Girls of Summer

by Kate Christie

  Beside her, Emma felt Jamie tense. Freaking Gabe. She couldn’t bear being the brunt of the joke, could she? Emma wasn’t usually much for rubber-necking, but she couldn’t help glancing at Jamie, noting the slight crease in her brow as her mouth settled into a thin line.

  “Yeah, but haven’t most of us hooked up with a teammate at some point or another?” Angie asked. “Like you, Max. You’re not exactly Miss Innocent yourself, are you?”

  Jamie’s head shot up and the look she sent Angie was a thousand times more intense than the glare she’d leveled at Emma on the deck of the St. Louis team hotel. So that was what Jamie’s mother’s Death Glare looked like. Good to know.

  “Come on, Max,” Angie said, apparently comfortable with taking her life in her hands, “you know you and Brooke were adorable.”

  “Brooke Cantwell?” Gabe asked. “You hooked up with Brooke Cantwell?”

  “In Chile at the Under-20 World Cup,” Angie confirmed. “They were quite the couple for a while, Maxwell and Cantwell. Although, really, Brooke’s last name should have been Can Well if you ask me.”

  Everyone groaned and Jamie whipped a cheese cube at her former youth pool teammate. “No one asked you, jackass.”

  “Rude,” Angie said, and popped the cheese in her mouth.

  Emma vaguely recalled Brooke Cantwell, a petite blonde striker with a wide smile and a surprisingly powerful shot. She and Jamie would have been adorable together, Emma had to admit. What had ever happened to Brooke? Emma couldn’t remember. So many people had rotated through the national team program in the past decade that it was impossible to keep track of where they all ended up.

  At that moment, Ellie tapped her glass. Emma glanced up in time to see Jodie nod reassuringly at the team captain, who took a deep breath before looking around the crowded table. Maybe they’d finally set a date and the longest engagement in the history of humankind—including Emma’s brother’s—would at last come to a close.

  Maddie apparently thought so as well: “Finally,” she murmured to Emma while offering a practiced smile to the group at large.

  “So,” Ellie said, her voice tight with an emotion Emma couldn’t quite identify, “we have some news.” She reached for Jodie’s hand and held it on top of the table. “Jodie and I got married earlier today.”

  Beside her, Jamie choked on air. Emma knew the feeling as she gaped at her longtime teammate and friend.

  “You what?” Angie asked, voicing the question that was clearly on everyone’s mind.

  “Don’t worry, there’ll still be a big party at some point after the World Cup,” Ellie said, smiling at Jodie who nodded vigorously, “but we realized we’re probably not going to be back in Oregon anytime soon, and Jodie’s parents had this trip planned for a while. Since I have a place in Tahoe, I’m considered a California resident, so here we are.”

  Something about the reasoning—and the super googily eyes Ellie was giving Jodie—made Emma pause.

  “Do you think they’re pregnant?” Maddie whispered.

  “That’s exactly what I was thinking,” Emma whispered back.

  Almost on cue, Jodie’s hand dropped to her belly and stayed there as Ellie leaned in to kiss her cheek. Emma had known they were thinking of trying, but now? The baby would be born between the World Cup and the Olympics, which meant Ellie would be the parent of a newborn at the Olympics next year. Of course, given that Jodie was apparently the one carrying the baby, Ellie wouldn’t have a huge physical hill to climb back up before Rio. One good thing about being involved with a woman was that you always had a spare womb in the family. That, and you never had to worry about accidentally getting pregnant.

  Thank god.

  Voices around the table chattered excitedly, asking the same questions currently circling Emma’s mind: Where? The county court house. When? That afternoon. Who had been their witnesses? Jodie’s parents plus Steph and Tina. Why now?

  As Ellie hesitated, Gabe’s voice cut across the background restaurant noise. “Rachel Ellison, you better not be pregnant!”

  Her words hung over the party while Ellie glanced at her fiancée—wife—with a look that clearly said, I’m sorry I invited my ex. Jodie gazed back at her with an expression that seemed to simultaneously communicate both I told you so and What can you do? Lesbians. Meanwhile, Jodie’s parents looked on with half-horrified, half-fascinated gazes. Midwesterners weren’t accustomed to lesbian ex-girlfriend displays, it seemed.

  “In fact, Gabriel, I’m not currently with child,” Ellie said, her voice stern and eyes chilly. “But thanks for asking. Any other questions?”

  Emma didn’t doubt that there were, given who was seated around the table, but for the moment everyone contented themselves with hugs, laughter, and vociferous congratulations.

  “No wonder you’re here without the rest of your trio,” Emma said to Steph as she waited for her turn to hug the happy brides. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me!”

  “It was pretty sudden,” Steph said, smiling.

  And why was that, again? The timing still didn’t make sense unless…

  “Jodie is totally preggers,” Emma heard Angie say to Jamie as they returned to their seats a few minutes later.

  Apparently Emma wasn’t the only one who’d come up with that particular conspiracy theory. Again, at least it wasn’t Ellie. Because Emma really couldn’t imagine the coaching staff’s reaction if their captain and leading scorer, the woman who had just set the new international scoring record, revealed that she might not be able to play in the World Cup. Or, possibly, the 2016 Olympics.

  “Gay marriage is legal in Oregon, though, right?” Gabe asked as conversation at their end of the table resumed. “They could have done this up there at any point?”

  “Totally,” Jamie answered. “Since last year.”

  Angie shook her head. “It’s so irritating trying to remember where it’s legal and where it isn’t. What are we up to, thirty-something states now? Shocker that most of the ones where it’s still not allowed are in the Bible Belt.”

  “Did you hear about Alabama?” Gabe asked. “They were so pissed when that federal judge said their gay marriage ban was unconstitutional.”

  “That asshole Roy Moore actually ordered the counties not to issue licenses.” Angie exhaled noisily. “I can’t believe he’s a real judge.”

  “That’s the Deep South for you,” Gabe said. “Only place in the country where no one blinks when a proselytizing pedophile is elected to the state’s highest court.”

  Proselytizing pedophile, Emma repeated inside her head as she sipped her drink. Yay, alliteration.

  “Hopefully same-sex marriage will be legal everywhere soon,” Jamie put in.

  “Are you talking about the Supreme Court case?” Gabe asked.

  “Totally. I think there’s a good chance SCOTUS will rule in our favor.”

  Angie snorted. “Dream on, James. Twenty bucks says they punt again, just like they did with Windsor.”

  The Supreme Court had announced in January that it would hear a case that revolved around a central question in the ongoing gay marriage debate: whether or not individual states had the constitutional right to ban same-sex marriage for their residents. The court had heard two and a half hours of oral arguments in April, and claimed they planned to issue a ruling before the term ended in late June. In mid-May, though, all that had been heard was arguing back and forth on both sides about whether SCOTUS would issue a sweeping decision for the entire country or offer a limited ruling that applied only to the four states named in the complaint.

  Emma rested her hand on Jamie’s back. “I’m with Jamie,” she announced. She’d been surprised two years earlier when Justice Kennedy—a practicing Catholic—had written the majority opinion on US vs. Windsor, which had struck down the federal Defense of Marriage Act, the smarmy legislation Emma’s mother had always said would be more accurately titled the Defense against Gay Marriage Act. Why America needed defending against an institution b
ased on love had never been suitably articulated, in the Blakeley family’s opinion.

  “Um, yeah, Em,” Gabe said. “I think we all know that by now.”

  Emma rolled her eyes and looked for something to throw at the midfielder, but as she reached for the nearest dish—a Fee Fi Fo Fum Fry plate, as it happened—Jamie grabbed her hand.

  “Don’t even think about it, Blake.”

  Emma responded by holding out a single fry in her palm as a peace offering. She’d nearly forgotten that Jamie regarded fries as food of the gods. As Jamie received the lone fry reverently, their friends laughed, and so did they, smiling into each other’s eyes.

  What a good night, Emma thought. She and Jamie were out at an excellent restaurant with their closest friends from the team, two of whom had just gotten married and may or may not be expecting their first child. Not only that but in a couple of hours, they would be meeting the rest of the team at Pitch Perfect 2, which was sure to provide at least some queer subtext for those so inclined even if it didn’t offer an actual Bechloe kiss. Jamie insisted the kiss between Beca and Chloe was all but guaranteed, but while Emma could appreciate her girlfriend’s optimism when it came to the fate of same-sex marriage in America, the chances of two stars of a Hollywood franchise engaging in a same-sex kiss on screen seemed much less likely.

  All in all, though, tonight was a welcome break from the hurry up and wait malaise of their final pre-World Cup camp. They’d spent the week since San Jose training, working out, and training some more all while trying not to read the press. Emma had watched more game film of their upcoming opponents than she could ever remember doing. There had also been massive amounts of team bonding over the past few weeks, which was why this rare afternoon off—a round of soccer tennis after lunch didn’t really count as a training session—was so appreciated. Jamie and Angie and their U-23 buddies had no idea what was about to happen to them. It wasn’t like Emma or Maddie could warn them, either. The World Cup was something you had to experience for yourself.

  “Anyone up for a stroll on the boardwalk?” Jodie asked as they split the bill among so many parties that Emma felt sorry for their server.

  Jamie and Angie both checked their phones and then nodded in cautious acquiescence. They wanted to get to the theater near the 405 early to find good seats, but there was still plenty of time before the movie started. Emma exchanged a look with Maddie, and they snagged their girlfriends’ arms, tugging them out into the summer evening. The restaurant was only a few blocks from the Manhattan Beach Pier, and soon Emma and Jamie were strolling along the boardwalk with their friends, hips and shoulders brushing occasionally.

  The scene was familiar—the smell of salt in the air, the grit of sand against pavement beneath their shoes, the shrill cry of seagulls and the rhythmic roll of the tide in the background as they walked. Somehow, it seemed as if she and Jamie were always drawn back to a sunlit California beach. As a diehard Pacific Northwesterner, Emma preferred the less crowded Oregon coast, especially Cannon Beach. Haystock Rock wasn’t that far from Portland. Maybe she should lure Jamie there after the World Cup, or maybe after the NWSL championship, or maybe after the post-World Cup victory (non-victory?) tour, or maybe after, after, AFTER…

  Jamie nudged her and they shared a smile. Honestly, this was the most relaxed she’d seen Jamie since her big Mother’s Day talk with her mom. Emma couldn’t quite believe she’d slept through the whole thing, but on the return flight to LA, Jamie had distracted her from the perverse notion of human flight by filling her in on what had gone down over pound cake. While her relationship with her mother hadn’t been magically fixed in a single conversation, Jamie had seemed noticeably less angry when they’d said goodbye to her parents at the airport. To Emma, that seemed like a solid step in the right direction.

  Jamie’s arm brushed Emma’s again, and she only barely resisted the urge to wend their arms together. Ahead of them, Maddie and Angie had no such qualms. They walked with their arms firmly entwined, bodies touching with every step as the group paced the crowded boardwalk, the reflection of sunlight off the breaking waves a shimmering band of light in the distance. This was why Wangvak and Madgeline had higher stats on Tumblr than Blakewell—because Maddie and Angie were more comfortable with public displays of affection. Not that Emma was keeping track of their shipping name stats. That was a competition she and Maddie left to their younger girlfriends.

  They passed a volleyball game in action and then a giant log where a handful of people sat drinking from cans of beer, Bluetooth speakers blasting hip-hop. The scene reminded Emma of her trip to San Francisco in high school, when she and Jamie had gone for a run that took them to the beach at Golden Gate Park. They had sat on a log near the ocean, and Jamie had said something about the cliché “what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.” Last year, right before they got together, Jamie had called that same cliché crap.

  “Sometimes,” she’d told Emma over the phone one night shortly before Craig cut her, “there are things that take so much out of you that you need time on your own to recover.”

  Jamie’s hand brushed hers now, their palms touching for a brief moment, and as a wave of familiar peace washed over her, Emma reflected that the things that made you stronger were more often the ones that didn’t involve trauma. People, relationships, moments in time that included love and trust and connection didn’t, in fact, leech your energy. Rather they replenished it, easing old hurts and allowing joy to grow in their place.

  Or something like that, anyway, Emma thought, enjoying the comfort of Jamie’s companionship as they walked on side by side, accompanied by the murmur of their friends’ voices and the sound of the waves rushing the shore, the sun casting a river of light that stretched from the nearby beach to the far-off horizon.

  Chapter Eight

  Jamie entered the coffee shop and blinked in the sudden dimness. She’d forgotten how sunlight—even the morning variety—could be amplified in New York, bouncing between tall buildings made of glass and steel. As her eyes adjusted, she realized Laurie and Beth hadn’t arrived yet. Which made sense. Unless her ex-girlfriend had changed dramatically, she was probably running late.

  “They’re not here,” she told Emma, who was staring down at her phone.

  “’Kay.” Emma tucked her phone back in her purse and glanced around. “This place is cute.”

  It was, all hippy and rustic with colorful Central American table cloths and posters on the walls that advertised a variety of social justice opportunities. Also typical Laurie.

  Shortly after Jamie had broken up with Brooke Cantwell, Meg had introduced her to Laurie, the pitch of her a capella singing group at Stanford. A senior with her post-college path all planned out, Laurie had not only helped Jamie heal, she’d also provided a window onto a life outside soccer. They’d dated for almost a year, and then Laurie had graduated and joined the Peace Corps, just as she’d been planning all long. They broke up right before she left the country because neither was interested in a long distance relationship, not because they didn’t care about each other. That had made it easier to stay friends, and in the years since, they’d managed to meet up semi-regularly. At this point, Laurie was a stable fixture in Jamie’s life.

  “Do you want to grab coffee?” Jamie asked. “They could be a while.”

  Emma frowned slightly—Jamie knew she disapproved of people who were chronically late—but nodded. Soon they were in line, and Emma was making a capella puns Jamie was sure she never would have thought of without the Pitch Perfect franchise.

  They’d seen the sequel a week earlier, and it was everything Jamie had hoped for even without any actual girl-on-girl action. Jamie wasn’t as naïve as certain people (Emma, Angie, Maddie, etc.) seemed to believe, so while she had held out hope for a kiss between Beca and Chloe, she hadn’t expected it. Mostly she was just happy that Chloe, who should have graduated three years ahead of Beca, was somehow still around to make eyes at her across the campfire. When Chloe co
nfessed that her one regret from college was that she hadn’t experimented enough, Jamie had nearly squealed aloud. She was already anticipating the awesome fan fiction that the suggestive line would no doubt inspire from the loyal Bechloe fandom.

  It was a good thing they’d watched the movie the night it came out. Since then, their schedule had been excessively hectic. Borderline crazed, even. Two days after Ellie shell-shocked the lot of them with her marriage announcement, the team had defeated Mexico, their biggest CONCACAF rival, 5-1 at Stub Hub in front of 27,000 fans. For once, the offense had clicked. Ellie and Jenny had scored two goals apiece in a performance that gave Jamie hope for their World Cup campaign. She’d actually scored a goal herself and assisted on another, and her sister had texted her links to articles on assorted sports outlets that were suggesting she would be one of the players to watch in Canada.

  Awesome. Super helpful, really.

  The day after the game, the team had flown to the East Coast for the third and final match of the send-off series. Not only would they be playing South Korea on Saturday in front of another sold-out crowd, but the players and coaches would also be doing a media tour of New York City—whatever that meant. At this point, Jamie was looking forward more to the two days of R&R they’d been promised before heading up to Winnipeg for the opening match of the group stage. The World Cup wasn’t far off now at all.

  “Hey, you,” a voice called from behind her, and Jamie turned to see her ex-girlfriend striding toward her, dark eyes hidden behind sunglasses, warm smile familiar. In a moment, Laurie had reached her and was pulling her into one of her classic hugs—tight but not too tight, her body vibrating with enthusiasm.

  “I can’t believe you’re on the World Cup team, Jamie!” Laurie said into her ear.

  Jamie blinked through the hair tickling her nose and laughed. “I can’t believe it, either.”

  Laurie pulled back and pushed her sunglasses to the top of her head. “You totally deserve it, though. I’m really happy for you.”