When it’s just the two of us, I lift my glass of rosé and we clink our glasses. “Nailed it,” I say, right before I take a sip of the chilled wine.
Blair follows suit, taking a drink, but then lets out a tiny laugh. One I haven’t heard in person for far too long. One that has always made my stomach flip.
We’reonoursecondbottle of wine and the plates have been cleared. Blair’s cheeks are slightly pink, matching some of the flushing on her chest, the way she gets whenever she drinks wine.
Just like the first bottle, the conversation was easy. After we’ve covered everything from work to family, and football, it’s time to get to the question I’ve been dying to ask.
“How’s it going with Melanie?” I do my best to make my voice level and smooth, immediately chasing my question with wine.
Blair sighs. “It’s not. We broke up.” She shrugs her shoulders and I immediately scan her face for the hurt. “Don’t look at me like that. It’s not that deep. We’re still friends, or pretend wewillbe, but it wasn’t a good fit.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?” I look for a glimpse of her holding back.
“You had your own shit to deal with. You didn’t need me piling on about my most recent failed relationship.”
There she is. The woman who has tried to handle things her entire life without being a burden. The first time we met, it was winter and she was carrying too many bags, like she’d just been grocery shopping. Even though everything was a complete ice rink, she still tried to do the whole‘I’d rather almost die and do this in one trip’thing. I offered her help, more than once,and she declined. When she fell and almost hit her head on the sidewalk, she reluctantly gave me her hand and let me assist.
Sometimes, she still needs to trip and figure it out before leaning on anyone else. She's tough as fuck even when she doesn’t have to be.
“You don’t ever owe me details or anything like that, but you don’t ever have to deal with that shit alone. Breakups suck.”
Setting her wine down, she replies, “I know. You’re right. But honestly, it wasn’t this big, sad thing. We just weren’t compatible. She couldn’t handle that I was bi and I don’t see that changing any time soon, so...” She tucks her hair behind her ears. “What about you? Dating anyone?”
“Me? Nah. It’s hard when you’re gone like I am. I went on a few dates before I got traded, but nothing serious.” I’m desperate to change the topic from my lack of dating or relationships so I pivot. “But, how have we not talked about how you were on my new team’s football field before me?”
“Stop. It was a PR thing.” She shakes her head, fighting a smile and rolling her eyes.
Athlala and the Cosmos were collaborating on a Women In Sports camp. They had some of their members, like Blair, help run it. The goal was to let the young girls try different sports—see if there’s any they’d like to pursue.
“I love how you’re acting like you didn’t make a thirty-yard field goal on a legit NFL field. I’ll never forget seeing that video and showing it to my teammates.”
“It took me, like, twelve tries–that you didn’t see. You know that Joey and Jay taught me how to kick a field goal when I was a kid. It's just something I can do. Not that good of a party trick... unless you’re at a football game.”
Blair loves to play down her accomplishments. I feel like she knows it was fucking cool but she’s afraid to really lean into it.
“Whatever you say. Glad to see you’re still in shape.” I wink, joking with her, because she’s one of the most committed and disciplined people I know.
She keeps shaking her head, taking a drink of wine, and my chest warms when I catch her grinning. It’s like muscle memory—the way my heart stumbles. All this time, and she still feels like the weighted moment before a whistle blows: full of hope, full of something I can’t name without ruining it.
Three
Blair
Fuck.Whydoesthisman look this good?
He’s always been thick and muscular, needing size to play his position. But now it’s like he grew into it? I’m not sure how to explain it. He’s always been attractive, but now he’s making me practically drool with his new facial hair, and some sort of pullover sweater. It's almost a perfect match of his eyes—that nearly impossible shade of blue—the kind only found in the places you dream of, where the water never ends.
Maybe it’s the wine? Or the borderline food coma?
Get it together.
“This is for you,” Tyson offers as he sets a giftbag on the table.
“For what?”
“I missed your thirtieth birthday last month. You don’t think I was going to let that slide, right?”
No.Tyson is one of the most thoughtful people I’ve ever encountered. No matter what, he’s always found ways to celebrate my birthday, even if we weren’t together.
