Floored

by Karla Sorensen

  Not like I minded living back at home for the past month.

  The first week had been a lot of naps, a lot of Feelings Baths (where I cried in Logan and Paige's sunken jet tub in their bathroom, surrounded by mountains of bubbles), and a lot of subpar non-British scones because I swear, they baked differently in the States.

  The second week went better. Christmas kept us busy with lots of food and laughter and shopping and cuddling under blankets on the couch while we watched all the movies we loved. I only sobbed once during It's a Wonderful Life. Fine, twice. Claire held my hand under the blankets. And my family spoiled Little (at the time) Avocado with more gifts than should have been allowed, considering the kid wasn't even born yet.

  Blankets and footballs and books and a bassinet with beautifully carved wood that I suspected Logan and Paige spent a fortune on. It would fit perfectly into my old bedroom. But the thing that made me lose it, sitting on the floor by our ten-foot Christmas tree, was the small box that bore marks of being shipped from the UK. Jude hadn't warned me he was sending anything, but when I sliced open the packing tape and folded back the white tissue paper, I saw the impossibly tiny Shepperton jersey bearing his number, and underneath it, a tiny board book about soccer. I cried quietly while Emmett laid his head on my shoulder and rubbed my back.

  That was the first text between us since I'd returned home that gave me the first kindling of hope that we could get through this in a good place.

  Me: Thank you for the present. It's perfect (a little big this year, but that's okay)

  Jude: Whenever it fits, I can't wait to see. How was your day today?

  Me: Good. More chaotic than usual this year. Molly is home with Noah, and Washington doesn't play this Christmas Day, so they could be home. Claire and Bauer were here too. Tomorrow they'll be with his family, though. What about you?

  Jude: Not quite chaotic, but Rebecca forced me to her house for dinner. Her husband is a Man City fan, so it was a rocky start.

  Me: LOL. Well, we can't all be perfect.

  Me: It's late for you. Don't you play tomorrow?

  Jude: If I play like rubbish again, you'll know why then. I best try to sleep. Merry Christmas, Lia.

  Me: Merry Christmas, Jude.

  I dreamed of him that night for the first time since being Stateside. Waking alone, in the middle of my old bed, in my old room, was disconcerting. And the hazy memories of how he'd kissed me, dirty and deep, underneath the Christmas tree lingered for days, a strange ache that mixed into finding a new normal with my family.

  But as week two slipped into week three, a quiet lull between holidays spent playing games and watching the Wolves beat Green Bay, watching Shepperton tie against Leeds United 2-2, the new year came and went with very little fanfare, considering I found myself sound asleep by ten on New Year's Eve, curled up underneath the bright purple comforter that I'd used in high school.

  That was the first time I'd mentioned where I might live after the baby was born.

  "Why not just redecorate the whole room?" Paige had asked. "And you know you can turn Molly's old room into a nursery once the baby is out of the bassinet."

  Logan glanced carefully at my face when I didn't respond as we'd eaten dinner that night.

  I don't know if I can do this. The thought came and went quick and quiet. But that was the thing. I would not let those thoughts escape anymore. That was my promise to myself. I'd grab them by the tail and yank them back, so I could take the time to figure that out.

  That night, I'd answered her diplomatically since I didn't have an answer yet. "I don't know if that makes sense since I'm not sure what my long-term plans are, but I'll think about it."

  And just like she had that night, when I mentioned it again now, fully entrenched in week four with all of us back at work and school now that the holidays were behind us, Paige's hands froze in the middle of what she was doing. It took her a long moment to make eye contact with me.

  "Do you want to move out?" she asked.

  I took another bite of apple and snagged a stool by the island, thinking carefully as she refilled her coffee. As it was most every morning, it was just me and Paige at the house. Logan was gone to the Wolves practice facility, and once Emmett went to school, it was just the two of us.

  "I don't know."

  She nodded and took a seat across from me. "I think ... I think I just assumed you'd want to be here to have help with the baby. And I mean, it's not like we don't have the space."

  They did, in spades. It was the house that Logan bought when Brooke first dropped us all on his doorstep, metaphorically. He found the five-bedroom house in the suburbs and bought it the same day, a place we could grow into and make our own. And it bore the strong handprint of our family in the way we'd molded it to fit whatever phase of life we were in. It was so much more than four walls and a roof; it represented a second chance for all of us in different ways.

  "I know," I told her. My thumb tapped on the granite, and I fought the impulse to change the subject and see if she wanted to go shopping or go for a walk or go work out. "But I'm almost twenty-three, Paige. I'm in my last semester of school. And ... and I think I need to consider the fact that just because I can live here after the baby's born doesn't mean I should."

  She sighed. "I hate when you guys make sense about shit like this."

  "I know you do," I answered with a smile. "You'd have us all here forever if you could."

  "Hell yeah, I would. What does it say about me that the crazier this house is, the more at peace I feel?"

  Paige and I were so similar, and it was the kind of shared trait that made my heart grow about two sizes because even though there wasn't a shred of shared DNA between us, and I was practically stepping into my teen years when she married Logan, she held a piece of my soul. Just like I held a piece of hers.

  "I think it says we need to find something to do today," I told her. "I haven't made up my mind yet."

  "Deal." Her face lit up. "Can we start working on your registry?"

  "Isn't my shower supposed to be like, a month before I give birth?"

  "What's your point?"

  I laughed. "Let's circle back to that next month, okay?"

  That conversation helped bridge a previously untouched gap in my relationship with Jude in our weekly phone call.

  Paige had left to run errands, so I sat in the family room under a blanket with my phone on my lap and Jude on speaker.

  "Is it stupid to move out if I have a free place to live?" I asked him.

  He hummed. "Not stupid, no."

  There was a slight hesitation in his words that had me smiling. "But ..."

  "But," he said, "I think I'd want my own space. If it were me. But I've been on my own since I was seventeen, so I might not be a good person to help you make that decision."

  "Seventeen?"

  "Mm-hmm. Moved to Germany to play in the Bundesliga, which is their national league. That's where I got my start."

  I shook my head. "That's so young to be thrown into a world like that. I can't even imagine."

  "I learned a lot," he said ruefully. "On and off the pitch. And for a kid who came from a bloody sheep farm, it was nothing I could've prepared myself for."

  My fingers twisted the edge of the blanket. "Is that when your parents ... started disapproving?"

  Jude let out a slow breath, and I found myself holding mine before he answered. "They started a few years earlier than that, when I took a job outside of the farm to make enough money to keep myself in the youth clubs." Jude went quiet, and I held my breath, waiting for anything else he might give me. "My dad, especially. I was the eldest son, yeah? And it was my job to take over the farm, just as he'd done with his own father. But I think ... I think they saw how serious I was, working myself to the bone to play a game they didn't understand."

  Relief was sweet and unhurried as I listened to him talk about his time in Germany. What he loved about the independence he found, and what he didn't. He asked me, in
a slight subject change, about living with Claire in college and what that had been like. He asked me about Finn, who I'd only managed to see a couple of times since I moved back, busy, busy boy that he was.

  "What do they all say?" Jude asked when we fell quiet. Most of our weekly calls lasted around thirty to forty minutes, but I'd been on the phone with him for over an hour. "Do they think you should move out?"

  "Logan and Paige want me to stay. Probably because they'll worry less. Claire isn't saying one way or the other, but ... I know what she's thinking."

  "Twin thing," he teased.

  "Sometimes. I can't like, read her thoughts, but it's like hearing your neighbors talk through thin walls. You get impressions, you know? And I get the sense she thinks it would be good for me to live on my own." I spread my hands over my belly. "So, your vote is to move out?"

  "For whatever it's worth," he murmured, "yes, that's my vote. But I'll support whatever you choose."

  The gloomy days of January, only a few of them cold enough for snow to stick on the ground, gave way to slightly warmer, just as gloomy days in February. Lia and I turned twenty-three, and split a giant platter of pink and white cupcakes after a family dinner. My class, considering it was one of the last before I finished my program, felt like it was the least of my stresses. I read and wrote and had discussions with small groups. My family, all busy with their own lives, found time to carve out pockets with me when possible.

  Molly traveled about half the month, and when she was back, she always took me out for time with just the two of us, considering she'd made it her mission to find me the best scone in the greater Seattle area.

  I'd taken to texting Jude updates amid our search.

  Me: This one was pretty good. Not as good as Rebecca's, though.

  Jude: It looks dry as cardboard.

  Me: Maybe not CARDBOARD. But it needed a lot of cream. Can you eat one of hers for me? Or just send me a picture of one? Or a video so I can pretend I'm sniffing it?

  Jude: Good Lord, you sound like an addict.

  Jude: Here. It's got currants in it.

  I laughed when I saw the picture he attached, him shoving half the scone into his mouth. The sight of him wasn't a punch to the heart or anything, one side effect of being able to see him on TV every week when I got the chance to watch one of his matches. But this was a different Jude than the one I saw on the pitch. Despite the silly picture, he looked tired. It was in the dark circles under his eyes, the lines on his face that hadn't been so prominent when I'd last seen him.

  Molly sipped her coffee across the cafe table and watched me. "It's going okay with him?"

  I shrugged. "As good as it can, I suppose."

  "Do you miss him?"

  My eldest sister was the only one who dared to ask me about him. Maybe because she was the most romantic to her soft little heart. She'd tamed her big beast of an athlete in Noah, and I knew she was holding out hope that I'd still be able to overcome ... everything ... when it came to Jude.

  Staring at the picture, the scruff along his jaw and the mess of his dark hair, I rubbed my thumb over the image, and then cleared it away so I wouldn't obsess.

  "Yeah." There was no point in lying to Molly. And I wouldn't have lied to anyone else either if they'd asked, but along with the realization that I was very skilled at moving through life restlessly was the fact that my family was used to that. They probably thought I'd brush them off with a It's totally fine, guys, look at how completely fine it all is. "But I don't think missing him is the problem. It's figuring out what we're like outside of missing each other. He's finally talking to me about stuff, but it's not like I can just hop back over to England because the thought of him makes me heartsick."

  "Makes sense," she said. "No one is perfect, but you already know that, and I don't think that's what you want from him."

  I shook my head. "No. I don't need perfection. I think my problem was that it felt so good when we weren't worrying about anything else, and now that everything else has surfaced, I can't think about how good it was between us until those things are better, at least. And they may never be."

  Molly watched with a soft smile when I curled my hand over my stomach. A soft bump greeted me, and I motioned for her hand. She slid her chair closer, eyes widening. "Can you feel it moving?"

  "Yeah." I took her hand and set it along the top of my bump, and we waited. I tried pushing on the side, and then felt it again.

  Molly gasped. "Ohhhh, hi little Banana, I'm your favorite Aunt Molly."

  I laughed as she tucked her head down beneath the table and kept talking to my stomach. A couple passed us, not even trying to hide their WTF faces. I waved.

  "And we're going to do so much fun stuff," she kept going, rubbing the top of my gently moving stomach with her palm. "And I just love you so, so much." When she sat back, her eyes were bright. "Goodness, that's amazing."

  "You should have one," I said slyly.

  Her cheeks went pink almost immediately. "Noah said that the other day."

  "Really?" I squealed. "Oh please, please, please, get knocked up so we can have babies grow up together."

  She laughed. "I caught him looking at baby Wolves stuff the other day, and I think it's Jude's fault for sending that jersey at Christmas. It got him thinking about, I don't know, everything. We're so happy and so busy, but if you wait for life to be the perfect time to do things like get married or have babies or travel, you'll never do it."

  "Very true." I thought about Jude, and how if it hadn't been for our night at the bar, and my shitty memory with birth control, he'd still be alone. I was young, so it was different for me. "Do you think Noah will propose soon?"

  Her eyes sparkled happily. "I do. I overheard him asking Paige something about her ring, and he didn't realize I was in the next room."

  "Molly!"

  It was her turn to squeal. "I know!"

  "Promise me something," I said, gripping her hands with mine.

  Her eyes got big at my grave tone. "What?"

  "Please try not to get married like, the week of my due date. Because then my options are being as big as a whale in your wedding pictures or missing it because I'm in labor and I don't particularly like either option."

  She laughed. "How about we wait until he proposes first, then I can worry about setting a date." Molly nudged me under the table with her knee. "Look at you, Lee, planning ahead and everything. Did you swap personalities with Claire?"

  "I know, I know."

  "Ready to go?" Molly asked.

  "Yeah. I told Paige I'd help her make the dough tonight for family dinner."

  "Oooh. Pizza?"

  I nodded. "Little Banana wants some."

  "Another reason me and that kid are going to get along just fine."

  I followed Molly out of the cafe and found myself glancing back at my phone screen. Wanting that glimpse felt a little bit like his tease about being addicted to scones. Two months away from Jude, and I still craved the pieces I could get. Even though the picture was in thumbnail, I stared at his face, wishing that any planning I did could include a clearer picture of what role he'd have in my life, in Little Banana's life.

  But as February came to a close, and March dawned a little warmer, a little less gloomy, we stayed exactly in the same place—getting to know each other—and I knew that I'd have to be okay with that.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Jude

  I'd learned a lot as winter thawed into an early spring in England. Not all things I wanted to learn, mind you, but I'd learned them all the same.

  First, it was entirely possible to sit out of a game and still feel the amount of pressure you felt when you were starting. And losses hurt just as bad from that vantage point as well.

  Second thing I learned was that I yelled. A lot.

  The starting players began calling me Boss, and not necessarily as a term of endearment. My manager normally just looked back at me with raised eyebrows as he calmly watched us navigate thro
ugh the middle of the season in complete and utter fucking mediocrity.

  "Get your head out of his arse, Williams," I bellowed. "Learn how to clear the ball."

  "Do you want to stand here?" Conworth asked dryly with a quick glance over his shoulder.

  "No, but if you don't do your bloody job, I will," I muttered. The young player next to me must've heard me because he snorted.

  I gave him a look, and his cheeks reddened.

  Third, I learned with complete and utter fucking clarity that Lia might've been thousands of miles away from me, but I couldn't get her out of my head for a single second. It was hell.

  And the reason it was hell was because I couldn't do anything about it, except try to forge a friendly truce until the season was over.

  In the locker room after the match, a 1-1 draw against Aston Villa, I sat on the bench in front of my cubby and stared down at my phone.

  She'd started sending me “bump pics” as she called them. Always right in the middle of our weekly phone calls.

  I hated them.

  I loved them.

  She was changing, somehow getting more and more beautiful with each centimeter she grew, and I felt very much like I was staying the same.

  "What's got your balls in a bunch?" Declan asked, tossing his dirty kit onto the floor and tightening the towel around his waist. "You yelled even more than normal today, which is impressive, considering how much you yelled the week before. Conworth is going to be out a job not because he can't win, but because you're going to take it from him."

  I ignored that because I didn't want to coach. I wanted to play. I didn’t want to be sitting on the bench in any facet of my life, and I seemed doomed to that position.