by Sarah Adams
Swiping open my phone, I see that it’s eight AM, and holy moly I have 32 emails?! Is that real? I also notice that my sister has tried to call me several times and texted me a million more. That’s not normal, and a feeling of foreboding creeps over me.
I scroll down my contact list and press call next to her name.
It rings a few times, but I’m not worried she’ll be asleep. One, because she called me enough times to make my cell phone provider want to give up and assume a new identity. Two, because Lily has three kids under the age of six so my poor big sister is always up with the sun. Someone give that woman an award.
“Hi babe!” she says in a loud sunshiny voice that rams into my skull. “NO, JOHNNY, PUT THAT KNIFE DOWN!”
I whimper and pull the phone away from my ear. Ughhhhh is my only response to Johnny’s knife wielding.
“Uh-oh, are you okay?” says Lily. “Hang on, I’ll—DOUG, WATCH THE KIDS, I’M GOING OUTSIDE TO TALK TO B!”
I hiss like an angry cat, and she just laughs. I hear shuffling and imagine her pulling on her puffy pink robe before opening the front door to go sit on the front stoop of her adorable cookie-cutter suburban home. It’s white and has black shutters and a rose garden in the front. If I look out my apartment window, I see a convenience store with bars on the windows, some pretty horrific graffiti caked on the walls, and a tumbleweed of trash rolling down the sidewalk. LA is wild like that, because in a matter of five blocks toward Nathan’s apartment on the beach, you go from my dehydrated-yellow apartment building with sticky floors to his three-million-dollar apartment with valet parking and perfectly manicured shrubbery.
So yeah, my sister and I are polar opposites. Where I have wild curly hair, she has straight, gorgeous, blonde locks that always look like she just left the salon. Where I was out drunk with a bunch of football players last night and tucked in by my best friend, she was probably rocking and singing one of my nephews to sleep before going downstairs to sit on the couch with Doug—her husband and the love of her life—to eat ice cream and watch TV. I’m sure he rubbed her feet.
Sometimes I’m tempted to be jealous of her, but a larger part of me also knows I’d never feel happy in her life. I love where I’m at. I also love that if you go look at that graffiti wall on the convenience store, you’ll find my name spelled out in a really cool font, because I watched the guy while he sprayed the original art on the wall and told him it was awesome. He added my name as a tattoo on the dragon that’s mauling the human. Really sweet stuff.
I don’t want Lily’s life; I mostly just want someone to love me like Doug loves her. That’s the part I’m really jealous of.
“Does someone have a hangover?” she asks gently with a smile in her voice.
“Yes,” I say on a groan. “It was Jamal’s birthday last night and Nathan wouldn’t let the guys have more than one drink—so let’s just say I did all the drinking for everyone.”
My sister laughs, and the sound is so sweet to my ears. I wish I was sitting with her and could lay my head on her puffy-pink-robed shoulder. “Poor B. That explains the video though.”
I sit up with a jolt, and my brain knocks against my skull. “What video? Did Nathan send you an embarrassing video of me? I swear, I will—”
“Calm down, drunky. Do you really not know yet?”
“Know what?” I frantically start looking around the room like I’ll find some sort of startling answer. An image of me on top of a table painted on the walls. A soundbite of my latest serenade playing through the overhead speakers. Nothing. Just the immaculate guest room and sprawling windows that overlook the lazy ocean.
“Oh gosh. Okay, I want you to take a deep breath.”
“Lily, just spit it out!” I stand and ignore the churning of my stomach as I barrel into the kitchen, hoping to find any other clues that will point to my epic fail. There’s nothing but an apple and a note in Nathan’s handwriting that says, Medicine. Drink. Eat. I’ll check in with you on break. And don’t worry, you didn’t sing any Adele last night. I smile to myself, feeling at least a little relieved.
That is, until my sister makes my stomach fall to my feet. “At some point last night, you sort of spilled your guts to a reporter in a bathroom.”
“NO,” I say on a long exhale, sinking my forearms down to the counter. “What do you mean I spilled my guts?”
“I think maybe you should just watch the video.”
I whimper. “Where do I find it?”
Her sharp laugh doubles my worry. “Where can you not find it is the real question. It’s viral, B. All over Instagram and Twitter. But the good news is, everyone loves you and thinks you’re adorable. You’ve even started a hashtag!” She says it like I started a world-renowned charity.
“Oh my gosh, it better not include the word boobs.”
“No, but I think after you watch the video, you’ll wish you had flashed someone.”
I haven’t even seen it yet and I’m already contemplating possible relocation. How does one enter a witness protection program? Maybe I can just move abroad? Spain? I’ve always wanted to go there. I’ll have to learn Spanish, and that could be a problem. DAMN MY YOUNGER SELF CHOOSING FRENCH INSTEAD OF SPANISH. Oh, wait, problem solved—I’ll go to France. Qui, I’ll have une French fry, please. Shoot, my French is rusty too.
“Just hang up and go to TMZ’s website. Call me back when you’re done.” TMZ! Are you kidding?!
I feel like I drank an entire gallon of spoiled milk.
We hang up, and with trembling hands, I type in the web address on my phone. It doesn’t take much digging to find the article…BECAUSE IT’S SPLASHED ACROSS THE HOME PAGE!!
And then it hits me.
Oh no. I did do something terrible last night…and it’s staring back at me in the video under this very lengthy article. I blabbered. Apparently the new friend I met in the bar’s bathroom last night was Kara Holden, gossip journalist for TMZ.
As my sober eyes focus on the bleary-eyed version of myself, a hand reaches into my chest and grabs my lungs. “Oh my gosh! NO NO NO.”
The title of the article reads: STAR QUARTERBACK NATHAN DONELSON IN LOVE WITH BEST FRIEND AND OFF THE MARKET?
“Prepare yourselves, ladies. Longtime friend of Nathan Donelson hints that he may be officially off the market because of her. Local dance instructor Bree Camden claims she and Nathan have been harboring secret feelings for each other since high school. Watch my exclusive interview to hear the full story!”
I swallow down my queasiness then click play. Everything gets worse. Clearly, I’m drunk out of my mind in this video and wielding a Tide-To-Go pen in front of my body like it’s a magical wand.
* * *
Bree: You know…Chherrryyll…
Kara: It’s Kara.
Bree: Mmhmm. Don’t interrupt, izzz not nice. Anyway. I just wanted to tell you that there’s nothing wrong with Nathan Donelson and his you-know-what. *winks aggressively* His meany ex was just tryin’ to make him look bad because he didn’t want to sleep with her.
Kara: Really? And why do you think he didn’t want to sleep with her?
* * *
No, Bree. Don’t do it.
* * *
Bree: He says isss because of his game. But I think it’s ’cause he’s pining after someone he can’t have. *frantically rubbing shirt with Tide pen, looking like a sloppy child*
Kara: And who do you think that is?
Bree: *leveling pen at Kara* We sssspend every day together. We’ve been best of friends for millions of years. It has to be me! Whoelsewoulditbe?
Kara: Wow. That’s exciting. And do you have feelings for Nathan?
Bree: *looks thoughtfully at the Tide pen* Chhhheryl, if I could…I’d use zisss pen to wipe away every other woman from Nathan’s life. I’d be the only one left. *frowns* I need to lie down now.
* * *
And that’s when I disappear into the stall and shut the door. The article doesn’t end there though. The next video is capti
oned, What do we think, friends? Does this look like a man in love? My vote is yes. Place your official vote in the poll below!
The video is shot from behind Nathan, and clearly Kara was filming without his knowledge. My heart twists when I see him squat down in front of me and take my hand. He speaks so tenderly, rubbing his thumb across my knuckles. And I look…smitten. What in the hell, Bree? Why do you have to look like that? Anyone watching this video can see that I practically have glowing heart emojis in my eyes as I stare at him. And he’s in love with me?! HA! No. He looks like a man taking care of a ten-year-old who lost her mommy. There is no way that Bree is attracting any part of Nathan.
I don’t let the video finish playing. I can’t take it anymore.
Nathan and I are the very best of friends, and we’re going to be until we are 90 years old or he gets married and his wife excommunicates me. I never want to lose him, and this crap?! It’s friendship ending. I’ve been so careful to never tiptoe anywhere close to revealing my feelings, but this absurd article is outing me! Now he’s going to get weird on me.
I call Lily back.
“You see it?” she asks.
“Please run me over with your car.”
“Awww, B. It’s not so bad. So what if Nathan knows you like him? It’s about time, don’t you think?”
I want to pluck the hairs out of her arm one by one for saying that!
“It’s the worst, Lily! You say about time and I say too much time has passed! It’s been six years since we became friends again. That’s so long to suddenly announce Oh hey, by the way, I’ve loved you this whole time! And he hasn’t so much as hinted at attraction to me during that time. He never pushes the line. He happily dates other people and shows exactly zero signs that he wants me in any other capacity than friendship. So, YES, it’s the worst!”
I turn the phone to speaker mode and set it down on the counter so I can rub my hands over my face. My hair spills all around me and I realize that, on top of everything, I’ve lost my favorite yellow scrunchie that I wore to the bar last night! COME ON, UNIVERSE!
“What if he sees this? No, who am I kidding—I’m sure he’s already seen it. He’s going to think I have feelings for him now!”
There’s a long pause on the line before my sister speaks quietly. “Well…I still think it’s a good thing to have everything aired out.”
I growl. “Lily, you’re not understanding. Do you know what Nathan will do if he finds out I have feelings for him?” I don’t give her a chance to answer because I’m hysterical now. “HE’LL DATE ME! He’ll date me out of pity, and then he’ll get bored of pity-dating me, and we’ll have a horrible, awkward breakup, and all these years of friendship will go up in flames.”
“But you don’t know that for sure!”
“I do! Have you seen the women he dates? They are gorgeous, stunning supermodels, and even they can’t hold his attention for more than a few weeks. Nathan is waiting on some perfect woman out there that I don’t think exists, and he’s not going to settle until he finds her. Ask the poor girl he accidentally stood up a few months ago!”
“And how do you know he stood up a date?”
“Because I was with him! I saw it all firsthand! We were playing Mario and then she called and was furious, and he didn’t even seem that sorry about it! I don’t want to know that side of Nathan.”
Lily lightly clears her throat in a way that almost sounds like she’s laughing. “So…let me get this straight. He stood up that girl because he was hanging out with you. Tell me, Bree, how often does this happen?”
I narrow my eyes even though she can’t see them. “I see what you’re doing. Don’t turn this into something it’s not.” I hate when people do this to me, when they try to plant an idea in my head about a future with Nathan. No. I won’t allow it. If there is anything important I learned through my accident in high school and losing the only future I planned for, it’s that everything works out better if I just live in the now and work with what I’ve got. No sense in relying on something I don’t officially have in my hands at that moment. Life pulls the rug out from under us all the time, so if I can just be happy with what I have at this exact moment, I’ll live a healthier life. Right now, I have a best friend I love to spend time with. If I start growing discontent and hoping for more with Nathan, that’s when I’ll lose him for good.
“I don’t want a relationship with him, okay? Not unless he is the one to initiate it by declaring his undying love for me. Anything less will just end up as an epic failure, because no one—not even you—wants to be in a relationship where she’s not loved as fervently as she loves.”
“Okay, fiiiinnnneee. I see your point.”
“Do you really?”
“No. But I want a present on my birthday, so I’ll lie to you.”
I groan and turn my back to lean against the counter. “Lily, what am I going to do? Also, I think I’m going to throw up.” I eye the apple Nathan left out for me, and my stomach says, Absolutely not.
“Easy—you were drunk. You don’t have to admit any feelings to him, and everything can go right back to normal if that’s actually what you want.”
“That is what I want.”
Again she chuckles. I’ll still get her a birthday present, but it’s going to be a crappy one. “Okay, sure. Well, tell him it was the alcohol’s fault, and then keep going with your boring, platonic, non-heated friendship.”
“I don’t like your tone.”
“Deal with it.”
I sigh and squeeze my eyes tight. “I need to hang up and call him.”
“Okay. Good luck. Love you, B. And my guest bedroom is open if you need to come hide.”
I’m just about to walk into a meeting with our offensive line coaches when my phone rings. I’ve been waiting on this call all morning—ever since I showed up at the practice facility today and was ambushed by dozens of reporters (mainly of the gossip column variety) wanting me to comment on the video of my best friend declaring her feelings for me.
My gym bag fell off my shoulder and hit the ground with a thud. I didn’t bother checking social media this morning before practice, so I hadn’t seen the video and article yet. I didn’t comment on any of the reporters’ questions, but I’m sure my face said it all.
I hurried inside, practically sprinted to the locker room where I ripped out my phone and immediately found a video of a very drunk Bree brandishing a Tide-To-Go pen and telling some reporter I was secretly pining for her. I almost threw up at that part. But then…THEN she said she wished she could wipe all other women from my life, leaving only herself, and a fire ignited under my hot-air-balloon heart and lifted me right off the ground. My manager called me shortly after and asked if I wanted to make an official comment. I told him we needed to wait until I had a chance to talk to Bree.
So all morning my mind has been racing. Wondering. Hoping. Could this be it? Could this be the moment everything changes for us? Because I’m ready.
I look down at my phone and then up at my teammates who are filing into the conference room. “You guys go ahead. I’ll just be a minute.”
They nod, and then I’m alone in the hallway. I take one steadying breath before answering. “Bree, hey.” Did that sound normal?
“Hi! Nathan. Yep, it’s me! Hey.” Well, my response was definitely more normal than hers. It means she’s seen the video.
There’s no way on God’s green earth I’m going to be the first one to bring it up, so I fish a little. “What’s up? How are you feeling this morning?”
She groans. “Well, I was wondering if you knew of any places I could purchase a new head? I think this one is officially broken.”
I laugh and lightly touch the toe of my shoe against the wall. “Sorry, I think you’re out of luck.”
She laughs too, but it sounds nervous and stilted. And then there’s silence. I know what’s happening now. She’s also fishing. Waiting. Neither of us wants to be the first to bring up Tequila-gate. Maybe we sh
ould just wait and try to have this conversation in person?
One of my coaches peeks his head out into the hallway. “Donelson, we’re getting ready to start. You coming?”
“Yes, sorry. One minute.” He doesn’t look happy about that.
The NFL is very different from college. They don’t babysit us here, but they sure as hell fine us for being late, bench us, or trade us off the team when there are too many strikes. Nothing less than complete competence is expected when you play at the pro level, and that pressure is always pushing in on me, some moments more than others. Like now, I really need to talk to Bree, but I also need to go into that meeting. During the regular season, you forfeit your rights to a normal life. Everyone and everything other than football has to be put on the back burner. But I don’t want to put Bree on a back burner. I want to give her 100% of my attention so she feels valued. I also need to give my career 100% of my focus or I’ll fall behind. I just need to find a way to bring my capacity up to 200%.
I used to feel like I could balance it all so well. Lately…there’s just this feeling I can’t describe that follows me everywhere I go. It’s like everything is swirling around me at all times. There’s no way to make it settle down.
I don’t know…I’ll be fine. It’s probably just playoff jitters.
I look toward the conference room, knowing I need to get in there before I’m officially late. “Listen, Bree—”
“I DIDN’T MEAN ANY OF IT,” she shouts in a rush.
My lungs deflate, and I turn my back to the meeting I should be in. “Are we talking about the video?”
“Yes. And Nathan, I’m so sorry! You know how I get when I drink tequila. Drunk Bree is a territorial hussy, and I said a lot of crap about you having feelings for me and me stain-removing other women from your life, but it was the drink talking. It was all tequila’s fault.”