17. Nessa
17
NESSA
NESSA: What do you wear to meet the town busybody?
KINSLEY: I’m going to need more than that
NESSA: She knows about the baby, she’s covering for Jensen, and she’s bringing a peach pie
KINSLEY: Is that normal?
NESSA: It is down here
NESSA: He’s preparing for a casserole invasion once the news breaks
KINSLEY: I have so many questions
NESSA: Questions later—right now I need you to tell me what to wear
KINSLEY: Probably a step up from what you normally wear
NESSA: I wear spandex
NESSA: Athletic shorts if I have to leave the house
KINSLEY: Right. And it’s pretty obvious unless you’re at an event so if you’re worried about her roasting you for trying too hard—jean shorts and a cute T-shirt
NESSA: You’re sure that’s enough?
KINSLEY: On anyone else I’d say no
NESSA: I don’t know if I should be offended by that
KINSLEY: I mean you could but it doesn’t make it any less true
NESSA: Fine. Okay, I’m going to go change
KINSLEY: And use your real smile not your work smile
S taring at the message, I’m hit with the worst kind of unease. It’s not the first time that I’ve felt discouraged about having to be two different people inside myself, but being in Blackstone Falls it somehow feels…worse.
Maybe it’s the lack of anonymity here that has me wanting so badly to just be me. I have to be on all the time here. Walking down the street in Nashville, I can smile and take pictures if someone asks and then move on. Being the hometown team makes the players on the Tennessee Tornadoes more apt to being recognized than in other places.
But we’re generally still not being mobbed going out for coffee or a walk down the street.
But here, even though I haven’t done too much venturing, it still feels personal. Talking to these people takes so much more out of me. I want to make a good impression, if for no other reason than the fact that even though I’m leaving, this is Jensen’s home and I want to be respectful of the people who live here.
Pulling myself from my musings, I grab a pair of jean shorts, frayed at the bottom but otherwise intact and free of holes, and a dark blue Tornadoes shirt and take a picture to send to Kinsley.
KINSLEY: Just because I told you a T-shirt doesn’t mean it should have our logo on it
KINSLEY: Seriously what is wrong with you?
NESSA: What? I don’t own a bunch of cute shit
KINSLEY: Obviously
KINSLEY: Find something else
Riffling through my drawer, I find a white shirt from an event we did at Smoke when it opened in Nashville and throw it on.
NESSA: What about this?
KINSLEY: Better
KINSLEY: But when we get home we’re going to have to update your wardrobe
NESSA: I have nice things
KINSLEY: Just because they occupy your closet WITH the tags still on doesn’t qualify as you having nice things.
NESSA: You don’t have to be so mean
KINSLEY: I wouldn’t be your best friend if I wasn’t
KINSLEY: Send me your address
NESSA: Why?
KINSLEY: So I can send you something other than clothes with sports and bar logos on it.
NESSA: I’ll just order something online
KINSLEY: Cool. Lie to me some more but first send me your address.
Sighing, I do as I’m told and send her Jensen’s address and grimace at the thought of the shit I’m sure will end up on the doorstep.
Kinsley is tough as hell on the field, but my best friend is the kind of adorable that makes her look both girl next door and also super sexy depending on the day. She looks good in everything, while I almost always look uncomfortable in anything not designed for a workout.
Fake it till you make it is my mantra for every single event that requires me to be in slacks or—God forbid—an evening gown.