Chapter 5
“I told you that you can stay with me as long as you need. Now, stop apologizing for taking up space in my apartment. I want you here until you’re back on your feet,” my best friend Tamara shouts from down the hall.
When I left St. Louis, I had no plan. All I knew is that I needed to get out of there as quickly as possible and there was only one place I felt safe going—straight to my best friend’s apartment in Wisconsin.
Tamara and I were roommates at Wisconsin for three years.
We both joined the team our freshmen year and went through the grueling life as rookies on one of the best college hockey teams in the country.
We bonded over burpees and down and backs.
The rest is history. When I called her crying from somewhere in Illinois, she didn’t even hesitate.
“Get your ass to Green Bay. We’ll figure the rest out later.
” Now here I am, still sleeping on her couch, my life as hot a mess as it was when I left Missouri.
Tamara enters the kitchen, her hair looking as fabulous as ever, her natural coils bouncing with each step she takes.
Big brown eyes meet mine as I take a sip of the smoothie I made this morning.
Tamara is one of the most beautiful people I’ve ever met.
She greets me with her signature full-toothed smile, her lips painted a berry-red, popping against her flawless dark bronze complexion.
Being gorgeous hasn’t made Tamara’s life any easier unfortunately.
As the only Black female sports agent for the NHL, it only adds to the ridicule and judgment people are so quick to toss her way.
All the haters are constantly commenting on her appearance, rather than how badass of an agent she is.
As a woman, I’ve faced my fair share of sexism and bias in the industry, but I’ve never had to face the added layer of racial prejudice that Tamara deals with far too often.
She has to work twice as hard as I do to be taken seriously.
I can’t wait for the day when we as women aren’t judged by our body parts or skin color, but rather by our accolades and accomplishments. Maybe one day.
“I know what you told me but I can’t help feeling guilty about being a freeloader.
I hate having to rely on other people. Story of my freaking life.
” I look down at the counter, ashamed of the situation I’m finding myself in, yet again.
I haven’t even told my parents about my money troubles yet.
They’re worried enough about all my health issues.
I know they’d offer to pay even if they couldn’t afford to.
But I want to figure this out on my own. I need to.
“Nope. We’re not doing that.” She plants herself next to me, resting a hand on the counter, but I still don’t look up. “Look at me.”
Knowing she won’t stop until I do, I turn and look my best friend in the eyes.
“Bryan made you think you needed him. You do not need a man. You do not need anybody. But you are allowed to ask for some help. You are Avery Chamberlin, and you are a fierce woman who just snagged a job on an NHL team. You did that. All by yourself. Give yourself some grace.”
Emotion creeps up my throat and I quickly gulp down some more of my smoothie trying to push it back down.
Tamara gently places her hand on top of mine and lowers the tumbler from my mouth.
“I know you’ve been through some shit lately.
But you’re finally focusing on yourself and your health, both mental and physical.
What type of best friend would I be if I didn’t support you?
My couch was empty, so now it’s yours. I’m barely here anyway, you know that. Please stop feeling guilty.”
I nod once before depositing my smoothie on the counter and throwing my arms around Tamara’s neck.
She stands at six foot one so I reach up onto my tiptoes so I can increase the force in which I’m squeezing her.
She squeezes me back, her strong arms wrapped around me making me feel more grounded by the second.
Once I’ve finally pulled myself together, I release my grip on her.
“Thanks, T. Sometimes I feel myself slipping into old ways and believe all the bullshit Bryan told me about myself. Thanks for reminding me of who I really am.”
Tamara waves me off, then turns to the refrigerator where she starts pulling out Tupperware to take with her to work today. Sometimes she’s gone before I’m up and not back until after I go to sleep. My best friend grinds and she’s truly an inspiration.
Once she turns back to me, salad and fruit in hand, she waves me off with her other one. “Don’t sweat it. You’re doing great. That fuckwad better pray he doesn’t cross paths with me. I will not hesitate kicking him square in the junk.”
I snort, but know she’s 100 percent serious with that threat. She packs the food into her cooler and then turns to me once more. “Don’t let him get you down. I know it’s hard. How’s therapy going? I know you’ve been wanting to work through all the trauma that’s weighing you down.”
“Great, actually. Unlike in St. Louis, the Bobcats’ therapist is a woman. I know not all men are jerks but I swear Bryan had every person on that staff in his pocket. After everything, I’m much more comfortable talking with a woman.”
Tamara hauls her laptop bag over her shoulder and then grabs her cooler. “Girl, you do not need to explain it to me. Us women have to stick together. Fuck the patriarchy.”
“God, I love you.”
She takes off toward the front door and slips her feet into her heels. “I love you, too. Don’t wait up. I’m thinking of flying to Detroit today to try and convince that stud on Michigan to sign with me.”
I follow her to the front door, and considering how full her hands are, I open it for her. “You got this, T. Go sign another first round draft pick and make me proud.”
Before she leaves, she walks over and air kisses both of my cheeks, just like she’s done since we were in college. She exits the apartment, but pauses after a few steps and turns back around.
“Go do something today that brings you joy. Get your nails done, stop at the bookstore, hell, order an entire pizza for yourself like you used to do. Just do something fun.”
The thought of indulging in a very greasy pizza suddenly fills me with so much excitement.
I can’t remember the last time I ordered food that I wanted.
Bryan’s a healthy eater, and I thought it was for the best to eat what he ate.
But now that I can reflect on my past without the rose-colored glasses I always seemed to be wearing, I remember now how often he criticized the way I looked and insisted I eat healthier.
“You know what? I think an entire chicken pineapple pizza is exactly what the doctor ordered. I’ll stop after my therapy session.”
“You’ve given yourself permission to be honest about some difficult things today. That’s meaningful work, Avery.”
I nod and we both stand. Katie accompanies me to the door of her office, the same kind smile she’s been wearing for the past sixty minutes still stretches across her face.
“Same time next week?”
“Sounds good to me.”
Today is one of those days I’m walking out of here feeling like I can conquer the world.
I’m feeling lighter than I did when I arrived, almost buzzing with this newfound shift that’s taking place in my mind.
It’s crazy to me how different these sessions can make me feel depending on what we unpack during them.
Last week’s session didn’t leave me feeling this way.
After we dug deep into Bryan’s gaslighting, I knew it was progress but it didn’t feel like it.
It was hard for me to pick myself up and walk out of here after all that.
That session left me feeling mentally, emotionally, and even physically drained after letting go of things I’ve held onto for years.
The push and pull of therapy is something I’m still getting used to. Today, for example, feels like taking a step forward, but who knows if it’ll feel like I’m taking two steps back next week. Progress isn’t always linear and I’m still trying to adjust to that fact.
I’m about to make my exit when something occurs to me. “Shoot! Um, there might be a little problem.”
Katie leans against the doorjamb, crossing one arm over the other. “What kind of problem?”
God, this is so embarrassing. How do I explain that I can’t afford to pay for these sessions out of pocket and that I don’t have insurance right now? I chew on my bottom lip, trying to come up with a way that doesn’t make me sound so pathetic.
Like I said, one step forward and two steps back.
I’m still trying to find a way to bring it up when I remember what Katie just said to me during our session. I confessed that sometimes I’m embarrassed of the position I find myself in and she told me to try an affirmation when I’m feeling this way.
I am proud of who I am. This too shall pass.
“We never talked about payments when we started meeting. I know it’s already been a few months since we got started, but I can’t afford to pay for these sessions right now.
Since the divorce, I don’t have insurance, and I was hired by the Bobcats as a freelance commentator on a trial basis to see if I’d be a good fit.
I know your services are free to full-time staff, but as an independent contractor, I’m not covered and I don’t have insurance yet.
I don’t know if I’ll be able to keep coming until I figure it all out. ”
The urge to look down at my toes is strong but I choose to hold my head high and maintain eye contact with Katie.
“We’ll figure it out. Please keep coming and don’t worry about the money.”
I open my mouth to argue and then recall the conversation I had with Tamara this morning. I’m allowed to accept help. It does not make me weak or a freeloader.
Look at me bettering myself. I give myself an imaginary pat on the back.
“You’re sure? I will pay you when I can, I promise.”