“We were staying in the same hotel as a bunch of music fans who met on the internet and decided to go on vacation together for a nineties band tour. Apparently they didn’t get along as well in person as they did online though, so there was a group of them that kept going to the stairwell to smoke.”
“Plain pot.”
“Pot and burning human hair.”
My chest is loosening. I pry my eyes open and look at her, illuminated by only her phone’s flashlight. She’s staring straight ahead, not looking at me, but she’s still gripping my arm.
“Burning human hair?” I repeat.
“Someone got careless with a lighter, someone else thought it was intentional, and all of these fifty-something white dudes were trying to light each other’s hair on fire while high.”
“No.”
“All I wanted was to get to my room. I always preorder my room service because I know once the team gets back to any hotel, the kitchen is getting backed up. I had a hamburger on the way, and I hadn’t had a hamburger in weeks. And instead of eating my burger in peace and quiet, I’m calling the front desk and helping put out hair fires and getting a contact high. By the time I called Santiago to tell him to have the boys lock down in their rooms until the drama was over, I sounded like a Smurf.”
“That the only time you’ve ever been high?”
“I did gummies with my brothers a few years ago at the holidays.”
“And?”
“And now I know what it’s like, and I don’t need to do it again.”
“What happened?”
“My sister-in-law putFrozenon the TV, and I cried my eyes out from the first note to the end of the credits.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
I stare at my legs, sticking straight out in front of us. Breathing is easier. Panic’s mostly receded. I’m okay.
I’m okay.
“Was it at least a fun cry?” I ask her.
“No.”
“Do you cry often?”
She makes a noise that I interpret asthat’s a stupid question, of course not.
Most of my body is cold, but it’s warm where our arms are touching. I lean closer to her. “No shame in crying.”
“The day the rest of the coaching staff cries, I’ll cry with them.”
“You were good with Mary today.”
She stiffens.
I lift my free arm and reach across my body to grip her forearm. “You were. And with the Stingrays too.”
“It matters to me that women know they can reach for their dreams.”
“You let them in.”
She’s quiet for a long moment while I wonder if I’ve overstepped again. I’ll blame the panic if I did.
