Chapter Three #2
“But I can’t tell you to ignore your gut. The best things happen when you listen to it.” Danny looked at her fiancée, and I equally wanted to squeal and make a vomit sound to lighten the mood. I guessed I’d stay the mature route.
Perry pecked Danny on the cheek; my first sign that I should wrap this call up. “Hey, no PDA!”
“Where do you want to go?” Perry ignored me, but I’ve known her long enough to see the wheels turning behind her eyes.
“Didn’t get that far, honestly.”
“Well not to put ideas in your head—”
“Please do.” If there were anyone’s ideas I’d listen to, it was Perry’s.
“Miami Waves are in their second year since coming back. Now that Rashida’s retired, she and Allison are active owners.”
Danny nodded, catching up to her megamind fiancée. “They could really use a flexible guard or forward on the team…two, honestly.”
“ Miami is warmer,” I pondered.
“Yes, it’s absolutely terrible for my blowouts.” Perry added.
“But Rashida and Allison will be there so you wouldn’t be alone.” Danny got the conversation back on track. “And what’s a better project than a reactivated team?”
And now my own wheels were turning, because yes.
The Miami Waves disbanded in 2004 and just had their inaugural year back last year.
When the league expanded, teams had the chance to pick a player from each team.
The Jaguars front office protected the starting five, so leaving wasn’t an option last year for me and Danny.
But it was this year.
It was also a bonus that my best friend, Farrah, ended up in Miami.
Coming back home to Charlotte always felt like a breath of fresh air, but the more I think about that feeling, it’s because anywhere in the south was home to me.
As problematic as it could be—as bloody as the history was—my roots had always been firmly planted in the south.
Maybe they could grow and stretch to Miami.
“I love you guys; this is exactly what I needed.” I smiled at the camera.
“Love you, Brittney!” Perry yelled. I hung up the phone, leaving me with a lot to consider.
Looking at the time, I clapped my hands, eager to get a move on before I heard my brother complain about how long he had to wait for us on top of me making him and Aaliyah work for me over the holiday break, news I really needed to break soon.
“Alright, let’s discuss this year’s potential Tony winners in the car.
Thank you!” I grabbed my parents SUV keys and led the pack out.
“I hate when she gets bossy.” Celeste mumbled, her default volume unless she was belting a show tune.
Colette thought her snicker was inaudible, but these losers should know I grew up straining my ears to hear them. “I like to think it’s the twin she ate fighting to break free.”
“And to think Celeste could’ve done the same to you.” I bit back.
You would think that with four adult siblings, there was no such thing as routine when we were all back home under the same roof.
There were too many bodies to account for, too many lives to catch up on, too many voices that wanted to be heard.
And yet, in under ten minutes since picking up Aaliyah and Amir from the airport, our five bodies moved on autopilot the second I pulled our parents’ truck into the driveway.
Amir took him and his twin’s bags to their shared room, technically the smallest at the house since they visited home the least. Celeste and Colette separated for the goods—Colette headed to the finished basement for two bottles of wine from where our parents built a bar for hosting, and her twin popped three bags of popcorn for us to share.
Three bags of popcorn and two wine bottles were never enough, but arguing over who had more than the other—usually Colette or I started the battle—was tradition.
I flopped onto our parents’ king-sized bed, flipped to the first Spike Lee movie I could find, then waited for the other four to trickle in.
The first to appear was Aaliyah, freshly changed out of her airport clothes into a tattered college sweatshirt and leggings, and she sat on my right.
I was only two inches taller, but we got mistaken for twins the most since we shared our mom’s round eyes and oval-shaped face.
Our saddle-brown skin was a near match, but our hair S-curls the most; the Filipino genes beating out the tighter coils our dad gave to the other three.
“I feel like I see you more than the others and yet you keep changing.” She took my chin in her hands, a classic Lita Lee move, and examined me like the second mother role she tried to avoid for her whole life.
“I got my other nostril pierced.” I tilted my head and showed her the left side then turned so she could see both.
To my mom and Aaliyah’s dismay, many places on my body were pierced: five holes on each ear, my tongue during one off season in college, my nipples, and a smiley during a different collegiate off season.
My ears, nostrils, and nipples were the only piercings to make it past graduation and draft night.
“Are you addicted to pain?” She sucked her teeth, the Oscar Lee side coming out. Out of all five of us, Aaliyah had the most equal personality parts of Mom and Dad.
“Nah, she’s just extremely vain and superficial,” Colette answered for me, head full of two colors, a clear indication we were the most free-spirited of the bunch.
With the wine and no glasses in sight, Colette flopped down on my left and passed Aaliyah the bottles since she always remembered to bring wine openers.
“And how long are you keeping the double duty?” Our oldest sister asked, pointing to her hair.
Colette took a painfully long time to do the math in her head, even though I could very much answer for her.
The oldest of the C-Team was waiting to know if she was getting casted in an indie movie she got scouted for before winter break started.
She’d always been the most superstitious, but even with her dark roots growing in, she wouldn’t want to change anything until she’d gotten a confirmed yes or no.
“Your guess is as good as mine.” Was her final verdict, which made me wince with impending doom.
I didn’t know if it was the water placements in my astrological chart or the lack of a copy and paste of me, but I was too tuned into the ever-changing dynamics of my siblings and therefore always fighting to get out the middle of it.
Before I could begin playing referee, Amir and Celeste walked in, looking most like Dad with their brown sugar skin and rounded noses. Outside of both twin sets, they gave their pairs a run for their money by being the closest and most alike.
Rational, responsible, and refined.
Boring, boring, and more boring if you asked me.
They parted so Amir sat on Aliyah’s right, and Celeste on Colette’s left. My heart warmed by a thousand. I didn’t know if they picked up on it over the years, but we always managed to arrange ourselves in birth order when we’re squished into our parents’ bed.
Our varying shades of brown limbs draped over the others, greedy hands waiting for a fistful of popcorn, fingers finding their way into someone else’s hair. I liked to think this is what it felt like in the womb with another body: tight, tangled, and content.
No matter what city I played for, if Colette’s budding film career took her to another city or the A-Team sold out and went corporate, we’d always have these moments in our childhood home.
Blissfully ignorant of all the ways aging and adulthood knocked on our doors, or how age was seeping into our young joints.
This would always feel right.
“Bee-sting, do you ever get fomo from not having a pair since you ate them in the womb?” Colette mocked, and as punishment, I snatched the bottle of wine from her hands.
“Do you ever get tired of being so unoriginal you had to dye your hair to stand apart from Nessie?”
“Now why am I catching a stray?” Celeste interrupted at the second mention of her hated nickname.
Somewhere between my angry teenage phase and the C-Team’s obsession with mythical creatures, depending on who you asked, our nicknames either ranged from revealing to slightly belittling.
Hence, mine being Bee-sting in reference to my, some would say, cutting remarks.
Amir waved his popcorn-filled hand around like a teacher getting the classroom’s attention. “Enough of this. Rapid fire, please, all questions must hold until everyone has gone.”
And this was why we were actually here. Yes, familial love was sweet and tender and all of that, but there’s only so many life updates we can account for in our group chats.
There’s a girls-only chat, an older-sibling-only chat, and, my least favorite, a twins-only chat.
Our in-person gossip sessions always went from oldest to youngest, using as few words as possible, and we weren’t allowed to ask follow up questions until Celeste had gone.