Chapter One #2
JT laughed. “Of course I do. Chicks dig it.” Jonathan gave JT a look, but she ignored his horror. If he had a gold medal, he wouldn’t be so prudish about using it to impress women. “Let me put my bag in my room and then I’ll dig it out for you. Okay?”
They cheered and ran off screaming for Brooke.
“You’re in the den,” JT’s mom said without looking up from the apples she was peeling.
“What?”
She sliced the apples into a bowl, her hands moving in the practiced way of a woman who had made a thousand apple pies in her lifetime.
“The twins are in your room. Jonathan and Beth are in his room, and Emerson, Clark, and Brooke are in her room. We made the couch up for you and figured you’d be happy being out of the way. ”
“Outstanding,” JT said, doing very little to disguise her annoyance at being relegated to the den.
The “den” was the name their parents gave the finished portion of their basement.
It could only be accessed from a door on the other side of her parents’ art studio.
JT hoisted her bag over her shoulder and walked through the room where her parents did their smaller art pieces.
Anything too big for the studio happened out in the barn, which had a second studio space for larger sculptures and any oversized pieces.
The studio in the house smelled of paint, wood shavings, and a variety of dusts from plaster to stone, which gave it a smell JT had never found anywhere else in the world.
As she walked through the room, she breathed deeply, taking in the scent that lingered on her parents and was as familiar as the smells from the kitchen.
Once she got to the cellar door, JT flicked the lights on before trudging down the stairs in semi-darkness—the bulb over the stairs was out and no one had gotten around to the annoying job of changing it.
It was lighter at the bottom of the stairs but with nothing more than tiny windows, the place felt claustrophobic.
The ceiling was normal height; her parents had made sure of that so her mom could do her yoga stretches down there without her hands hitting drywall.
JT stepped over the yoga mat and around a small tower of dumbbells.
She dropped her duffel next to the couch where she would be sleeping for however many days she could stand being there.
She planned to stay until the day after Christmas, but this level of comfort did not inspire her to consider extending her stay.
As an added bonus, Toby didn’t like stairs, so JT didn’t know if she would even hang out in the basement at all. And they wondered why JT didn’t come home more.
The door at the top of the stairs opened. “Jasmine, we’re planning a movie for the kids later, so don’t set up your bed yet.”
She rolled her eyes. Great. She couldn’t even get comfortable because of course her “bedroom” was also the movie theater, gym, and all-around romper-room. She filed this fact away for the next time someone asked how her life had changed since winning gold.
JT dropped onto the couch. At least it was comfortable. And she had the big TV at her disposal—when the kids weren’t using it.
Only three hours before she’d have to leave for the bar. She could go that long without murdering anyone, right?
She dug around in her bag and grabbed the wooden box holding her medal. The kids would like it even if her parents were entirely unimpressed.
They’d come to the Olympics, but JT couldn’t shake the feeling they’d come because it would have looked bad for them to have stayed home.
Everyone had had some family or friends there, and if they’d stayed home, it would have been obvious to everyone how much they did not give a shit about her.
Even when she was playing in the biggest tournament in the world.
Her siblings had wanted to come but couldn’t wrangle time off work, and bringing a bunch of tiny kids to Switzerland during the school year would have been a nightmare.
But they’d sent videos of their families watching the games and cheering and even one of the kids all getting together and watching the tape-delayed gold medal game.
JT had watched them chant her name in their tiny, high-pitched voices about a million times.
By contrast, JT’s parents took the opportunity to turn their trip into a European vacation.
They’d taken more pictures of their travels than they had of the opening ceremony or anything related to the Olympics.
It was as if being there was a chore, and the travel was the reward for having to endure it.
They even left before the end of the gold medal game to fly home to make it for Jonathan’s art show opening.
They’d said it was important to be there to support him.
JT’s game had lasted three hours. His show was up for two months.
JT hauled her ass up the stairs and found the kids sitting on a couch in the living room.
They leaped off the couch and ran toward her.
Harrison stood solemnly in front of her, his hands clasped behind his back.
Beth probably told him to be careful so he was doing his best “don’t touch anything in the museum” act.
Their grandparents had been taking all the kids to the MFA and other art museums since they were tiny.
It was probably an attempt to ensure they all grew up sufficiently awed by the masters and underwhelmed by such trivial things as athletics.
Harrison’s twin, Mabel, had zero chill and ran right into JT’s leg.
“Me first!” she screamed, drawing a look from her mom, but JT loved it.
There was an old wooden crate next to the fireplace but it was empty—they’d probably had a fire last night and hadn’t refilled it yet.
JT flipped it over and held Mabel’s hand as she stepped onto it.
JT opened the box and Mabel’s eyes went wide in awe. “You want to wear it?”
She nodded. JT took it out of the box and slipped it over her head. She grabbed it, leaving fingerprints all over the shiny metal.
“This is so cool!” she squealed. “Can you take a picture of me, Mommy?”
Beth pulled out her phone and took a picture of Mabel and then Harrison wearing the medal, posing like they’d just won, and—after JT’s encouragement—fake biting it just like the team had in their pictures.
“That’s going to ruin their teeth,” JT’s mom said.
“Mom,” she said with a sigh. “They’re not actually biting it.”
She pressed her lips together. “I’m surprised you’d let them do that. As precious as that is to you.”
JT never figured out how her mother managed it, but she had the ability to make everything she said feel like an insult. Yes, the medal was precious. But not because it was shiny, but because she worked her ass off to earn it.
JT had foolishly thought her mom, a woman who had worked her ass off for every bit of artistic acclaim she’d received in a sexist world, would understand the satisfaction, the joy of reaching a goal.
But JT had been wrong. Maybe the only goals she understood, the only accolades that mattered, were write-ups in the New York Times art section, features in magazines, shows with important galleries.
All things she had achieved, but she couldn’t possibly expand her mind enough to imagine that JT winning the gold medal on the biggest stage there was for her sport would be something to be proud of.
JT’s mouth tasted bitter. She turned back to the kids. They were barely in school, but they understood how to be happy for JT. They didn’t care that JT couldn’t paint or sing.
Harrison waited for his turn and then stepped onto the crate after Mabel hopped down.
“JT, can you play the song?” He looked up with his gigantic brown eyes, and if he’d asked for JT’s car she couldn’t have said no.
JT reached for her phone. “Sure, buddy. You know what to do?”
He nodded solemnly and bent his head forward for JT to slip the medal on. Then he carefully placed his hand over his heart and stood at attention. It was almost more than JT could bear.
JT pulled up YouTube to play the anthem but wasn’t ready to hear him sing along, his sweet high voice struggling with the ridiculously challenging notes. JT’s mom disappeared from the room. Harrison finished the song and then thrust his fists into the air.
“I’m going to do it, too.”
JT crouched down in front of him to get a picture. “What sport?”
He grinned. “Hockey.” He looked at his mom. “If my parents let me.”
JT chuckled. “Oh, they said no?” She raised her eyebrows at her brother. “Jonathan, you told my nephew—”
“And me!” Mabel said.
“You told my niece and nephew that they couldn’t play hockey?”
He shrugged. “The practices are really early and, well…”
JT gestured for the twins to come toward her. “You want to go skating while you’re here? I’ll take you.”
Jonathan and Beth exchanged a look, but it was too late. The twins screamed and jumped up and down again and again.
JT smiled and shrugged at her brother. “Do you really want to crush their dreams, Jonny?”
He put a hand on each of their little heads. “If they fall in love with the sport, I will call you from every early-morning game or practice for the rest of your life.”
JT laughed. “When they fall in love with the best sport on the planet, I’ll turn off my ringer.”
The kids raced out of the room to find more cocoa, but Beth stopped on her way. “If they take after Jonathan, I don’t think we have much to worry about in terms of athletics.”
Jonathan laughed. “That’s both rude and accurate. JT got all the athletic ability in the family.”
“Hey!” Emerson trailed Brooke into the living room. “I run!”
“Yes. And we’re very proud of you. But notice you picked the one sport that doesn’t involve throwing, catching, any form of contact, or a need for hand-eye coordination?”
JT laughed. “I may have gotten most of the athletic ability, but you two got the only talent that matters around here.”
“That’s not true.”
“Come on, Em, you know Mom and Dad barely care that I won the gold medal. They weren’t even excited that I got invited to the White House.”
Jonathan protested. “Of course they’re proud. You’re an Olympian. That’s first-line-of-your-obituary stuff! How could they not be proud?”
JT shrugged and turned toward the kitchen. “I ask myself that five times a week.”
Emerson frowned. “They’re proud. They’re just weird.”
JT let it drop in favor of moving into the kitchen, where she hoped to find something to spike her cocoa with.