Chapter Twenty-Nine
Nola
A week later, I was on the beach, green juice by Brittney in hand, finger hovering over my mom’s name in my phone.
I didn’t set out with a goal to ice her out for two months, but if eighty-five percent of our conversations were about basketball, and she was the last person I wanted to speak with about it, I had no reason to talk.
But as training camp loomed closer across the league, I still felt this betrayal like an ice pick in my chest. Even if I didn’t stay on with the Waves after this year, the Violets was no longer my home. I had to move on.
Two weeks ago, every team got to debut their regular season schedule, and my eyes scanned to count how many times the Waves would be going up against the Violets.
Five separate times. Three times we’d be playing Chicago since they were the higher seed, and twice here in Miami. Five times to prove to the Violets front office that they made a huge mistake. My ego needed a boost.
Before I decided I needed more time, I hit Olivia’s name and listened to the ringing.
The key to making this call productive was to be objective and removed.
A slight trace of emotion, but not too much or Olivia would shut down.
I think my little sister’s personality had made our mom more receptive to emotional humans, but it still wasn’t her default.
“Nola Belle Young.”
“Olivia Shanell Young.”
“Is the silent treatment over?”
“I needed space. From everyone.” I said, monotone.
“But not from your sister.” My mom countered.
“Of course not.” There’s never a world where I wasn’t here for my little sister.
“Are you ready to talk?” My mom sighed, impatience making her tone sharper.
“Are you ready to explain yourself?” I snapped.
For once Olivia did not rush to assert her opinion or thoughts as soon as she thought them. I was shocked that she was choosing to take her time instead. Clay must be somewhere in the room.
“I really didn’t think I’d make it far, honey.
I need you to understand that. This wasn’t my first spin going for a head coach position in the league, so I thought it’d be like every other time.
Everyone’s too scared to hire a woman—let alone a former playe—as head coach, but I was always the first call when it was up for consideration. ”
I nodded as if she could see me, because of course I got it. In a league dominated by women setting new record highs every game, coach staffing still leaned heavily male. As if our own legends who had the skills and capabilities to lead teams were obsolete the second they hung their jerseys up.
“But then talks progressed from Henry to the owners, and the Violets were serious. Suddenly I was looking at an offer letter when you came home for the holidays…”
“You could’ve warned me, Mom,” I interrupted, caught up on her timeline. I raised my voice on every word I managed through gritted teeth. “I was so excited to stay in Chicago. I love that place, that team, and then in swoops my mom.”
“Nola you don’t own the team.”
“Yes, Olivia, I’m aware. But imagine my surprise when the only conversation I’m having about my future is a conversation saying I have no future. You were never fucked over like that.”
My mom didn’t have to negate anything I was saying because I knew it was true. She played with her draft team for four years before she had me, and had her pick of any team in the league who wanted her that badly and could pay the salary to match.
“You know I do whatever I can to not be in yours and Dad’s spotlight. I’ve proven myself game after game, year after year. Everyone knows that—especially you. I get everything Henry said, but I just wish I didn’t get tossed to the side for my mom.
“I-I also wish you were just a normal mom sometimes too,” I whispered, words spilling out of me that I’d never given voice to.
I would always be grateful for my parents, but goddamn, sometimes I thought about what having normal parents was like.
The other side of the phone went silent, my mom either rolling her eyes or, for once, actually listening to me. I heard her take a shaky breath and then she said something I’d only heard her say one other time.
“I’m sorry, Nola.”
When I was in high school, I played one of the roughest games of my life.
The opposing team wanted to son me, and I had everything to prove to people who thought I was all talk and no bite.
During the third quarter, I got fouled so hard at the top of the arch, my shoulder popped out of socket.
The pain was so blinding I dropped to my knees, a scream curled in the center of my chest, jaw clenched.
Before I knew it, Olivia was running onto the court faster than the school nurse.
“I’m sorry, baby,” she’d whispered as she popped the joint back in and helped me mobilize it. It was one thing to know my mom was a badass, but for my whole school to see it too?
I shot with my opposite hand, the third time I’d ever tried, and made two out of three shots. Then waited until I got to the hallway to pass out from the adrenaline.
So I know what my mom’s apology means.
I’m sorry I’m hurting you, but get up and move on.
Take this moment and do better.
Cry about it in private.
“Thanks, Mom,” I whispered as I stared out into the ocean.
“You’re going to do great on the Waves, and you’re with Brittney Lee? I’m curious on how you two will do.”
And there goes the shop talk.
Not even five heartbeats and we were back to business. I tried to stifle an exasperated sigh, but it came out my nose and might as well have been hot steam.
“I guess you’ll see when we beat you.”
“Sure, honey.” I could practically see Olivia smiling through the phone.
“I need to go, Mom.” Before you raise my blood pressure again is what I don’t say. “Olive is texting me about spring break, so let me know when you buy her ticket.”
“Will do honey. Love you, bye.” My mom never stuck around to hear I love you back, because she always said she already knew.
This was as good as I was going to get from her, and honestly I thought the battle would be harder to fight. She was throwing her white flag up, and I should be grateful to see it.
But I didn’t have it in me to take her crumbs anymore.
By the time I walked back into the townhouse, I was depleted. As usual, every light was on downstairs while Brittney sat on the couch watching tv. She hadn’t heard me walk in because the volume was so high.
She didn’t know it, but I’d watched her a few times like this. She watched tv the way the women on the reality show wanted, enraptured, sympathetic, disgusted. She was so solidly her; quiet and amused as she watched a small microcosm of society—her words, not mine.
I shuffled my feet off the rug and she turned to me, a small smile on her face like she’d waited for me to come home. But that was a crazy, preposterous thought.
I watched her read my face, then appraise the rest of my body. I didn’t even have time to grunt out a greeting before she was tapping the empty cushion next to her.
“You look like you can use someone else’s drama to distract yourself. And eat some popcorn.” She held out the bowl with her other hand.
“Do I look that rough?” I obeyed and slumped onto the couch, my legs stretched out and my head on the back of the furniture.
“Not rough, just sad.” She didn’t pause the show, talking over a confessional of a rich, white woman with a lot of botox and filler.
“We don’t have to talk. We can just sit here and think about someone else’s life.
” Brittney smiled at me like her plan was bulletproof.
This was the first time I really noticed how her eyes got swallowed up when she smiled like this, wild and unencumbered .
She didn’t ask questions, wouldn’t pester me to be honest, or watch me with waiting eyes hoping I open up anyway. She simply gave me space.
I would rather not spill my guts unnecessarily, but if life with Brittney was decent after our truce, life was significantly better since I cooked her breakfast for her birthday.
My green juices didn’t allude to poisonings anymore, but random fun facts she acquired at some point in her life.
While she was out for the morning, I found myself making an extra sandwich for her, or doubling recipes instead of the serving of one I’d tailored for myself for the last four years.
She sent me videos of herself eating them. In case you don’t believe me! she’d clarified after the first time I questioned her, and I pretended like I didn’t wait to hear the moan she made anytime she ate food she thought was scrumptious.
In two month’s time, I’d gone from never speaking to my rival, to living with and enjoying her presence in my life.
From listening to her decent singing voice, to eavesdropping on conversations with her siblings, I went from wanting to be as far away as possible, to finding more ways to observe without her noticing.
It was time to admit I had a crush.
But only to myself and never to her.
I didn’t realize I’d been sitting in the same spot for two hours until my stomach aggressively rumbled.
Brittney grabbed the remote and paused the show. “You know, you sat here for two episodes and had no questions.”
“Was I supposed to?”
“This is season four! It was filmed like ten years after season three——one of the longest hiatuses ever for a franchise, and you just jumped into an argument between two estranged sisters!” Brittney gawked at me.
“You know, I was wondering who was who, but their faces were frozen and I didn’t want to be offensive.”
“Would you believe me if I said they’re fifteen years apart? The older one is forty.”
“Be serious.”
“Oh, I am. My mom looks younger than both of them.”
“My dad’s mom doesn’t even look like she’s eighty.” Momma Williams was one of those grandmas who shivered at the thought of being old, and she didn’t need every skincare step to keep up.