I cross my arms. “Is this a joke? Did you bring me all the way down here just to fuck with me?”
With the laughter not quite subsiding, she shakes her head and hands me the piece of paper she’s been holding. “This is their offer. Does that look like a joke to you?”
I take the small Post-it from her hand, and my jaw nearly drops. It’s about the same amount as my basketball salary for the entire year. I’ve never had an opportunity like this.
“W…what do they want me to do?”
“Promote their product. Appear in a few print ads. I imagine it doesn’t hurt that you’re attractive. I told you if you played nicein the sandbox with Sulley her star power would rub off and good things would happen.”
“I don’t have to, like, really use the product, do I?” I ask.
They both begin hysterically laughing again. Reagan shakes her head and wheezes, “No, of course not. Fuck, that’s funny though.”
Jade nods. “You should have told her yes.”
I stand and cross my arms in annoyance. “I think I’m done amusing you two for the day.”
Reagan is still laughing as I walk toward the door. She shouts out, “The phone number is on there. Call them, Jenna Jameson.”
The sounds of her and Jade howling in laughter ring through the office as I make my way to the elevator bank. I can’t help the small smile that finds my lips. Maybe it’s not Gatorade or some giant cosmetics company, but this is my first big endorsement offer. This could very well be my big break.
I begin my long walk home feeling pretty good about myself. While the product isn’t ideal, I’ve got to start somewhere, and this is a big payday for me. The biggest of my career.
I wonder if I should try to get an agent. I’m not big enough for someone like Tanner Montgomery to take on, but I need to find someone. Maybe I should talk to my father. I’ve successfully avoided my parents at our two home games so far, but I know I can’t avoid them forever. He keeps emailing me, and she keeps texting and calling me. While I won’t entertain returning her messages, maybe I should reach out to him. It’s so annoying that he doesn’t text.
On my way home, I’m stopped by three people asking for photos and my autograph. That’s most definitely not normal for me. It’s kind of exciting to be recognized like this.
Without bothering to go inside my apartment, I head straight to the garage and get my car. I’ve never been to my father’s post-divorce bachelor pad, but I know the address.
Making my way out to the suburbs, I realize he lives only a few miles from my mother’s house. She kept my childhoodhome. Perhaps she’ll move when Pierce graduates in less than a year. Who knows? Who cares?
The one thing I did notice at our first two games is that my mother has developed a little plastic surgery habit. She barely looks like herself, but I try not to stare too much or get too close. She was attractive. Not in a super sexy way, but still attractive and always dressed extremely well. I’m not sure why she messed with her face. She’s only in her mid-forties.
I pull into his driveway and look around. It’s a traditional Main Line house with old stone and stucco. It’s not what I was expecting. For some reason, I didn’t think it would be so…domestic looking. I was imagining a modern bachelor pad with naked women prancing around on the front lawn.
Okay, maybe not naked women, but something that says the Hugh Hefner of the East lives here.
I step out of the car and take a deep breath. Wiping my clammy hands on my shirt, I make my way to his front door and ring the traditional doorbell. I’m sure he’s the only house in the neighborhood without a Ring doorbell or a similar device. There’s no way my dad’s tech-savvy enough to operate a camera security system.
The door opens, and he stands there with a rare smile on his face. He breathes, “Kennedy, I’m so happy you’re here.” I think I even see tears well up in his eyes as he motions for me to walk inside. “Come in, come in. Please.”
He steps aside, and I walk in. I look around. The inside is as domestic as the outside. No leopard rugs or stripper poles to be found. No black leather couches or giant speakers. “Your new house is…nice. It looks like Martha Stewart decorated it, not Ron Jeremy, like I expected.”
He chuckles. “Thanks…I think. I asked your mom to decorate it. I don’t know how to do this kind of stuff. It’s been a couple of years since I moved here. It feels like home.”
“Mom decoratedyourhouse? The person you divorced?”
He chuckles. “Yep. You know I’m clueless with decorationcrap. She loves that kind of shit. I wanted it to be like her house so Pierce felt comfortable whenever he stayed over. We had a formal fifty-fifty agreement at first, but he’s almost eighteen. Now he sleeps wherever he wants.” He mumbles, “He definitely won’t be sleeping here tonight.”
“Why?” I ask.
My father scratches his fingers through his scruff, which I’m noticing for the first time has a little gray to it. “Well, I told him he’s no longer allowed to come home at three in the morning like he did last night. He replied that I don’t understand what it’s like to be him. I said,you’re right, buddy. I’ve never cried tears over a Wi-Fi outage while wearing three-hundred-dollar sneakers I didn’t pay for.”
I can’t help but giggle. That’s such a my-father thing to say.
He gives me a small smile. “Yep, he didn’t care for that too much. Stormed out of here.” He exhales a long breath. “This generation…”
I roll my eyes. Here we go. I’m about to hear how much harder Gen X had it.
