“They’re saying fifty percent of season ticket packages for the WNFL have already been sold,” I finish. “They’re starting with ten teams next year, and then after five years, they’re going to add six more expansion teams.”
“That is fantastic,” Delphine says, doing tiny claps beneath her chin and looking truly excited. God, this is so surreal, seeing my actual mother sitting across the table from me.
“It really is cool. We have the full backing of the NFL, so that adds to our legitimacy. Not that we’re not legit in our own right,” I add quickly. “But with an established league behind us, people are getting excited. Some of the current leagues have some very talented women, but their clothing…” I make a cringey face. “Their uniforms look like something a waitress at Hooter’s would wear. Crop tops and booty shorts.”
Willie nods as if he understands. “Ah, yes. The tits and ass league.”
I do my earnest best not to glare at him. “Yes, that's what some jerky, misogynistic men call it. The women are seen more as sex objects instead of athletes. But like I said, there’s a lot of talent in those leagues, so the WNFL will be making offers to some of them. They will kind of be like the ‘veterans,’ while those of us being drafted from college will be the ‘rookies.’”
The waitress stops by to take our orders, and Delphine leans across the table toward me. “Get whatever you want, honey. Willie is paying.”
“Oh. He doesn’t have to do that,” I say. “I have money from babysitting during the summers when I don’t have practice.”
She makes a little dismissive sound in the back of her throat. “Nonsense. We’re your parents, Jordan.”
“Jordie,” I correct, tamping down the discomfort her last sentence evokes before turning to the pretty waitress. “I’ll have an egg white omelet with ham, all the veggies, and feta cheese. Water to drink.”
After Delphine and Willie order, my mother pats my forearm across the table. “I’ll bet you’ll get tons of endorsement offers since you’re so pretty, honey.”
I want to tell her I want to get offers because I’m a kick-ass football player and not because of my looks, but I force my lips to curve upward. “That would be something.”
She offers a beaming smile. “I’m just so excited that my daughter is going to be a professional athlete. I can’t tell you how proud I am of you.”
Her pride makes my heart do a little flip but part of what she said also makes that same organ squeeze uncomfortably.
“Bubba is also a pro athlete. He plays hockey for the Dallas Brewers.”
My tone is defensive, and my mother’s smile flickers and disappears like someone blew out a candle. “I’m aware of that, but he and your sister wrote me off years ago. And Xander… well, he never really bonded with me. He always wanted to be stuck up Emmett’s rear end.” I don’t point out that he was a toddler at the time. Delphine blinks rapidly and looks away for a second before bringing her aqua eyes back to my face. “You, though, my baby… you were a mama’s girl through and through.”
“Then why did you leave me?” The words are out before I could even process them. I never realized I was internalizing that thirst for this vital piece of information.
The few times I’d questioned my fathers, I always received the same bland response.Delphine wasn’t cut out to be a mother.Never once did they utter a cruel word about her, but the implication was clear:Your mother is selfish.
Delphine’s mouth relaxes into a tender smile. “I wasn’t planning toleave forever. I could never sit still for very long and always felt the need to travel. To…” She rolls her hand in a circle a few times as she searches for the words. “To find myself. Everyone deserves to pursue their dreams, just like you’re doing with football. Don't you agree?”
“I, uh, I guess.” My fingers fidget with the paper napkin in my lap, feeling the slight roughness against my skin. “What dreams were you pursuing?”
My mother straightens her shoulders. “I’m an artist. A painter of landscapes, so I’m sure you understand why I had to get out of that small town from time to time and see the world. No one wants to buy paintings of farms and a bunch of pine trees.” She lets out a tinkling laugh that holds an edge of cynicism, and her eyes go all dreamy. “I’ve had the opportunity to paint sunsets over the desert, the snow on the mountaintops of Colorado, the pyramids in Egypt, and so many other beautiful locations. It’s any painter’s dream.”
We’re interrupted by the waitress dropping off our food and refilling our drinks, which allows me the time to think about what Delphine said. Her dream was travelling and painting, not being a mother.
“So why did you want to meet with me today?” I ask bluntly, cutting into my omelet and stuffing a bite into my mouth. It’s warm, and the feta is salty on my tongue.
Delphine looks at me in surprise. “Because I’ve seen you all over the news lately, and it was like a sign.” She shrugs, the gesture self-deprecating and a little shy. “And I missed my little Jordan.”
“Jordie,” I correct. Again. “And you could have called before now if you missed me.”
Her lips stiffen, and she tilts her chin up a notch. “I was told I wasn’t allowed to.”
I swallow the bite in my mouth and stare incredulously. “By whom?”
“Isaac and Emmett,” she says, definitively.
Willie mutters, “Assholes.”
My gaze is whip-sharp toward him as my fork clatters to my plate. “My fathers are not assholes. They are great men.”
Delphine tamps at the air with placating hands. “Settle down.” Sheshoots her fiancé a warning look. “Jordie is right, Willie. Isaac and Emmett are good men. Just look at what a wonderful job they did with her.”
