“So, how are you settling in? Room and apartment okay?” I asked.
She tore off a piece of muffin and nodded. “It’s good, bigger than the place I shared with my roommate in Boston. Quieter too, and oh, and the water pressure in that shower is incredible.”
“Yeah.” I coughed. “That was non-negotiable when I was searching for a place. I grew up with shitty water pressure. Never again.”
Bianca let out a laugh. “My childhood bathroom had two settings. Scalding or frozen, there was no in-between. So, it’s nice to know if I run a bath, I’m not getting a surprise each time.”
“Ours was a sad little trickle. Almost as if the house was crying,” I said, taking a sip of my coffee. “Where did you grow up? I know you went to Boston University, but…”
“Right here. A different place than where my father lives now. What about you?” she said, ripping off another piece of her muffin.
“A small town in British Columbia. I’d tried to stay and get drafted by the Vancouver Dominators, but when the Dragons called, I took the call and moved.”
“Do you miss it?”
I thought for a moment. “No, not anymore. This is where I belong now.”
I could see another question was on the tip of her tongue when suddenly there was a tremendous crash. We both turned and looked to see the young barista behind the counter looking down at the floor, mortified.
“It’s okay! I’m alright,” she announced. “Guess gravity wins today.” She shrugged.
I looked over at Bianca, who sat there, shoulders shaking with silent laughter. I couldn’t help but grin myself as I watched the young girl hop over whatever she had dropped to grab a mop.
“Oh, that poor girl,” Bianca said as I turned my attention back to her.
I met her eyes across the table. Perhaps the guys were right. Maybe do-overs were possible, and the rocky start we’d had was now behind us.
“So, what made you want to be a trainer? Oh, and before you say it was your father, I am asking about you. What made you decide on this career?”
Bianca looked at me, surprised.
“What is it?” I questioned.
“People don’t normally ask me that. They just assume it was what my father wanted.”
“Well, people rarely put as much effort into something when external pressure pushes them into a career choice. So I figured there must be something behind the choice.”
“Do you really want to know?”
“Wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t.”
She set her coffee down and placed her hands in her lap, just like she did in the training room when she was speaking with someone.
“Marcus Grant.”
“What?”
“You know who he is, right?” Bianca asked, looking at me a little confused.
“Of course I know who he is. It was a shame what happened to him.”
“It was. I was involved with him for a bit, unbeknownst to my father, and I saw his injury firsthand. I also watched his career die because of how they mishandled not only the injury portion but also the mental health capacity. It bothered me to see someone with so much promise lose something so important to him. I decided I wanted to change that.
“I learned quickly that I loved understanding how the body and brain worked together. How the body moved and what you had to do to make a body stronger, before and after an injury, and exactly what happens when things break down. When I graduated and started working in the field, I found it so satisfying to help someone rebuild, watching them go from injured to whole again. Or at least whole-er.”
“Whole-er? Is that a technical term?” I questioned.
“Yes, absolutely. We covered it in year three.” She smiled.
