Okay.I can admit we had an absolute blast today. You couldn’t possibly find six more different women, yet we all laughed our way through the afternoon. Alyssa is hilarious. Her lesbian jokes had me in stitches. I love self-deprecating humor with some edge to it, and Alyssa has it in spades. She and Shay are kind of adorable together. They’re probably the most functional couple I’ve ever been around. It’s like they’re best friends and lovers, unlike any dynamic I’ve ever seen. My parents barely tolerated each other when I was growing up. I’m still not sure why they got married.
I’m at Palmer and Sulley’s apartment helping them get ready for tonight. They have no clue how to use all the high-end makeup I bought them today, so I have to teach them. Palmer is still reluctant, but Sulley seems to be embracing her new look. She keeps staring at her big blue eyes that I’ve managed to make appear even bigger. It’s like she didn’t realize how attractive she is. It’s endearing. Dammit, I want to hate her, but she’s making it kind of hard.
I’m showing her how to enhance her natural beauty while she’s telling us about her boyfriend, Shane. They’ve been dating for over a year, and he’s playing professional basketball in Europe. When players aren’t quite good enough for the NBA but are still good, they often play overseas.
I internet stalked him. He appears to be a bit of a media whore, but I’m being a good girl and keeping my opinions tomyself. Sulley isn’t acting like those annoying girls who think they’re in love at a young age. She seems to enjoy his company when they’re together but is equally happy that he lives so far away because she has so much going on and doesn’t have time for a boyfriend who requires daily attention.
She just hired an agent, Tanner Montgomery. He’s one of the biggest sports agents in the world. She’s lucky to have a guy like him. I don’t garner many endorsement offers. I have a small-potatoes attorney who reviews my contracts and the limited handful of offers I get, but I don’t have an agent like her. I would love the opportunities she has to make more money. We’re paid very little in our league.
I take in Sulley wearing her new thousand-dollar brown leather pants and red sequined top, feeling very proud of ourPretty Woman-esque shopping spree today. She’s beaming. I know she’s never worn anything this nice or sexy before. I’m surprisingly happy I’m the one who made her feel this way.
Putting the final touches on my own lipstick, I check myself out in the mirror. I’m in a short, tight, black silk skirt with a silver glittery tube top, all courtesy of Mrs. Daulton. My toned, tan stomach is on full display, as are my shoulders. I have my stylish ponytail in place, as I often do. It’s almost always up, not in a messy, soccer practice way, but in a high-fashion way with two carefully placed wavy tendrils hanging down on the sides of my face. I’m rocking cherry-red lipstick and eye makeup that makes my green eyes pop. After my height and generous bust, my eyes are usually the first thing men notice about me. They’re a piercing shade of green, exactly like my father’s. The one good thing I got from him.
Well, that and my athleticism. My father was a star quarterback in professional football throughout most of my childhood. He began his career in New York, where I was born, but by the time my brother, Pierce, came around, he had signed with Philly. Even though I was young, I was livid about the move. I loved New York and vowed to move back there as soon as I could butwent to college in California to get as far away from my family as possible.
Everything in my life growing up revolved around his career. Everyone knew me as Jett Jeffries’ daughter. Guys tried to use me to meet my father. Girls wanted to come over to my house to salivate over him. I never knew who liked me for me and not for my famous father.
They all thought I was so lucky to be his daughter. I wasn’t. He was never home. He rarely showed up at school events. He rarely saw me play ball. When I was in high school, he retired. I assumed it would mean he’d start spending more time with us and attending my games, but that’s not what happened. The Camels offered him the head coaching position, and he becameobsessedwith it. He left before five in the morning to review game tape and didn’t come home until we were all asleep. We never had family dinners like a normal family. My so-called friends thought it was cool that the famous Jett Jeffries was my father, but it wasn’t cool at all. It was only made worse by the fact that he’s considered attractive. He feeds into that dialogue with shirtless, thirst-trap workout videos. It’s so self-serving. I’m not sure why he needs the validation.
Our small handful of conversations were limited to him pushing me to play college basketball. Being athletic was basically the only thing we had in common, so it’s the only thing he would ever talk to me about. He’s never taken the time to otherwise get to know his own daughter. By the time I was back on the East Coast playing professional ball, he started to reach out to me all the time. Too little, too late, Jett Jeffries.
My mother got caught up in the money and her social life. She made being a fashionable WAG her whole personality. She may be the most selfish person I know. Whereas most mothers would revel in their daughter being as successful as I was, she resented all the accolades I received.
She’s much shorter than me, with blonde hair and brown eyes, and she always hated how much attention I garnered formy height and good looks. I think her sense of style might be the only thing I got from her. For a reason I’ve never told another soul, I hate her and will never have her as part of my life again.
My brother and I were raised mostly by nannies. My parents rarely exchanged a single pleasantry with one another. I never once saw them be loving and affectionate. It felt like an arrangement. I guess years of their sham of a marriage finally took its toll, because when I was in college they got divorced. It didn’t affect my life since I was no longer home, but I’m guessing it impacted my little brother. I feel bad he was left alone in the trenches, but it’s been easier for me to disassociate with all of them.
Pierce is going into his senior year of high school. I know he’s a good quarterback on the school’s football team, but I don’t think he plans to play in college. At least I haven’t seen any announcements on his social media suggesting anything of the sort. It’s not like I’m otherwise in the loop. The fact is, I don’t know much about him. I have a tinge of regret about that. Perhaps now that I’m living here, I’ll consider reaching out to him, but I just don’t want anything to do with my parents. I’ve ignored her texts and his emails over the past few days since news broke that I’m playing for Philly.
My phone buzzes with an email notification. Shit. Another email from my father. He only emails or calls, never texts, because he doesn’t live in the twenty-first century. Last I saw him, he was still using a flip phone, and that was last year. I didn’t think they even produced those anymore.
I open the email:
Hey Marshmallow,
There’s a pickleball tournament coming up. Mixed doubles. Registration just opened. Any interest?
Dad
Marshmallow was a nickname he used to call me when I was a little girl. I roll my eyes at his attempt to connect, but there’s no denying he knows the way to my heart. Competition. I love pickleball. I love that the older men assume because of the way I look I can’t play, and then I kick their asses. It’s the one and only thing I’ve ever done with my father.
I’m certainly not responding now, but maybe I will in a few days. I wouldn’t mind playing. We’ll see how things go.
I take in Palmer’s bare face and drab clothing, imploring her to let me help, but she refuses. I had to force-buy her a few things today, but it wasn’t much. She was super shy in the dressing rooms. Sulley pleads with me to leave Palmer alone about it. I’m trying to help, but I guess you can’t help someone who won’t help themselves.
A little while later, we’re in an Uber on the way to the club. Sulley smirks at me. “Please tell me one more red flag on your list.”
When we all met the other night, it was awkwardly silent, so I suggested an icebreaker game of each of us giving a few of their red flags when it comes to the opposite sex. For some unknown reason, they all got the biggest kick out of it. I have hundreds of them listed on my phone. I don’t know why everyone doesn’t have that. It reminds me of things Idon’twant in a man.
I pull out my phone. “Hmm, I already told you a few of my top ones, like men who use Androids, men who take selfies, and men who know every word to the rap verse from ‘Waterfalls’ by TLC.” I keep scrolling. “I added Sulley’s disgust for men who wear sandals and Layla’s distaste for men who wear necklaces because I agree with those. Ooh,” I perk up, “here’s a good one. Men who order fruity drinks.” I make a look of disgust. “It’s so…unmanly.”
Sulley and Palmer giggle uncontrollably. They really are wildly amused by my red flags list.
“One more,” Sulley begs. “Please. They’re so funny.”
I roll my eyes but scroll through my list again until I find a good one. I look back up at them with a smirk. “Men who have pictures of themselves in front of their cars. It’s even worse if it’s a selfie. Such a douchebag thing to do.” In a deep voice, I mock, “Oh, look how cool my car is. I’m a big man with a manly car.” I roll my eyes. “Losers.”
Sulley breaks into hysterics. “Oh my god. Hilarious. I never would have thought of that one, but it’s true.”
