Chapter Eighteen #2
“I’m glad you held mine for me, honey.” Misty emphasized the last word and took her seat, squeezing Tish’s hand and kissing her cheek near her lips as she did.
It seemed to do the trick because the woman huffed off with a “Well, I never!” look on her face.
One hand was at her chest, and she used the other to try to shield her kids’ eyes.
Tish kept her hand in Misty’s as she nudged her with her elbow. “What were you doing?”
“Everything I could to get rid of her. Yeah, she’ll probably tattle on us to the flight attendant, but I’ve got my ticket to back you up.”
“Thanks, but that’s not what I meant. We were supposed to get breakfast at Billy’s before we left, and you missed it.”
“Overslept.” It was the truth, but Misty didn’t feel like telling the whole truth.
Tish raised an eyebrow, a move Misty knew she’d practiced in front of a mirror. They both had as tweens until they’d gotten it right. “That doesn’t sound like the woman who was so excited for that one concert that she didn’t sleep the night before.”
“I wasn’t exercising before that concert, and I had quite a workout yesterday.”
Another truth that hid so much. Or maybe not as much as she thought. She felt her cheeks flush and her mouth turn up. Tish must have noticed, because her eyes narrowed. “What kind of workout?”
“Spencer and I went for a run, and then spent the rest of the day together.” She left out everything else they’d done. It felt too precious to share, almost sacred. She didn’t usually think of sex that way, but it was the closest she could come up with for their last session.
Now that the plane was here with her successfully on it, she was starting to feel bad about how she’d left things with Spencer.
He’d know from his Uber notifications that she’d gotten to the airport, but she still turned away from Tish’s raised eyebrow to send him a text before it was time to turn off her phone.
Misty: Made it. Thanks again for everything.
She meant every word, but it didn’t feel like enough.
Just like that hasty hug on the sidewalk hadn’t felt like enough, and she felt like crap for snapping at him as he’d done nothing but help her get ready.
She wasn’t going to see him for weeks, and she’d wasted their last minutes together too stressed out to enjoy them.
The reminder that she hadn’t made it to the beloved bakery and had totally skipped breakfast didn’t help her mood. “Are they serving snacks on this flight? I didn’t have time for a Cinnabon.”
Or coffee. Misty hadn’t had airplane coffee ever since those horror stories her flight attendant roommates had shared about how it was made, and yet it was either get poisoned from that swill or risk a headache from a day without caffeine. Which would hurt the least?
“Better.” Tish handed her a cup with a stopper and a paper bag. “I got you a cupcake from Billy’s and a latte before they announced boarding.”
“I could kiss you for real.” Misty took a much-appreciated sip of lukewarm yet ambrosial coffee before peeking in the bag. “This is a muffin.”
Tish scoffed. “There’s so much sugar in those that they might as well be cupcakes.”
Misty held out the pastry. “No icing. Icing equals cupcake.”
“But that shit”—Tish pointed to the streusel topping—“has about as much butter and sugar as icing.”
Misty took a big bite and closed her eyes to savor the flavors of spice, sugar, dark chocolate, and toasted nuts bursting across her tongue. “That shit is fucking delicious.”
“Will you two watch your language?” It shouldn’t have been possible for Mindy Manager’s lips to purse any further, but they were bringing a cat’s asshole to mind. “There are children on this plane!”
“Sorry.” Misty said it to get rid of her, then turned to face Tish so that woman was completely out of her sight. “What’d you have?”
“Black coffee and a scrambled egg sandwich on brioche.”
“Just eggs and bread?” Even as she asked the question, Misty already knew the answer.
Tish nodded, and Misty shook her head as she took another bite of her muffin. “That’s just sad. You’ve gotta bend your performance diet a little to enjoy the finer things in life, like bacon or cheese.”
“That was me bending it. My first bread in weeks, God only knows what they cooked the eggs in...” Tish sighed wistfully. “And oh, my God, was it a good sandwich.”
Having had Billy’s breakfast sandwiches, Misty couldn’t argue with that.
She finished her muffin and looked back down at her phone.
Spencer hadn’t replied, but that wasn’t totally unexpected if he was at work.
The whole time she’d been working with him, she didn’t remember him zoning out on his phone while she exercised.
He’d always kept his entire attention on her, whether at the gym or in the bedroom.
She allowed herself a sigh as she switched it to Airplane mode. It had only been a few weeks, but she couldn’t remember the last time she’d met anyone who’d driven her so crazy in every sense.
The flight attendant started the safety demonstration, and they were in the air a short time later. Once they leveled out, Tish dug around in her purse, coming up with her earbuds and tablet. “Mind if I watch some TV?”
“Knock yourself out.” Tish only let herself watch TV when she was exercising or traveling, and if Misty knew her friend, she knew she had a bunch of episodes of her latest K-drama downloaded for the occasion.
Despite the recent caffeinating and the racket of the kids—for all Mindy Manager’s protests about needing to be near her children, she didn’t seem interested in disciplining them—Misty closed her eyes and passed out.
A few seconds later, she felt Tish nudging her. “We’re about to land.”
“Wow, really?” The trip had gone by in the blink of an eye.
The plane touched down at a positively miniature airport compared to the one they’d left from.
They wouldn’t even be able to step off the plane and into the airport, but would have to go downstairs like in the old days.
An icy breeze cut through the plane and sliced through Misty’s sweater.
She hastily reached into her tote for a thick hoodie and tried to remember where she’d packed her gloves.
At baggage claim, a blondish woman was waiting with a sign that read “World Winter Games Women’s Bobsled Combine.” She and Tish weren’t the only ones from their flight approaching her.
“Is this all of us?” Tish asked as she gathered her suitcase.
“On this flight, yes,” the representative said. “You’re the first to arrive, and someone from the hotel is picking up a group from the train station. We’re picking up another batch of girls later this afternoon, but right this way for now.”
Misty had a flashback to school trips as they followed her to a small bus.
After they stowed their luggage and took their seats, the feeling only grew as the woman with the sign spoke.
“If we didn’t have a chance to talk at baggage claim, my name is Sam Morton, and I’m handling all administrative aspects of setting up the first-ever four-woman bobsled team for the Winter Games.
As such, this is probably the most you’ll see of me over the next few weeks.
I’ll turn it over to the one you’ll be working with most closely. ”
Sam sat down, and a tall, fit-looking woman with her brown hair in a low, short ponytail stood at the front, keeping a hand on a seat to stay upright as they started moving.
“I’m Renee Coolidge, Olympic medalist for two-woman bobsled, and future coach to whoever makes the team.
Instead of everybody zoning out on their phones, I thought we could go around and introduce ourselves — name, where you’re from, a bit about your athletic background. Let’s start with you.”
She gestured to a solid-looking woman near the front of the bus before sitting down. Her brown hair was hacked short, and she wasn’t wearing any makeup that Misty could see. “Eva Gardner, Bridgeport, Connecticut.”
Misty wondered if she’d heard right. A ripple went up around the bus, and Eva Gardner sighed.
“Let’s get this over with. Yes, I’m aware that there was a beautiful movie star with a similar name, but no, we’re not related and that has nothing to do with it.
I’m named after my grandmother, and my mom went back to her maiden name after my father left.
I’ve never seen The Barefoot Contessa or The Night of the Iguana, and Frank Sinatra bores me to tears. That should be everything.”
She delivered the speech in a monotone that suggested she’d done it far too often, but she sounded more animated at the next part. “I have a track background but am primarily a powerlifter. I’ve won tournaments at the state, national, and international levels.”
“Well done,” Ms. Coolidge said. “How about you?”
“Marla Hough, Colorado Springs.” Another brunette, this one with a long ponytail, introduced herself. “I qualified for the Olympic trials in single luge two years ago. I didn’t make the team, but I’ve been doing well in amateur competitions ever since.”
“Vanessa Dunn, Washington, DC. I have a gold medal in track and field from the Gaylympics.”
“Lily Hakami, Anchorage. My parents signed me up for figure skating when I was young, but my coaches and I realized I was better suited for speed. I got on the Junior Olympics team when I was fifteen and took the gold at the Native Alaskan Games earlier this year.”
“Angela Stilwell, Hoboken. Before I had my daughter thirty-four months ago, my proudest accomplishment was leading my softball team to victory at national championships all four years of college.”
Misty took it all in, trying and failing not to be daunted by it. She’d known on some level that she’d be attending the combine with incredible athletes, but this was driving the point home like nothing else.
“Letitia Douglass, New York, but I go by Tish,” her friend was saying. “I was an All-American sprinter at Columbia, I compete in citywide track and field games every year, came in first in the 100 meters at last year’s All-Star Track event, and I’ve been to the Olympic trials twice.”
One of the women whose name had gotten lost in the shuffle piped up. “Douglass? Are you related to—”
“That’s my dad,” Tish answered as matter-of-factly as if she were saying it was cold out.
“Very nice,” Ms. Coolidge said. “How about you?”
She nodded to Misty, signaling the moment of truth. “Hi, I’m Marisa Kaufman, also from New York, and everyone calls me Misty. My background is in track too. I ran in college, and my kickball team just set a new record in the city league championships.”
She was rewarded with a bunch of blank stares.
As Ms. Coolidge nodded and moved on to the next girl (another All-American, this one for swimming), it occurred to her that Spencer had at least congratulated her on her achievement and not made her feel ridiculous.
The thought sent another twinge to her chest. She looked out the window in search of a distraction, but the almost bare trees on this stretch of empty road didn’t offer enough of one.