If the Fates Allow

by Annie Harper

“No, you’re not. You’re Ekaterinburg’s biggest draw. They’ve invested a lot of money and publicity in you. They want you to succeed. Anyway, this is going to get better. You’ve made it through bad patches before and you’ve come back stronger. But it takes hard work. Blood. Sweat. Tears.”

  Shay raised her eyebrows. “Blood?”

  “It’s about work, Shay. You haven’t been putting in the work.”

  It was useless to protest, but the words tumbled out. “I’m just so tired.”

  Devon nodded. “Yeah. I know you are. And you know I’m right. Which is probably why Manny keeps calling.” Sometimes Devon was more annoying than anyone Shay knew. “Hey. You want to hear what else I’m right about?”

  “What?” Shay asked, against her better judgment.

  “Before you call Manny back and tell him you’re still his best client and you’ll put in the hours blah, blah, blah, you need to call your mom. She loves you. And that love doesn’t depend on your field goal stats.”

  Shay groaned. “Devon, I’m really not up for it. If I call home now I’ll end up in Montana for Christmas.”

  Devon met her gaze. “Okay. So you end up in Montana for Christmas.”

  “We only have fifteen days of break,” said Shay. She righted herself from the doorframe and paced the room. “Fifteen winter-free days. We’ve got it planned out: morning runs at the beach, brunch-time mimosas, clubs with the crew. I don’t want to spend the time freezing my butt off on a mountain in Montana.”

  Truth was, she didn’t really want to do all the other stuff either. She wanted to watch Netflix and hide out in sweats in her house so no one would talk about what a letdown she was.

  She stopped pacing. “And anyway, how am I going to train up there, genius? I can’t get my edge back in Big Timber. The school’s closed for winter break, and there’re no other basketball courts.”

  “Big Timber…” Devon was smiling.

  “Outside Big Timber. You know where I’m from.”

  “It still amazes me.” Devon sat up and shook her head. Her mid-length golden brown twists shifted around her neck. “The little Black girl from Montana.”

  “I’m not little. And I’m not the only one.”

  Devon ignored her and went on. “So don’t go for the whole break. Have a few days there. See your mom and dad; look at the huge Montana sky. Find a way to clear your head. Then come back to LA, get yourself onto the courts, and we’ll get busy. You haven’t been home in years, Shay. It might be good for you.”

  Of course, Devon was right. “Fine. Whatever. Fine.” At least in Montana they wouldn’t know she was a failure.

  Shay pulled her phone out of her pocket. She turned her head to fix Devon with a glare. “But if I’m going to Montana for Christmas, I’ll be damned if you’re not coming too,” she said as she dialed her mother’s number.

  Devon’s open-mouthed stare and perfect outraged eyebrows were almost enough to cheer Shay up.

  * * *

  The hired car pulled up, shiny black as oil. When the driver opened the door, the scent of faux pine wafted out. Shay climbed in and shrank into the black leather seat. There was plenty of leg room. The car company she used knew who Shay was. They always sent a big car. Shay pulled her cap down to shield her eyes.

  The driver recognized her. He chatted to her about basketball as he took West Eighth to South Grand toward Devon’s condo.

  “Can’t believe how many players are retiring. The WNBA’s lucky to still have you.”

  Shay gave a half laugh. “I’m twenty-six. They’re not getting rid of me that easily.” The guy was being polite, but he probably knew all about Shay Allen and her total lack of current form. “Pull into the driveway here, thanks.”

  As Devon climbed into the car, she beamed a hello at the driver then swatted Shay’s arm as he closed the door. “Here we go. I can’t believe I finally get to meet your folks. They’re gonna love me.”

  The driver glanced back as he climbed into his seat. “The rumors are true, then,” he said.

  Shay raised her eyebrows.

  “Don’t worry, I won’t tell the papers. They don’t listen anyway. One time I had this big pop star in here with this English actor. Huge story. Did the papers listen to me? And then three weeks later it’s all over the news. I could have given them the scoop.”

  Devon laughed. Shay frowned. Their relationship gave plenty of cause for speculation online. They were best friends. They went to concerts together and exercised at the same gym. Shay was out as a lesbian but had no regular partner, and Devon didn’t date. She was happier that way. The two of them had long ago learned not to answer questions about their personal lives from nosy strangers.

  The driver looked at Shay in the rearview mirror. “It’s all good. I got no problem with you.”

  Damn right you don’t. Shay resisted making any reply.

  Sunlight seeped in through the tinted sunroof. They turned onto West Pico. For a moment the Staples Center was visible off to the right. Shay’s stomach dropped. Right there, that was her dream: the WNBA, the LA Sparks, a career, fame. But for the moment it seemed as though she was doing all she could to trash that dream.

  Shay found her voice as they slid under a sign for Domestic Departures. “Hey.” She looked at Devon. “I’m sorry. You don’t really have to come along.”

  Devon raised one eyebrow. “Uh. What now? Did I hear you right?”

  “You can stay here in LA. You don’t need to come with me. I can tell my parents you have family commitments.”

  “You already told them I don’t.”

  “I’ll think of something.” Shay wrinkled her nose. “I shouldn’t have made you join me. You’ve got better things to do than spend three days of your break shivering in a snow drift with me and my family.”

  Devon looked out the window as she spoke. “You’re right. The weather’s pretty good here—”

  Shay sighed. “That’s fair. I’ll call my mom from the airport.”

  “—but we already bought the tickets. And anyway, I’m looking forward to the things you described: snow as far as you can see; majestic mountain ranges; wood fires and hot chocolate and cross country skiing. It sounds exotic. Plus I want to meet all the colorful Montana characters.”

  “I was trying to sell you on the place, Dev. Truth is, it’s bleak and cold, and the snow goes all the way to the edge of the world. Nothing to see but white. And it gets dark at five p.m. We’ll all be inside a lot.” She thought of something. “Oh, god. And I bet my parents will throw some kind of get-together with half the town in a room at Neb’s saloon.”

  Devon narrowed her eyes. “Okay. But you told me we’d go for a ride on a dog sled.”

  Shay shrugged. “Yeah, I mean, I think we can ask Albi for a ride. She had malamutes—these huge dogs.”

  “And there’s Neb and Odette and Teddy and some guy named Mr. Big Ears.”

  “Yeah. He lives up the river in a cabin. He, well—he has pretty big ears.”

  “Plus there’s a fireplace. And the scenery around your parents’ home is beautiful.”

  “It— Sure. It is. The place has its moments.”

  “The whole thing sounds incredible. Cold but incredible. I’m starting to think you don’t want me there.”

  “Dev. I want you there. I really want you there. The last time I went home, it was tricky.”

  “Okay then. I'm glad I didn’t buy snow boots for nothing.”

  Shay exhaled. “Thank you. I appreciate it. Really.”

  “No problem at all.”

  The car glided into the drop-off zone. The driver handed over their bags. Shay shouldered hers easily. After years of travel, she was an expert at packing light.

  “Thanks,” she said.

  The airport doors slid open to the noisy lines of people, all with too much luggage, all heading ho
me for Christmas. Shay turned to Devon. “Here we go. You can’t leave me alone now.”

  “I wouldn’t want to.” Devon patted her shoulder, firm and sure, the same way she did when they were in the middle of a playoff game.

  * * *

  Even in Los Angeles, people noticed Shay and Devon. They’d get to their feet after brunch or stride into a nightclub in short skirts and shimmery tops, and people would look up. The attention was rarely welcome. Over the years it had toughened Shay’s skin. She would flick a glance the watchers’ way and believe she’d won something when their gazes dropped.

  One of their teammates, a six-foot white girl named Laura, said, “It’s not about Black or white. See, they look at me too.” But the attention Shay and Devon received was singular, was everything mixed together: awe, physicality, height, fitness, otherness, being a woman, being Black.

  But since this was Los Angeles, it was also about fame. People recognized them as WNBA players, especially when they were out with other teammates. Fans asked for signatures on shirts or napkins or basketballs. That was okay, of course. It might be hard to distinguish sometimes, but that was professional attention and it mattered to Shay.

  In Montana, the staring was more pronounced. At Billings Logan Airport, every person they passed looked their way. Shay lifted her face to the light and straightened her spine. She set her shoulders. If she was going to be stared at for being Black and tall, she might as well be even Blacker and taller. She led Devon to the rental car desk.

  “Is this what growing up was like?” Devon asked as they climbed into the huge, black Explorer ten minutes later. “Hundreds of short, white people staring at you all the time.”

  Shay shrugged. “Not at home,” she said. “Not in town. They’ve known me since I was born, so I could be myself there. But look. There were only two Black kids in my high school. Plus I was about a foot taller than anyone. Should’ve seen everyone swivel their heads to look at me when the history teacher mentioned slavery.”

  Devon grimaced.

  Shay started the car.

  The kids hadn’t stopped staring when Shay was named the school’s athlete-scholar at thirteen and again at fourteen, when she’d scored forty-five points against Yellowstone, when she’d slam dunked the winner at home. But at least then Shay could imagine they were staring at her in awe and adulation. She was fifteen when she was scouted for Santa Ana Academy and left town. There she worked her ass off at ball, learned to play with people as good as she was, and met Devon and a bunch of other talented athletes, most of them Black. At first she fit in at the academy about as well as she’d fit in at school in Montana. Most of the girls came from Los Angeles. Shay didn’t talk like them; her hair and clothes were wrong. But her music was on point and, in a school of outstanding athletes, she could play ball.

  On an ordinary day, the drive from the airport to Big Timber and on up to Shay’s family home on the Yellowstone River took about an hour and a half. But this was a snowy twenty-fourth of December. It would take longer. A plow had carved heavy snow banks streaked gray with dirt.

  Shay turned through the city of Billings and drove slowly, getting a feel for the huge car. The Explorer had snow tires of course, but Shay stayed well under the speed limit. There were only a few people on the freeway.

  As soon as they were out of town and heading west, the snow stretched out in all directions: silent white fields crossed by fences and punctuated by homesteads and clusters of snow-covered pines and firs. Shay settled her shoulders and let herself breathe. The sky was endless, that achingly clear Montana blue.

  Devon opened her window, and a biting wind eddied through the car. The air was crisp. It coiled around Shay’s fingers and ears in a way that brought back years of winters like this one.

  “Glad my hair’s done for Russia. This cold’s gonna kill me,” Devon said.

  “You look good.”

  “I do.” Devon grinned. Her neat Senegalese twists fell to the nape of her neck. Shay’s longer, darker braids had the same protective effect. “But shit. My skin’s going to be ravaged.”

  “Don’t worry, I’ve got you covered,” Shay said. Years living in this climate had made her and her parents experts on glowing winter skin.

  Every mile they drove, the universe seemed bigger. When the moun­tains swept up before them, Devon whistled, low. Shay understood.

  “I love my parents.” Shay broke the quiet. She kept her eyes on the twin lines of the road stretching before them.

  Devon looked over.

  “Obviously, I love my parents. They’re wonderful people. The trouble is, the last couple times I’ve come home… I don’t know.” She took a deep breath. “My life’s really something, you know. People want to be me. I’m in the starting lineup for the current WNBA champions. I get to advertise Gatorade and sports bras and reenergizing pickle juice. People recognize me on the street. They follow me on Instagram. It’s a big life.”

  “You don’t need to sell me on it. It’s my life too.” Devon paused. “Well, not the pickle juice.”

  “But it doesn’t feel like much when I’m home in Montana. When I’m here I feel—I don’t know—smaller. It’s not their fault. They love me. They’re proud of me.”

  “But that’s not enough?”

  Shay blinked in the dazzling light. She should have found her sunglasses before they got in the car. “Yeah, of course. Of course. It’s everything,” she said. Devon was shuffled from family to family as a foster kid until she was scouted and got the scholarship to Santa Ana. Shay was fortunate.

  She thought before she spoke. “People here don’t see what the rest of the world is like. LA is movie premieres and too much concrete to them. New York, Chicago—those cities are almost as foreign as St. Petersburg. They live here in this desolate space because they want to. And no other place can live up to this one. Everyone I knew growing up was like that. It’s cool. But somehow— Look, I have this incredible life. I’m proud of it. I don’t want to be pitied for it.”

  “No.” Devon pursed her lips. “So it’s not only your parents.”

  “It’s the whole town. They say, ‘Shay honey, you’ve done this basketball thing so long. You’ve given up so much.’ Or they say, ‘Don’t be lonely in that big city. There’s always a place for you here.’ Oh, and my favorite, ‘When are you going to be like that lovely Candace Parker and settle down to have a family? Then you can move back home.’”

  Devon laughed. “Candace is lovely, though.”

  “She’s Candace Parker. She’s perfect.” Shay sighed. She didn’t look at Devon as she muttered, “Last time I came here I might have overplayed how extraordinary my life is.”

  Devon’s “yeah?” was interested. The woman knew when something was up.

  Shay’s cheeks heated. “Yeah. I guess I wanted to show them that all this work, all the years and the sacrifices—I wanted to show them how much it meant to the big world outside of Montana. I think I talked it up a bit much.”

  “We all do that sometimes.”

  “Dev. I sat there at Christmas dinner and told them how many followers I had on Twitter.” Shay winced at the memory. She hadn’t talked about this to anyone. But here where everything was bright and clean, she wanted to revisit. Devon would tell her how bad it truly was. “I acted all nonchalant about getting into the VIP area at clubs. I don’t know, I brought terrible presents. I gave my mom the Fabergé egg.”

  Devon choked out a laugh.

  Shay went on. “My mom— It wasn’t her at all. She’s into home cooking and hiking. She loves these painters from Ghana. This guy’s landscapes with these tall figures. Another guy paints millions of tiny fish. I should have known the egg… I’m not sure it’s even beautiful, it’s just expensive. Mom loves art that brings the outdoors in. She’s at home in Montana now, but those paintings of West Africa— She chose what she loves. As soon as I gave he
r the egg, it felt wrong.” She shuddered. “There were other people there for dinner, too. A local family. My mom didn’t know what to say. The whole trip was awful and embarrassing.”

  The wooden “Welcome to Big Timber” sign loomed on their left. The words were surrounded by romantic pastel sketches of the mountain, of skiers, of the old mill where Shay’s parents’ fishing and bait business sat on the Yellowstone River.

  “Worse, there was this girl, Milla, there—”

  “This girl Milla?” Devon turned to look at Shay.

  “An old crush. Nothing important. She was nice to me in school. We used to ride the school bus to Big Timber. But she wasn’t the problem. The whole place put me on edge. It made me—”

  “A bit defensive?”

  “A massive asshole.”

  Devon grinned. “Then nothing’s changed.”

  Shay drove slowly down the main street of Big Timber. They passed Neb’s saloon, the library, the drug store. Most of the windows were dark. The trip through town was over within a minute, and they drove on into the open space.

  “I’m glad you’re heading back, then. You can’t keep living that visit over and over. So what’ve you got your mom this year?” Devon asked.

  Shay sighed. “I usually send her soap and stuff. I grabbed something at the airport.”

  “Well, unless the airport has a set of Russian dolls, it’s going to be better than the egg.”

  Honestly, Shay’s mom would have preferred the dolls.

  The road narrowed. The sky had turned the palest pink, streaked in grey and darkening for night.

  Shay’s parents’ place was right where the I91 crossed the Yellowstone River. Only a few houses clustered around two intersections.

  Shay turned off the main road. She let the car idle at the bottom of the driveway. From this distance everything seemed unchanged: the boxy, painted house, the sharply sloped roof, the big front verandah lit up in welcome, the ceaseless sound of the river as it tumbled by. This wasn’t her home any more, but the place was a part of her.

  “This might be a mistake,” she said to Devon. “I’m sorry.”