by Annie Harper
Shay couldn’t glare at her. “Or.” She drew the word out. “If there were courts around here we’d get in a practice session. But we drove past the school on the way in. It’s shut and locked.”
“Oh, that’s not a problem. Arianne has the keys.”
“She does?”
“She’s a teacher. She teaches high school art and drama and dance.”
“Right.” So many things had changed.
“Anyway, she has a key to the gym,” Milla said. “We could get it from her if you wanted. But you might want a break.”
“Nah, Shay’s been hanging to get a ball into her hands,” Devon said.
Some other neighbors approached. “I won’t keep you all to myself,” said Milla on a smile. She stood to check on her uncle.
It wasn’t late when everyone left, but it had been a long day. In the doorway, Milla grabbed Shay’s hand. Her cheeks were flushed. She spoke more quickly than usual.
“Thank you so much for having us. It’s good to see you here with Devon. She makes you smile.” Shay nodded unsure how to answer. Milla rushed on. “I guess it’s easier between you and me too. Not worrying about any—chemistry that might make things awkward. Between us.”
Shay was at a loss. She stepped closer to Milla.
Milla blinked. “Were you always this tall?”
Shay was surprised into laughter. “Not when we first met.”
Ilie called out from the driveway. “Milla, honey, you have the keys. You’ll never forgive yourself if you let your uncle freeze to death out here.”
“So, I’ve made up a bed in the blue room for the two of you,” Michele said. She blushed. It cost her something to accept her daughter sleeping with someone under her roof. Even though Shay wasn’t.
“Mama,” Shay started. But she couldn’t tell her mother the romance was something her mother had imagined, especially after the bravery her mom had shown in introducing Devon. “Thank you.” She kissed her mother hard on the cheek.
Devon followed Shay up the narrow stairs. The blue room was as advertised: blue, king-sized blue bed, white furniture. There was a blue and gray en-suite.
“Guess we’re bunking up, sugar,” Devon said. She grinned at Shay.
“I’m so sorry.”
“It’s cool; it’s not like we haven’t shared a room before.”
“But not a bed.”
Devon shrugged. “I think it’s sweet. Your mama wants her gay daughter to feel at home.” She turned her back to strip.
“It is sweet.” Tears pricked Shay’s eyes. She turned to hunt through her bag.
“So. Milla’s nice,” Devon said when they were pajama-clad and lying facing the ceiling.
Shay turned out her bedside lamp. “Yep. She was the first person I ever…” Even in the dark it was hard to speak. “I said she wasn’t important. She was. We connected. I was fourteen when we met. Fifteen when I left. It seems silly—I knew what the love songs meant when I was around her.”
“I caught that,” Devon said.
“Damn.”
“You’re doing fine. No one else would’ve noticed.” They were silent.
“You should ask her out,” Devon said.
“With my girlfriend sharing a bedroom? I don’t think so. Anyway, she lives in Montana.”
“Right. So she does.” They lay in silence. “Christmas tomorrow,” Devon said, “Hope Santa comes.”
* * *
The morning dawned late but bright with new snow outside. Shay stretched out in her bed. Devon was awake beside her; her long legs were crossed as she sat and read a book.
"Morning," Devon said.
"Merry Christmas, Devon." Shay rolled over and planted a quick kiss on Devon’s knee.
“Our first Christmas waking up together. Romantic.” Devon smirked.
“It’d be more romantic if you weren’t my best friend and a complete idiot.”
“Would a complete idiot read this?” Devon held up the book she was reading, Alex Haley’s Queen.
“Point taken.”
“The shelves in here are full of stuff like this.”
Shay nodded. Her parents figured she got enough white-guy literature at school. Home was for Haley’s Roots or Toni Morrison, Zora Neale Hurston, Octavia Butler. “I’m gonna head downstairs.” Shay said. “Come when you’re ready.”
Shay pulled on woolly socks and padded down the carpeted stairs. Her mother was up, sitting at the big table in the kitchen with a cup of tea.
“Is Devon sleeping in?”
“She’s awake. She’s reading Alex Haley in bed.”
Michele smiled. “Oh, she’s a good girl. You should read more.”
“Mom, you read me everything here before I was twelve.”
“True.” Michele’s face was soft. “Shaylee, I like Devon. Your father likes her too. She’s the first girl you’ve brought home.”
“Mom—”
“I’m glad you did. She makes sense here.”
After breakfast of soft poached eggs and sweet potato hash browns with cinnamon rolls, the four of them sat in the living room. The fire crackled. Cheeks glowed with food and warmth.
The tree was decorated in red and gold and mismatched decorations Shay hadn’t seen in years. At its top was an angel, black with vibrant clothes and gold wings, that Shay had found when she’d first left home. Everyone had gifts to open.
“Guests first,” said Anthony, nodding to Devon. “Though you’re more than a guest.” He fixed Shay with his dark gaze. “You’d better bring her back.”
“Now that I know you make cinnamon rolls like that, nothing will stop me.” Devon’s smile was softer than her words. She took the gift Anthony handed her and opened the snowflake paper. Inside was a teal slouchy beanie. Devon looked from Michele to Anthony to Shay.
“I thought it would suit you,” Michele said.
Devon held it up. “You made this?”
“I was working on it when I heard you were coming. It seemed right. Everyone needs to keep their head warm here.”
“Thank you. It’s amazing.” Devon pulled it carefully over her hair.
Shay’s gift for her mom was the last. She handed it over.
“You know I don't need anything for Christmas. The only thing that I want is to have you here at home.”
“I know, Mom. But I still got you something.” Shay’s stomach twisted, part guilt, part nerves. “Just something small.”
Her mom opened the soap and buried her nose in the box. “Perfect. Lavender. That's my favorite. You're so thoughtful, Shay.”
She hugged Shay tightly. It felt as though she meant it.
* * *
The day after Christmas, Anthony, Shay, and Devon piled into the Explorer with a couple of basketballs. Devon had her new beanie carefully pulled over her Senegalese twists.
Shay drove around to the ranch. Milla was waiting at the far end of her drive, stomping snow off her boots. Shay lost track of her breath, same as ever.
“We would have come up to the house to get you,” said Anthony from the passenger seat.
“I like the walk,” Milla said. “It’s peaceful out.” As she slid in beside Devon she pulled off her striped beanie and puffy jacket. She kept her scarf. In the cold, her freckles and pretty eyes were more striking than ever. “Thanks for taking me along.”
“We weren’t going without you,” Shay said. She focused on driving.
The school gym’s parquetry floor reflected light from above in giant, window-shaped squares. Shay stepped onto the court. In her peripheral vision she saw her dad toss a basketball. She caught it easily. She considered its weight and balance almost without deciding to. The gym was looking the worse for ten years of wear. The floor was dull in parts; the walls needed a new paint. The basketball hoop creaked when Anthony and Milla
cranked it out.
“This was it, huh?” asked Devon.
“This was it.” Shay passed the basketball to Devon. Her shoes squeaked on the floor.
This was Shay’s place. The first place she'd shown she wasn’t just another athletic high school student; she was the real thing. This room was as much Shay’s as it was the old white guy’s whose name ran across the door.
“Let’s play then, kid,” said Devon.
“You’re on.”
Anthony clicked the last guidewire into place.
“It’s all yours,” he said.
“This ain’t no exhibition match,” said Devon. She passed the ball to Anthony. “Two on two, guys.”
Anthony bounced the ball once, twice, then sent it flying neatly through the hoop.
“He’s mine,” said Devon with a predatory smile.
Shay turned to Milla. “Okay?” she asked.
Milla removed her scarf and placed it beside her gloves on the bench. “Remember, not all of us have your talents.”
Shay divested her father of the ball and tossed it gently to Milla.
Milla frowned. “Um. Okay. I’m not a pro, but I have caught a basketball before.” She bent her knees to shoot and miss. She blushed. “That would have been cooler if I’d got it in.”
Shay collected the ball in one hand and grinned at her. She could relax on this court. It was easy to close the distance between them, easy to reach out and rub Milla’s arm in sympathy. Milla’s flickering glance in response was difficult to parse.
“Holding!” Anthony said. “Our ball.”
Shay turned her mind to the game.
It was instinctive. She gauged distances, knew the height of the hoop. She blocked a shot from Devon, passed to Milla. When her dad checked Milla, Shay was already there at her other side, waiting. Milla passed and bounced happily on her toes as Shay sidestepped Devon and scored a tidy jump shot.
The game was evenly matched. Anthony might be sixty now, but he was a strong player. Milla might not have played much basketball, but she was athletic and had an innate sense of where Shay would need her. Shay and Devon laughed as they tried new tricks on one another.
After five minutes, Shay removed her hoodie and threw it on the pile of coats. Milla did the same.
“It’s been a long time since I saw you play,” Milla said. “It’s as beautiful to watch as I remembered.”
Shay shifted her weight and glanced back at the court. “Thanks.” Milla was even more beautiful to watch than she remembered.
They played for another twenty minutes. Anthony stopped, and Milla bowed out to sit with him on the subs’ bench. Shay and Devon kept at it. The game was more physical without the others, and they pressed into one another and took shot after shot. Shay’s skin buzzed with the stop and start of the game and the sense of Milla’s eyes on her. Every shot went down more easily.
“I’m not even sure you need a coach to get you back in the game,” Devon said when another three-pointer sank cleanly. “You just need her watching.” She glanced at the bench where Milla had her legs stretched out.
“Shut up,” Shay muttered.
Devon took a shot and missed, but came up with the ball.
“Gotta get those rebounds,” Anthony called from the sidelines.
“Love you too, Dad,” said Shay.
Finished, they gulped water from the bottles they’d brought along. “I’ll fill them up,” said Milla. Shay joined her.
The water fountain was in the hallway between the gym and the rest of the school. One side of the hall was lined with trophy cabinets. At least five of the trophies had Shay’s name on them. Milla held the water bottle as it filled. “Do you want to check out the rest of the school?” she asked. “It’s been a while since you saw it. You could show Devon and your dad.”
Shay shook her head. However much she’d owned the gym, the rest of the school hadn’t felt safe. It wasn’t bullying; it was pettiness mostly. She was always on the outside. She walked alone in the crowded halls. In class she was anxious.
“I don’t think so. Not this time.”
Milla sighed. “I still don’t understand why you hated it here so much.”
Shay didn’t want to have this conversation. “I didn’t hate it.”
Milla took a step closer. The only light came through the windows, clear white from the snow. “You never looked back. You left and you didn’t miss anything here.”
“I missed some things.” Shay missed Milla, but she’d never had a handle on that, not enough to put it into words. “There were good times. But I didn’t have friends. Not like you did. And plenty of times I felt like I was in everyone’s way.” She might as well lay it out. “If you ran down the hall because you were late for class, Mrs. Jenkins or Miss Talbot or the hall monitor would tell you to slow down, and then they’d smile because you were such a good student who wanted to go to class. If I ran down the hall late, I was too loud and—” She sighed. “I don’t know, too intense, maybe aggressive—I was huge and graceless and too much.”
Milla shook her head. “But you weren’t graceless at all, Shay. God, the way you moved. And aggressive. Honestly, people didn’t think that.”
Shay looked away. It stung to have to explain. “Listen. I’m not saying I was any of those things. I’m saying how people made me feel. I’m saying that… someone looked at you and saw a kid running late and the same person looked at me and saw—” She sighed. “I’m the one in my body. You can’t say you know what it was like.”
Milla was still. “Okay. Yeah. You’re right.”
Shay met her eyes and nodded.
“I’m sorry,” Milla said. “I should have—” She didn't finish.
The two of them swung open the gym doors and rejoined Anthony and Devon.
“One more?” asked Devon and passed Shay the ball.
Shay looped it into the basket easily.
“I wish some of the kids from the school could have seen this,” Milla said. “It’d be inspiring.”
But Shay was glad to get in some time without an audience. For now, the pleasure of playing outranked inspiring anyone.
“It’s been a long time since we played with no one watching us,” Devon said.
Dinner that night was a sit-down meal for thirty-five of Michele and Anthony’s neighbors and local friends. They ate in the big dining hall of Neb’s Saloon. It was poorly lit, which was probably a blessing, given the carpet, but Neb and his wife Odette were famous for their winter feasts, so the room smelled delicious.
Shay sat beside her mom. Milla was across the table from her. It wasn’t possible to talk to Milla. The table was huge and the company loud, but every now and then Shay would look up from devouring her third serving of roast vegetables with gravy and grin at Milla. Milla would smile a sweet, private smile. It was hard to resist staring.
“Michele,” Odette said from two seats down. She was curvy and French and everyone’s name sounded pretty in her accent. No one had worked out why she’d moved to Big Timbers, but she’d turned up just before Shay left for Santa Ana and three months later had married Neb. She clearly missed city life; she had never quite made herself at home, but she added a touch of something to the town. She raised her voice. “Michele, cherie. Whatever came of that Fabergé egg Shay brought you?”
Michele didn’t look at Shay. “Oh, it’s in my room where I can admire it.”
“You wouldn’t believe this beautiful thing Shay brought her mother.” Odette scanned their end of the table, eyes wide. “This jewel-encrusted Russian egg. Fabergé. They’re Russian, but he was a Frenchman really. You can tell by the craftsmanship. Do you even know what it’s worth, Shay?”
Shay reddened. “Not really, no.”
Odette’s laugh wasn’t unkind, but it grated. “I suppose you don’t need to figure out things like that when
you’re an international superstar.”
Shay shook her head. “It’s not really like that. I mean, I’m very fortunate. But it’s not—”
Odette laughed again, this time awkwardly. “I know, I know. Let’s not talk about money.”
Later, when everyone was distracted by a retelling of Ilie’s old life as a talk show radio host, Shay turned to her mother. “Last time,” she said and hesitated.
“Yes, love?”
“Last time I was here, I went on too much. I was too much. That egg, it was a terrible present.”
Michele put a hand on her shoulder. “No, Shay, I love it.”
“It’s fine, mama. You have it packed away.” Shay was impatient with her mother’s endless kindness.
“It’s not packed away. It’s on the shelf beside my bed. When I look at it I’m reminded that there’s a whole world out there with you in it.”
Shay shook her head. “I wanted to make you proud of me, Mama. But I got it all wrong. I got everything wrong the last time I was here.”
Michele’s smile was soft but her words were firm. “We’re nothing but proud of you, Shay. Me and your father. So proud. Your drive and your bravery and your talent. You’ve gone so far. I could never follow you where you’ve gone. And truth is, I don’t want to. I only wish I could be as interesting as all the other places and people you see.”
“God, mama. No—” Shay’s chest was tight. “You’re better than all of it.”
Michele dropped her hand to Shay’s where it lay on the table and squeezed. “We just want you to be happy.”
When she looked up, Milla blushed and looked down at her plate. Through the rest of the meal, every time Shay looked across the table, Milla was just turning away.
The room’s heavy, dark-red curtains were drawn so there was no sense of the snowy world outside.
Neb walked in, stamping his feet. “It’s still snowing?” Shay asked.
“Sure is, sugar.”
Michele turned a worried face to him. “The girls are leaving tomorrow morning.”
“From Billings Logan?” he asked Shay.
She nodded. “Yep.”
