted to go to the game, but at the time, Lexi wasn’t going, and coming all this way by myself didn’t sound that fun.

  “I’m happy to be here. I’m so proud of them.” I glance down toward the field where the teams are warming up, and I scan over each one to find his number. When I do, my heart thumps hard in my chest. It’s been ten weeks since I’ve seen him—ten weeks too long.

  “I’m so proud, too, and I’m so anxious. I should have been prescribed something for this because it’s almost too much.” Camille shakes her head and then rubs her hands together.

  Looking her over, I can’t help but think, She’s so Southern. People have commented on my accent over the years, but hers wins hands down.

  “Y’all come grab something to eat. I know once the game starts, the food will be forgotten, and well, we’re gonna need all the energy we can get.”

  She’s right. I’ve never been one to sit still at a sporting event, especially if I know people who are playing. I’m full-on expecting to lose my voice today from the cheering.

  Together, the three of us wander over to the food as the team clears the field to make way for pregame activities. I’m actually hungrier than I thought, and we fill our plates with cheeseburger sliders, salad, and other snacks while a few more people come over and introduce themselves. I was worried I would feel intimidated here with the other wives and higher-ups from the team, but I don’t. I feel great.

  Better than great—I feel amazing.

  Settling into a seat, I soak in the energy, the chatter, and the scene before me. No matter how long Jack and I are friends for, whether it’s months or years, it truly is something extraordinary to be here to watch someone else’s dreams come true.

  One after the other, the teams are announced, fireworks, flames, and smoke shoot out over the tunnels, and the teams run onto the field. As they each line up on their respective side, the music in the stadium cuts off and an announcer calls for everyone to stand for the national anthem. A male country singer walks out, assumes his position in front of the color guard, and sings so beautifully it leaves chills all over my skin. At the end, the Blue Angels fly over, the roar of their engines echoing fiercely around the stadium. The feeling is electric, and I’m on the edge of my seat with excitement. Well, not literally, since I’m standing—there’s no way I could be sitting for this.

  Needing a photo, I run down to the edge of the box and have Lexi take it to show me in my Tarpons gear with the game about to start behind me. I know he won’t see it until later, but that doesn’t mean the support is any less important. I caption it: Watching my best friend play in the game of his life. #gotarponsgo

  I chuckle at my use of the phrase ‘best friend.’ I know he’ll appreciate it, and today I need to give him everything I have. He deserves it.

  The captains meet for the coin toss then the game is underway before we know it. Just four quarters and sixty minutes to determine the once-in-a-lifetime outcome of this game.

  First down. Second down. Third down. Punt. Repeat.

  Both teams move the ball back and forth down the field but never enough to get into field goal range, and although neither team has come close to scoring, you wouldn’t know that by the way the fans are cheering.

  “What hotel are y’all staying at?” Camille asks a little over halfway through the first quarter.

  “Funny you should ask that,” Lexi responds, grimacing just a little and wiping her hands down the legs of her jeans.

  “What do you mean?” Camille now looks at both of us, and I just shrug my shoulders.

  “This was really last minute, and I looked at hotels around the stadium while we were on the plane, but they were all booked,” Lexi tells her.

  “Oh, well, Bryan and Jack are rooming together like they usually do, so I imagine y’all can crash with them,” she says cheerily, as if this solves the problem.

  “We’ll see,” Lexi says, returning her attention back to the game. She is also here to support someone, only I’m not sure when they last talked. Bryan’s been busy in the postseason, and that’s affected them. Still, no matter what, this is one of those situations in life where you put all the drama aside and you show up. You show up for your person, because that’s the right thing to do.

  “Or, you can fly home with us tonight. My dad brought the plane.” She smiles brightly, and I can’t help but smile with her.

  “Your dad owns a plane?” I ask her.

  “Yep. Rarely leaves home without it.”

  “Huh,” I answer, not sure what to say. Just then, Bryan steps back five paces, shuffles his feet, and then moves up into the pocket, firing the ball thirty yards downfield toward Jack. Collectively, everyone in the box sucks in air and holds their breath to see if the pass completes, which it does just as two linebackers take him out. The crowd erupts with elation and then it instantly dies.

  Lexi’s hand flies over and grabs my arm, hard, and the entire box falls dead silent as we stare down at Jack, who isn’t moving.

  Oh my God.

  On shaky legs, I move closer to the edge, brushing her off and clutching my chest. My heart has been cleaved in two, half nosediving into the lowest part of my stomach, the other climbing up into my throat. I feel like I’m about to choke.

  “Come on, Jack, get up,” I whisper to myself. Only . . . he doesn’t.

  The team’s medical staff rushes onto the field, Bryan runs to him and drops to his knees, and we all watch and wait. Slowly, he begins moving a little, but what he’s not moving is his left leg. The television behind us cuts to a commercial as they assess him on the field; meanwhile, on the jumbotron, they show the replay of the tackle in slow motion, and the entire stadium gasps and groans for the pain and devastation we all know has just befallen Jack. The angle at which his knee was hit, the direction the bottom of his leg bent—there is no coming back from this, at least not any time soon.

  My eyes swell with tears.

  More and more people rush onto the field. He’s on the Wolves sideline, which is far from us, and it’s hard to see what’s happening. The spidercam—the one that runs up, down, and horizontally over the field—has moved as close as it can to them, but still it’s not enough. A transport cart flies out of the closest tunnel, and the crowd is quiet as we all watch a worst fear for an athlete come true.

  My athlete.

  The tears break free as they begin to spill over. My heart is breaking for my friend.

  Quickly they immobilize his knee, help him stand, and load him onto the cart. Being the standup player that he is, he waves to the fans to show he’s okay, and the stadium roars in support of him. He throws a towel over his head, hiding his face, and then he’s gone.

  Panic settles into my muscles. I need to move. I need to help him. I need to do something. Frantically, I start looking around the box as the game below us continues, and I find Lexi and the other wives staring at me.

  “I have to go.” I look at Lexi, and then at Camille and their friend Missy, waiting for one of them to help me. They have to help me.

  “Goodness gracious, yes. Yes, you do,” Missy finally states, jumping into action, and that crashing panic begins to slightly recede. Missy heads straight for the stadium staff member who’s been assigned to our suite, and together they arrange for security to come get me and escort me down. I’m so fortunate we were in this box and these people know why I’m here; otherwise, this would never be happening.

  The walk is long, much longer than I expected, even with the elevator ride down. There’s silence between the security guard and myself; really, what is there to say? I feel as if I’m marching to my death, the roaring of the crowd from just beyond the walls echoing down the concrete hallways. With each step closer to him, my heart pounds harder.

&
nbsp; Part of me wonders if I should be going to him. Is there someone else here at the game that he invited? Does he even want someone by his side? Would he want me by his side? After all, who am I to him? Mostly, outside of Thanksgiving, we’re just internet friends.

  “No,” I say to myself. I have to push all this aside. The worst that can happen is he says he doesn’t want me there, but if by some small miracle he does, the possible disappointment I might feel at the rejection pales in comparison to what he needs. I would want someone to come for me, and who knows if anyone else is.

  Finally we reach the visiting team locker room. When the security guard steps out of the way and I see Jack sitting all alone on one of the training benches, my heart calls out to his. Sure there are people in the room moving around and two of the Tarpons medical staff are standing on the far side to give him space, but what I can’t tear my eyes off of is my fallen knight. Damp hair, minimal clothes, and the most distraught, devastated expression I have ever seen.

  His eyes flare at the sight of me, and the muscles in his face relax with an intense level of relief at having someone come. Every bit of nervousness I felt on the death march coming down here instantly disappears, and all I see is him.

  Putting one foot in front of the other, determination to wrap him up and make this all better pounds through my veins. As I reach him and slide my arms around him, he tucks his face in the crook of my neck and leans into me in such a devastating way, and I know with certainty coming down here was the right thing to do. Against mine, his chest begins moving up and down inconsistently, letting me know just how much disappointment his poor heart can’t restrain any longer. With my own tears freely flowing, I run my fingers through his hair and hold him tight.

  Pickled Red Onions

  WITHIN MINUTES OF Meg arriving and me having a meltdown that’s worthy of an award, Dr. Leffers is back with two others following him, and through the double doors comes a flatbed cart to transport me out. The doctor gives Meg a brief, curious look—I’m still clinging to her like she’s my lifeline—but then it’s gone and he’s all business.