Chapter six Damon
Chapter six
Damon
May
I walk from the Lafayette Avenue stop of the A train with a spring in my step; I’m almost jogging by the time I reach Mom and Dad’s place.
For once, I don’t have to sit and listen to Henry and Dad discussing a big case, or how well it’s going for Camila working with Noah at Luxe, or how Adam and Maya are settling into their new apartment in Prospect Park, or how Cory is single-handedly revolutionizing Denise’s business plan. Tonight, I have news of my own.
I know over a decade playing professional basketball is no small feat.
I know some players train hard, play hard, and have nothing to show for it but shit grades on their college transcripts when basketball falls through.
I know all this…and yet it’s been hard to feel successful with my brothers jumping leaps and bounds ahead.
I run up the steps to my childhood home, out of breath when Mom opens the door.
“Damon!” She pulls me in for a hug, then pushes me back to inspect me. “What’s gotten into you? Your eyes are bright, and you look like you ran here.”
I pull her into another hug, lifting her off the ground with my enthusiasm, and she blushes like she always does. I peck her on the cheek.
“I’ve got news, Mom.”
She smooths her apron after I put her down and gestures for me to enter.
“Well, come in. Your brothers are already here, and the bulgogi is almost ready.”
I walk through the door and close it behind me, my mouth watering from the aroma.
Mom can throw down in the kitchen, trying out different cuisines for family dinner each week, but I still love when she makes Korean the most. I follow the sounds of arguing to the dining room.
Henry and Dad are seated next to each other, and without Camila to mellow Henry out, the conversation has devolved into the dreaded law talk.
“Judge Danvers is a joke, Dad. He ruled the housekeeper’s recordings inadmissible even though they provided glaring evidence that my client’s husband planned to commit fraud.”
I take a seat across from Adam, who rolls his eyes at the conversation. Dad and Henry are always poking at each other. I pile my plate with mandu and settle in for the show.
“That may be, but she obtained those recordings illegally and without her employer’s consent,” Dad argues. Henry shakes his head, clearly irritated at Dad’s shortsightedness.
“The videos were hardly obtained illegally when they came from cameras her employers gave her express permission to set up. She was trying to figure out what was eating through the pantry.”
“But that’s exactly why Judge Danvers was right to rule the way he did,” Dad counters, gesticulating with a dumpling on his fork. “She got permission to look into a pest problem, not to record private conversations.”
Henry’s about to argue when Mom comes into the room with the platter of bulgogi, setting it down next to the steaming white rice.
“Henry? Henry, Jr.?” She looks sternly between Dad and Henry. “What have I said about law talk at the table?”
“Sorry, Mom.” Henry apologizes, clearly still planning to press the issue once the meal is over.
Mom sits next to Dad, who pulls her into his side and kisses her cheek.
“Sorry, Marie,” he mutters, still nuzzling her nose. Despite how scary Dad can be in the courtroom, and whenever one of his sons gets on his bad side, he’s a cuddly bear where Mom’s concerned.
“It looks delicious, Mom,” Noah cuts in, steering the conversation to safer topics, as usual. Everyone around the table hums in agreement, loading their plates with rice, bulgogi, more mandu, and stir-fried vegetables. Mom even made kimchi-jjigae, which I waste no time ladling into my bowl.
I’m normally the first to dig into my food, but I’m way too excited. I ding my knife on my water glass when everyone’s been served.
“Sorry to interrupt the great meal Mom made for us,” I start, noting Noah’s annoyed expression, “but I couldn’t wait to share my news.
” I pause for dramatic effect. “I just found out this afternoon that I got the coaching job I’ve been interviewing for!
You’re looking at the new assistant coach for the Centerpoint High Eagles! ”
Adam claps me on the back in congratulations while my other brothers raise a glass or a fork. Mom breaks into applause, which makes me smile. She’s always been my biggest cheerleader.
“That’s wonderful, Damon,” she says teary-eyed.
“Isn’t that the school a few blocks from here?” Adam asks. I nod.
“Yep!” I’m beaming, but I can’t help it. This job is the next step I needed to get my life back on track. “I’ll even be able to stop by sometimes, since I’ll be in the neighborhood.”
Dad grunts his disapproval, and Noah coughs to cover his chuckle.
“Henry. Behave!” Mom chastises Dad, then squeezes my hand warmly. “We’d love to see you more often, honey.”
“Speak for yourself, Marie.” Dad grumbles. “We’ve got our weekly dinners. The rest of the week should be reserved for married-people business.”
Noah can’t cover his laugh this time, and Mom looks chagrined. Obviously, we know Mom and Dad get down with five sons, but from the looks on my brothers’ faces, I’m not the only one feeling a little uncomfortable talking about it over dinner.
“Henry, please!” Mom begs. He just grunts again.
“They’re grown men. They understand.”
“Anyway!” I interrupt before Mom and Dad give us any more information. “The school’s bringing me in for their summer training camp starting next month, and I’ll be coming by the school next week for a full tour and to meet the other coaches.”
“You’re gonna kill it, bro,” Cory says. I incline my head in thanks, and dinner starts in earnest.
At this table, I’m surrounded by love and support.
They all have their expertise—Dad and Henry in law, Noah in entertainment, Cory in finance, and Adam in tech—but they never made me feel less than for taking a less intellectual route.
Not intentionally, anyway. Basketball is my area of expertise, and I just know I’m going to kill it at this job.
June
“Robbie, I’m good, but I can’t actually make the shot if you don’t pass me the ball, dickhead!
” the gangly teen shouts to his teammate across the court.
Robbie glares and runs to chase down the rebound.
Coach Paulson blows the whistle loud enough for it to echo in the cavernous gym and grips his clipboard so hard I worry it might snap.
“Hayes!” Paulson roars, “That’s ten laps! Get moving!”
Carter Hayes, the lanky teen with the bad attitude and easily the most talented kid on the team, rolls his eyes with all the drama of an adolescent boy and opens his mouth to talk back. Coach Paulson cuts him off with a look.
“Choose your next words wisely, Hayes. This is a basketball team. Anyone who wants to act like this is a one-man show is welcome to audition for Theater, but they won’t be welcome in my gym. Got it?”
Boy, am I glad not to be on the receiving end of Coach Paulson’s death glare. Over the grueling interview process, we met several times, but last week when I showed up for my campus tour and ID badge was our first time interacting as colleagues.
At first glance, the five-foot eight-inch man looked unassuming with his graying mustache, a school hoodie so old the lettering was barely legible, and wrinkled khakis.
He looked like someone’s dad there to pick them up for carpool, not the head coach of a team that almost made it to state last year.
Yet, though I towered over him almost a full foot, his formidable stare had me forgetting that I was there to work and not actually trying to earn my spot on the varsity team as a thirty-something man.
His presence was commanding as he walked me through the locker rooms, past the weight room and the practice court, down the hall from the main court, and into his office.
The more he talked about the rigorous practice schedules he’d instituted, the strict grade policy, and the honor code for all players that was upheld at games and practices, the more I wanted to impress him.
In his office, he’d given me the rundown of all the returning players from last year, including Robbie Kent and the infamous Carter Hayes.
Infamous because, although he led the team in scoring from both the two- and three-point lines, he also led them in technical fouls, having been ejected from four games last season for unsportsmanlike conduct.
The last ejection happened during the semi-final game, and most of the school blames him for losing their shot at the championship, especially Robbie.
Robbie is a team player and a senior this year, just like Carter.
This is both of their last chances to get the attention of a scout so they can play ball after graduation.
Unlike Carter, Robbie doesn’t have a shot at the NBA, but he might land a spot on a Division I team if he plays well enough this year…
and assuming Carter doesn’t lose the team another key game.
Because of all that baggage, Coach Paulson warned me the two would be at each other’s throats, something I’m seeing now firsthand.
Carter frowns fiercely and kicks a chair on the sidelines, but eventually, he starts running laps around the court.
“You weren’t wrong about him being a hothead,” I mutter to Paulson, who grunts in agreement and starts the next drill.