“I don’thavea nemesis.” I countered.
“Then what would you call someone you always have beef with?”
For once my sister had me speechless, because how would I describe my relationship with Brittney Lee?
At one point we were friends, before we got sucked into our college rivalry. It’d be easy to say that I was the best of my class, and the best of my generation.
But I also wasn’t a liar.
Brittney had been—and still was—my direct competition, given we played the same position. Always on my ass. She was just as fast as me. Always trying to tip the ball out of my hands, literally and figuratively. For two people who have long figured out we’re the antithesis of each other, there was a certain joy I got from watching her face shift from indifference to rage. I couldn’t lie, I liked antagonizing her. I loved to watch her crash out. She’s what my mom described astoo sensitive. Someone who always had to react; who always had to be heard. Characteristics Olivia told me not to have, and like a good daughter, I listened.
“I can’t believe you lost to her team.” Olive snapped me back into the present.
“You’re telling me…” I trailed off.
“She threw you off your game, you got a tech, which,woah, you should’ve heard mom in the box…”
“Glad I didn’t.”
“And then you shook hands with her like a grown up.”
“It was for the cameras…and Aunt Ra made me.”
“Ugh, she’s so diplomatic.” Olive sneered.
“Tell me about it.”
I was about to open my mouth to mention how it was actually nice to not receive a look of disgust from Brittney, an intrusive thought, when my mom finally emerged from her office.
“Ugh, my girls!” Olivia exclaimed. Her matching set of the day was a red cashmere lounge set that made her rich cocoa skin pop. She hadn’t been a professional player since Olive was born, yet she still looked like she could take you on the court any day and break your ankles.
Olivia’s natural demeanor screamed bad cop and she lived up to that stereotype. Her face was solid as stone, her hair, pulled tight into a ponytail. I could barely get a lie out of my mouth without her being able to sniff it out when I was younger. It’s why I’m honest to a fault now.
“How’s my eldest?” She kissed me on the temple with the three inches she had on me.
“Could be better.” I shrugged. “Could be a championship winner.” I got out before my mom did.
In this family, I learned it was best to just rip the bandaid off. Someone was going to bring up your faults, albeit with kindness, and I’d rather just get the criticism out of the way to enjoy the rest of today’s events.
“You’re damn right, Nola Belle.” My mom leaned on the kitchen countertop to face me.
We don’t have to talk about itis what I wanted to say but it’d fall on deaf ears. Of course we were going to talk about how I cost Chicago a ring. I was even willing to bet money that my flop reel was what kept my mom holed up in the office all morning.
There was no break from basketball; only do it again, but better.
“Maybe we save the game talk for after dessert.” Olive butt in trying to save me. Thirteen years apart, and it was like we shared a brain.
“Is that what you want to do, Nola?”
“What time is Aunt Rashida and Aunt Allison coming over?”
My mom checked the designer watch on her wrist. “Probably an hour from now.”
I weighed the options like there was a better one. Delay the inevitable, or just get this shit over with. Rashida and Allison did have a way of making me feel like the world wasn’t ending. They’d breeze in, interrupt my mom’s coach talk, then wrap me in long, needed hugs. Their presence would always feel like a warm blanket on a cold night.
“Let’s just do this.” I exhaled and hip-checked my sister to at least say thank you for her attempt.
Getting the hard part out of the way,was, unfortunately, a Young/Williams family motto.
