Chapter 19
Mireya — February. Preseason in Florida
Wesley is almost four now. It's hard to believe how fast time moves.
Iris always says she misses his baby-talk, but he's still an adorable kid and the absolute center of attention for the whole team.
This trip he seems to have adopted me. He grabbed my hand at the airport, asked me for a strawberry lollipop, and hasn't let go since.
I buy him one every time we're together. It started six months ago at a training session; I had one in my pocket, gave it to him, and the kid went crazy for it. Now every time he sees me, he asks.
The funny part is he's gotten a little shy around the two new players who joined the squad. Tessa explained that it makes sense. Almost all the players were already here when he was born, and some joined when he was very small.
Now for the first time he's starting to realize the team doesn't always stay the same. It's shifted a little. Some players left, others arrived, and he doesn't know them yet. Though he's been completely fixated watching the tricks the new Brazilian player can do with the ball.
He looks like a tiny adult walking through the airport terminal, his club jersey nearly reaching his knees, a miniature club backpack on his shoulders. Drummond had it custom-made just for him. Said it was good publicity.
“Hades!” he shouts.
He's the only one who calls Diana Hades openly — well, Iris does too, when she's in a mood.
“What's up, Wes,” Diana says, crouching down to his level.
“I got somefing for you. But I not giving it now.”
“No?”
“Tonight. At dinner,” the little boy insists.
Diana runs her hand through his hair, and Wesley, still holding my hand, stretches out his free arm so she'll take it too. Watching her like this, with that smile she gets now whenever she's with Wes, does something to me. I think we need a baby in our life.
Iris has already picked up her first fine, and technically we haven't even started preseason yet. Instead of the official team gear, she showed up in a tank top that reads “BACK-TO-BACK CHAMPS” in enormous letters, each one a different color.
“Oh man, Guerrero, how was the flight? Must be uncomfortable having Hades sleeping on your shoulder for five hours,” she says as she passes us.
Diana pretends not to hear her, though she can't stop herself from rolling her eyes.
**
The hotel terrace where we eat dinner is the same one as last year. The same long tables. The warm yellow light, the view of the empty pool where we kissed for the first time.
I'm starting to understand that the Florida preseason is something essential to this club.
The last playoff game was played at the end of November; barely two months have passed, and it feels like a lifetime since we've all been together.
There are hugs everywhere, laughter, people talking over each other about their vacations.
This is the event that sets the tone for what the new season is going to be.
“Oh, we're going out tonight,” Iris murmurs as she passes me. “Can't invite you, Guerrero, nothing personal. It's just that if you come, Hades finds out, and if Hades finds out, there's no party. You're taking one for the team. We're cool,” she concludes, shrugging.
The Brazilian player is sitting at the far end of one of the tables. She's barely said a word in twenty minutes, just watching everything. I can't blame her; landing in this club without knowing anyone is a social tsunami you just have to ride out however you can.
I remember it well. I was in her exact spot twelve months ago.
Iris tilts her chin toward her and says something quiet to Diana. I only catch a couple of lines: “She's brilliant, but she's going to be complicated. Half the good kind of trouble, half the other kind.” Diana nods and takes a sip of water.
“Oh, Coach, before I forget. I've been seeing Jordan Hayes on Thursdays for almost a year now.
Just putting it out there so it's on the record, and so you don't see me saying hi to her in the hallway and think I've lost it.
Because at this point we're basically friends or something,” she says, pivoting topics the way only she can.
“Jordan? The club psychologist?”
Both Diana and I turn toward her, surprised.
“Yeah, her. That woman is a witch, Coach, I'm completely serious.
I don't know how she does it, but she says four things to you, and you walk out of her office feeling less like an idiot.
Well, relatively speaking. Zoe recommended her, and she's been really helping me get my head straight.
Her and Paula. I've even started reading books.
I hadn't read a book since high school, Coach, I swear on Paula.
And I've read three back-to-back. Three.
One day you're going to hear me quoting some author in the locker room before a game, and you'll think I took a hit to the head.
But no, that'll be Jordan and Paula. Just giving you advance warning so you don't send me to the doctor.”
Diana simply nods and slides Iris's wine glass out of her reach.
“Water for the rest of dinner,” she says.
Drummond shows up ten minutes later. Same as last year, she came to Florida just for this dinner along with a few other club executives, and she flies back to Seattle first thing tomorrow.
She brings a small paper bag with a little something for Wesley and one for Diana.
Apparently, she does it every year. Something low-key, no team logo, no branding. She does it because she wants to.
Dinner stretches an hour and a half, punctuated nonstop by Iris's stories about Paula, Diana, and pretty much every player who's ever been at this club, including a lot who aren't anymore.
She tells them with such timing you can't tell what's real and what she's invented.
Renata, the Brazilian player, smiles for the first time all evening.
During dessert, when the last of the ice cream is gone, Wesley climbs down from his chair and plants himself next to Diana with a folded piece of paper.
“Here. Is for you,” he says, holding it out with both hands like it's some kind of ceremony.
“Thank you, Wes.”
“Be caweful. Don't bweak it.”
“I won't break it. I've been opening your drawings for a long time, and you always fold them exactly the same way,” she tells him.
“But this one's impoh-tant.”
“Okay, Wesley. Very slowly, all right?”
The little boy nods, and Diana opens it with both hands, very carefully.
As she unfolds it, I already know what he drew because Tessa called me on Tuesday to warn me.
She said "when Hades opens it at dinner, act like you don't know anything.” But seeing the kid's face as he waits for Diana's reaction is something else.
It's the same green field as the first drawing from months ago.
The same stick figures in bright colors, all crowded together on the left in one tight group.
Maybe drawn a little better this time. Iris's ponytail only reaches her waist now, not the ground.
Several players have big numbers on them because he's been learning to recognize numbers.
This time he's given Tina a bubble of gum coming out of her mouth like a soccer ball.
And in the center of the page, two stick figures holding hands. One black. One green, with something that looks like the number nine on her. My number.
“You see, Hades?” the little boy asks, pressing his small index finger onto the figures.
“I see it, Wesley.”
"You not alone anymowr. And I'm dere too. Wight here, look,” he insists, pointing to a small figure next to the group.
I press my hand to Diana's thigh under the table, because she's holding it together, trying not to break in front of her players and a child who hasn't turned four yet and is now looking up at her with a concerned little face.
“Thank you, Wesley. That's a really beautiful gift,” she says, pulling him into a hug.
Wes nods, satisfied, and goes back to his seat between his moms.
**
This year I'm staying in Diana's room, and I'll admit it's considerably better than what the players get. It has a terrace with a small table and two white chairs, a lounge chair for sunbathing, and a view of the ocean.
“It's Lauren. The girls want to say hi,” I hear when I come out of the shower, hair still wet, wearing the 2011 World Cup jersey to sleep.
I sit down next to her at the terrace table, and Diana turns the laptop so my face fits in the frame too.
Sofía and Nora appear in their pajamas, pushing each other to get in front. Pickle lurks somewhere behind them, half-hidden behind a stuffed animal.
“Mireya, hi. Are you sunbathing?” Sofía asks, her nose practically touching the camera.
“Sofía, back away from the screen, all they can see is your left eye,” Lauren calls. “Mireya's going to think you're a Cyclops.”
“Okay. Mireya, are you actually in the sun in Florida?”
“It's nighttime here too, but it's really hot. When we landed this afternoon it was about ninety degrees.”
“Ninety?”
“Ninety, yeah.”
“It was thirty-six here, right, Mom?” she says, turning toward Lauren.
“Is it a nice hotel? Does it have a pool like last year's?” Nora cuts in.
I don't have time to tell her it's the same hotel as last year — and probably the year before that, since Diana is a creature of habit when something makes her happy.
What follows is a string of overlapping questions, a few small shoves to get better position on camera, until Lauren moves in to restore order.
“Mireya, does Mom yell at you in training?”
Diana, beside me, chokes on her tea.
“Nora, for God's sake.”
“Mom, don't say that, we're right here.”
“She does, yes, same as all the players, when we do something wrong. That's her job.”
“But does she apologize afterward for yelling at you?”
“She treats me very well afterward, Nora,” I say, feeling the heat rush to my ears.
“Okay. It's just that in the game videos, it's scary when she yells. I'm used to it now because I know her, but the first video I watched when I was five, I cried.”
After that, they tell me about the guinea pig; he only eats the good lettuce now, and ask if I'm going to come to dinner with them when we get back from Florida.
It's like they've already adopted me as a third mother.
The third one. I almost feel a pang when Lauren sends them to bed and the call ends.
“Did you like Wesley's drawing?” I ask, taking her hand as we head to bed.
“Very much.”
“Tessa called me Tuesday to give me a heads-up. She said, 'when Hades opens the paper at dinner, act like you don't know anything.' You don't have to answer right now, okay? But... have you thought about having kids? Besides the twins, I mean.”
“A baby of our own?” she asks, eyes going wide.
“Yeah. A baby of our own.”
“I'd love that. Maybe the timing isn't perfect yet, but I'd love it,” she admits, running her hand through my hair and kissing my forehead.
“And a wedding?”
“A wedding? Yeah, I think I'd want that too.”
“I'd really love for it to be in Aura Valley,” I say, before kissing her lips.
She yawns, curls into my body, and drifts off. I don't sleep. I stay awake another hour. Watching the hotel ceiling, the moonlight on the sheet, the mark the bracelet Tana made has left on my right wrist, her hand resting on my stomach.