Bouncing (16 page)

They had been celebrating their family with Sunday dinner for as long as Brit could remember. Her fondest memories of childhood were of those long-ago Sundays, when both sets of grandparents visited and her father was home instead of at the hospital. The dining-room table was always a dynamic place, alive with gossip and stories, with the faces and seating arrangements changing over time as older members of her family died and new ones were born or connected by their marital ties.

It was a rare occasion when the sanctity of their family time was broken and outsiders were invited to join them. If she weren’t so distracted by the constant thoughts of Alex playing like background music in her mind, Britain would have raised an eyebrow when her mother announced they were expecting company for dinner. But she’d been thinking of Alex’s blue eyes and her full lips, hearing a reel of her laughter playing over and over for only her ears, and she’d paid vague attention to the conversation as she’d prepared potatoes.

As a result, Brit was totally taken by surprise when, an hour later, she heard the doorbell ring and saw her mother running out of the kitchen to answer it. That surprise was surpassed when, a minute later, her nephew appeared in the kitchen and summoned Brit to the living room. And the surprise of the day—and perhaps the year—occurred when she arrived in the living room to find her parents chatting with the Thornton family.

Dr. Arthur Thornton was one of her dad’s partners in his cardiology practice, and Brit had known his family her entire life. Emily, his wife, had been a friend to her mother. Their son Tommy, who was now in his third year of medical school in Philly, swam with Brit at the country club. He stood before her now looking uncomfortable but trendy in a corduroy blazer over a button-down shirt and a pair of skinny jeans.

Not forgetting the manners that had been drilled into her for two decades, Britain hugged all of the Thorntons in turn before sitting beside her father on the couch, feigning interest in the conversation as the former colleagues caught up. What was going on? Why were the Thorntons crashing their family dinner party? She was oblivious to the banter as she looked around the room and began to understand the situation. As she sat seething, silent and seemingly attentive, anger oozed from her pores.

They were trying to fix her up with Tommy! How could they do this, after she’d told them she didn’t want or need their help in finding a husband? Her parents’ obvious meddling in her love life, their failure to respect her declinations to the offers of dates with their friends’ children devastated her. Even if she weren’t gay, Tommy Thornton was about the third-to-last person on the planet she would have dated. He was full of himself and had no sense of humor, and was so smart that half the time Brit needed a translator in order to have a conversation with him.

When she thought she’d spent the correct amount of time to satisfy the requirements of proper social etiquette, Brit excused herself to return to the kitchen. They stopped talking as she entered the kitchen, so Brit knew her sisters were in on the fix.

“How could you?” she asked, looking first at Jordan and then at Sam. Then, raising a defiant middle finger and waving it from one sister to the other, she further spewed, “I am so pissed! No more free babysitting for either of you.”

“Oh, baby sister, lighten up. They love you and just want you to be happy.” It was Jordan defending their parents.

“I am happy!”

Sam walked closer and hugged her. “Brit, they’re not getting any younger. Daddy’s going to be seventy this year. They worry about you being alone when they die. They want you to have someone.”

She turned to Sam and sighed in frustration. She was tempted to tell them the truth, right then and there, but this wasn’t the right time. She had met someone—someone who excited her and delighted her and made her feel and want things the young man in the living room never could. “Sam, it’s not my fault they waited so long to have kids. They can’t just marry me off to anyone who comes along so they can die in peace.”

Sam playfully messed up Brit’s hair. “You’re right, Brit. I’m not arguing that. I just want you to understand their point of view.”

Still angry, Brit pulled away and announced her own surprise. “Well, it’s a good thing for me that I have to leave right after dinner.” She looked at her sisters’ startled faces and knew they didn’t believe her. When they started to protest, Brit silenced them with her hand.

It was unlike their well-behaved little sister to rebel, but they’d better get used to it, because she refused to tolerate this nonsense anymore. By allowing her family to push her around for so many years, she’d been a fool. But if she ever wanted anything to change, she had to start somewhere. It might not be the right time and place to come out, but it was the perfect time and place to tell them all to shove it. “I have a meeting with my head basketball coach.”

Brit wasn’t lying. She and Alex did have a date to meet that evening; that much was true. Alex was beginning to feel nervous about her coaching debut, and Brit had agreed to meet so they could start planning their practice schedule. A typical day at her parents didn’t end until the late afternoon, so they’d agreed to meet at six. She didn’t tell her sisters that, though.

“Oh, Mommy’s going to be pissed. She’s really excited about you and Tommy.”

“
I’m
pissed, Jordan.
Mommy
doesn’t even know what pissed is.”

At that moment her mother burst through the swinging door that separated the kitchen from the pantry. “Britain, let your sisters finish dinner, dear. Tommy wants to talk with you.”

Brit forced a smile. An argument with her mother wouldn’t do anyone any good. Dinner would be uncomfortable—or more uncomfortable—and her mother’s embarrassment in front of Dr. and Mrs. Thornton would be a deep wound to her mother’s pride. But that didn’t mean Brit intended to allow this ambush to proceed. As soon as she’d swallowed her last bite, she was heading for cover. For now, though, she’d be the polite young woman her mother had raised. “Okay, Mom. Just let me get my clothes out of the dryer before they wrinkle.”

Her mother pursed her lips and her tone was curt. “Don’t keep him waiting.”

As her mother marched out of the kitchen in one direction, Brit went in the opposite. Fuming, she quickly folded the wet clothes from the washer and placed them in her laundry bag. She was going to have to find a Laundromat close to her apartment so she could be less dependent on her parents. Didn’t Alex say her family owned Laundromats? She’d ask when she saw her. Brit added the already-dry clothing to a pile on top of the bag. The laundry was ready when she made her escape. If she hadn’t been out of clean socks, she’d have left the entire wash to rot in the laundry room.

Making the greatest of efforts so as to not embarrass her family, Brit managed to pay attention to the dinner conversation. She laughed when it seemed appropriate and posed thoughtful questions. An occasional nod indicated her interest in what the others around the table were discussing.

After dessert was finished, Brit stood and, to the surprise of everyone in the room—including herself—announced her departure. She wasn’t totally sure she’d find the courage to defy her parents, but as the dinner wore on and she imagined Alex sitting across from her, her resolve was fortified. Dinner with Alex would have been perfect. It was exactly what she wanted. As she sat there understanding it was something she’d likely never have, Brit could no longer tolerate the disgust she felt at herself for lying, or for her homophobic family for putting her in a position where she had to.

“You can’t leave, dear,” her mother insisted. “We have company.”

“I’m so sorry about this,” Britain addressed the Thorntons, “but I’m having my first team meeting today. It’s mandatory. I forgot to tell Mom and Dad.”

Whether any of them believed her, she wasn’t sure. Nor did she care. She only knew she needed to get out of her parents’ house before she started screaming at someone and making a fool of herself. After collecting her laundry, she was about to make a clean getaway when both of her parents cut her off.

“You can’t leave without kissing me good-bye,” her dad teased her.

Even though she knew he was in on the set-up, she suspected he was an unwilling participant in his wife’s caper. Brit couldn’t be mad at him. “Of course I can’t.”

He pulled her into a big hug and kissed her cheek. “Drive carefully, honey. Call us when you get home.”

“I’ll get Tommy’s cell phone number for you,” her mother offered. “He’ll be home for a few more weeks, and you two can get together.”

“Okay, Mom,” she replied as she hugged her mother and kissed her cheek. At the moment, she had no more strength with which to argue. She’d save that battle for later.

Once in the car, she began breathing to control her anger, deep breaths that made her dizzy after a few minutes. Then she thought of calling Alex. Maybe she’d like to meet early. Alex would be able to fix her foul mood by simply being there.

“Hey, Brit,” Alex said.

“Hey, yourself. I got out of dinner early. Any chance you’d like to meet now?”

“Kim just left, and I was just about to shoot some hoops. Care to join me?”

Brit thought of all the times she’d taken a ball in her hands and felt the weight of the world lift from her shoulders. The concentration she needed on the court allowed no other thoughts but basketball, and by the time she finished her game or her practice, Brit would find herself feeling a million times better than when she started. Basketball therapy was exactly what she needed.

They agreed to meet at the park, and after stopping at her apartment to change clothes, Brit headed directly there. The calendar indicated that fall had officially arrived, but no one had informed Mother Nature. The sky was clear and blue and the temperature in the mid-seventies as she pulled into the park. On this sunny Sunday afternoon, parking spots were as hard to find as they’d been on her previous visit. Fortunately, a family in a minivan was leaving, and Brit maneuvered her car into a generous-sized parking spot they’d vacated. Bouncing her ball, she walked toward the courts where she’d played with Kelsey before she learned she’d be coaching her.

Alex was on the closest one, looking quite the player in a jersey, long shorts, high socks, and high-top sneakers. She was practicing foul shots. “Hey,” Brit said as she shot a jumper from the wing. Alex paused for a moment, but when it became evident that Brit was more interested in shooting the ball than conversing with her, she resumed playing as well.

After twenty minutes of silence, each of them shooting independently, Alex finally spoke. “Are you up for some one-on-one?”

Brit had already thought about whether she wanted to play head-to-head against Alex. Alex was taller and had been a big college star. Brit knew her skills, and she knew she could play the game, but she didn’t want to embarrass herself by challenging someone with more natural ability. She suspected a game might be a one-sided fiasco. In the end, though, it didn’t matter. She just wanted to play basketball and forget what had happened at her parents’ house.

After establishing the rules, she headed toward the half-court line to inbound the ball. Alex had granted her first possession. She tossed the ball to Alex, who stood about five feet away and tapped it right back. Game on. Brit started toward the right side as she glided toward the key. Alex maintained her distance, guarding against a drive to the hoop. When she reached the three-point line, Brit stopped, jumped, and fired an uncontested shot. It rattled around the rim before dropping through the net. Her eyes found Alex’s. “Three-nothing,” she announced with a smile.

Alex didn’t respond. Instead, she took the ball out of bounds and tossed it back to Brit. Brit didn’t allow Alex the breathing room she’d been granted, and that was her first mistake of the game. Alex dribbled to the right and with lightning speed shot past her and took the ball to the basket for an easy layup. “Three-two,” Alex said as she caught her own rebound and politely handed the ball back to Brit.

The first three-pointer hadn’t scared Alex a bit. She allowed Brit the same clearance as she had on her first possession, and again, Brit drilled a three-pointer. “Six-two.”

Brit had learned from her first embarrassing defensive show. This time she gave Alex some room and tracked her as she dribbled toward the right, spun, and tried to break to the basket. When she couldn’t shake Britain she pulled up and shot a jumper that rattled around and fell through the net for two points. “Six-four.”

Brit couldn’t believe that Alex still didn’t guard her behind the three-point line, but she again found herself alone out there. Of course, she took the shot, and again it went in. “Nine-four.”

“Can you shoot from anywhere else?” Alex asked, her tone sarcastic.

“Not unless I have to.”

Alex started to the left this time, drew Brit across the key, then fired from just inside the foul line. The ball hit off the back of the rim and popped out of the cylinder.

“Hey, Alex,” Brit said as she stood dribbling the ball. “How many letters are in the alphabet?”

Alex smirked. “Twenty-six. Why?”

“Not in your alphabet. You have no D.” Then Brit exploded left.

Down five with the chance to go even further in the hole, and perhaps challenged by Brit’s teasing, Alex began to showcase her talents. She guarded Brit closely, forcing her to back off and shoot an off-balance jumper that bounced weakly off the front of the rim. On her own possession, she copied Brit’s game plan and knocked down a three. After another stop and another basket, the game was tied.

They played for an hour, with the lead changing hands on nearly every possession, until finally Brit made a three that Alex couldn’t counter and declared herself the winner. Both were drenched in sweat as they walked on wobbly legs to the courtside bench to cool down. Toasting with energy drinks from a vending machine, they touched their bottles, saluting the great effort they’d put forth. “I can’t believe you didn’t play DI hoops, Brit. You’re better than half the girls I played against.”