“Oh.” Well, that was nice of him to say. It took time, and he fought me on some of the changes at first, but I’m glad he came around.
Anderson leans back in his chair and stretches his arms out behind his head. “Gio also said you joined their fantasy football league.”
“I did.”
“That’s quite the undertaking.”
More than a box of donuts here and there, that’s for sure. “It is.”
“I never could quite understand how it works. My wife tried to explain, but I never caught on.” He shakes his head. “That must be why the guys never extended an invite to me. How do you like it?”
“It’s . . .” Hell. Suffering. An embarrassing agony I never expected to experience. “It’s fine. It’s harder to play than I expected.”
And I’m terrible at it, but Anderson doesn’t need me to go into the details about my inconsistent running backs and my faulty kicker. “But the guys in the league have been nice and welcoming.”
To a degree. If you consider J.J. trying to seduce me—either for league gain or because he’s horny, I’m still not sure—friendly, then he’s been damn welcoming. “There’s still some room for improvement of course, but I’m trying to follow your advice.”
I’ve even stopped nagging people about misusing the recycling bins. I can’t figure out what’s so difficult about putting plastic in the bin labeled “plastics” and cans in the “aluminum” tub. But have I complained? No. Instead I’ve pretended not to notice, then gone through each of the containers after hours to sort them properly.
I’m embarrassed to admit I don’t do it because I’m passionate about saving the environment. I do it to avoid another confrontation with the guy who picks up our recycling once a week. He let me have it the first time we met, and I’m scared of a repeat performance.
I doubt Anderson cares about these particulars. “We’re making progress.”
“I’ve noticed. That’s why I brought you in here.” He slides a manila folder across the desk.
Cautiously, I open it and read the top page. I glance up. “It’s the rest of the directions for the website redesign.”
“Right, well, you’ve been anxious to finish, and you only slowed up on the project because I asked.” He tugs at his tie and clears his throat again. “These came in over the weekend, and I figured . . . why not? You’ve gone to great lengths to please us, maybe it’s our turn to return the favor.”
The backs of my eyes burn, and I blink hard. I’m so touched, I won’t even complain about him printing the instructions out instead of sending me the digital file over email.
This is exactly what I need right now. It’s the kind of mind-numbing, boring work that will keep me from pitying myself. And after it’s done, I’ll feel like I’ve accomplished something. Not even J.J. and his stupid fantasy league will be able to take that away from me.
“Thanks, boss.”
“You’re welcome.” He nods toward the door. “Now get to it.”
I find Wade pacing in the hall. Noticing my approach, he narrows the gap with a few longs strides. “Do you have a few minutes?” he asks.
“Sure.” I gesture for him to step into my office. “What’s up?”
He closes the door and lowers his voice. “Are you okay?”
I eye him cautiously. “Yes . . .”
“Because we were worried when you didn’t come watch the game with us yesterday.” He runs a hand through his hair. “J.J. can be a real dick sometimes, and what he said Friday night wasn’t appropriate.”
“No, it wasn’t,” I agree.
“We aren’t all like him. I swear.” Wade drops into the chair reserved for guests. “You should be angry with us.”
I lower myself into my chair and cautiously eye him. “I should?”
“Definitely.” He picks at an invisible piece thread on his pressed black pants. “I’m sorry we weren’t nicer and more welcoming when you started here. You were new in town and new to the office. Instead of being welcoming or friendly, we pouted about the changes you made. Changes you were under direct orders to make. Some of us see that now.”
“It’s fine.”
“That’s going to change.” Wade unclenches his jaw. “Gio and I . . . we have your back.”
“You do?”
“Yes. If anyone else gives you grief at work, we’ll set them straight.”
“Because you feel bad about J.J.?”
“Because you deserve it.” He offers a weak smile. “You’ll have a fan section cheering you on next week.”
I frown. “Next week?”
“When you go up against J.J.”
“Really?” Someone actually wants me to win a game?
“Definitely. It’s about time one of us takes that guy down a peg. Why not you?”
Why not me indeed.
OUT OF HABIT I FIND myself at the crocheting and knitting store on Thursday an hour before kickoff. Now that Meg and I have finished our class, and the advanced session doesn’t start until mid-January, I need a project to keep myself occupied during the games.
What was it my Nana used to say about idle hands? That they made for the devil’s work? I’m not sure worrying about my team counts as the devil’s work, but unless I keep my idle hands busy, I’ll end up with an ulcer or heart attack before the playoffs.
I poke through a bin of heavy yarns hoping to find some green and yellow skeins of yarn. I want to make some hats and scarves for the Packers fans in my life for Christmas. I push aside a nasty brown and find the perfect shade of green. A little more digging turns up a cheesy gold that will do the trick.
I also manage to locate near-perfect color matches for a few other teams. The Lions, the Broncos, the Bears—oh my!—which I promptly toss into my basket. Maybe I can win over some of my league-mates with hats and scarves to match their teams.
“Harper?” I turn and come face-to-face with Amelia MacLaughlin.
She’s carrying her own overflowing basket of yarn. “Looks like you have quite a few projects to work on.”
“Something like that.” I flash a guilty grin. “I mostly like to stock up when the price is right and I find something I love.”
“That’s generally my approach, too.” Which would drive Nana nuts, God rest her soul. She wasn’t one for frivolous expenses, and $4.99 on a skein of yarn that didn’t have a specific purpose was the definition of frivolity.
“What are you working on?” she asks.
“Nothing special.”
“Future projects for game watching?” She laughs at my surprise. “Brook mentioned that you sometimes bring your work along on Sundays.”
“It’s a good way to relieve stress.”
“Absolutely. That’s actually why I’m here. Brook told me about your game day projects, and I was struck with inspiration for my own future football viewing ventures.” Amelia shifts the basket from one arm to the other. “I’m hoping to start something new for tonight’s game.”
“Me, too.”
“Where are you watching?”
“At home. Wade invited me over to their place tonight, but . . .” I trail off and chew on the inside of my cheek. “I’m not in the mood for bro time.”
Which is what I’ll deal with when I get back to my house too, unfortunately. There’s no escaping men in my life. It’s a wonder I haven’t grown a beard or had my voice drop an octave based on how much testosterone I have fuming around me.
“Me, too,” Amelia says. “The girls and I are hopefully planning to make it a quiet evening at home. That means pizza for all and wine for me once they hit the sack.”
“That sounds like a nice night.”
Amelia once again readjusted the weight she’s carrying in her arms. “So, I realize you’re my brother’s friend and this might seem strange but . . . want to come over? There will be plenty of pizza, and God knows I don’t need to drink a whole bottle of wine by myself. We can have ourselves a project-making/game-watching girl’s night.”
“I’ll bring the wine,” I say after taking too long to consider. “Tell me where to be and when.”
I’M GLAD I SAID YES. This will seem sudden, and it’s probably completely uncool for me to admit this, but I have to get this out. I am crazy about Amelia. I may even adore-bordering-on-love her. Who wouldn’t after spending a few hours and half a bottle of wine in her company?
The moment I set foot in her little house, which isn’t too far from where I live, it’s like I’m home. The girls pull me around for the five-minute tour, of which four minutes were spent showing me the new dollhouse the Major made for them over the summer.
“He’s building a second house for Christmas,” Amelia whispered to me while the girls were too busy arguing about the appropriate placement of a bed to notice. “There have been some roommate issues, and he hopes another one will settle them. It’ll probably end up starting World War III instead when the girls get into a fist-fight over who gets to move out into the new digs.”
After we’ve eaten way too much pizza, belly laughed enough to ensure proper indigestion, and put the girls to bed, the real fun begins. We curl up on the couch with fresh glasses of wine and our latest handiwork projects piled between us. Amelia mutes the TV so we can try to follow the second half of the game without it interrupting our conversation.
Halfway through our second glasses, we’ve covered the most important subjects. Like who was our favorite member of ‘NSYNC and where we were when we heard Ben Affleck and Jennifer Garner had broken up. We talk about our jobs and what other things we’d maybe want to do with our lives if having an income wasn’t so necessary. It’s after this that Amelia opens up about her past.
“We started dating when I was a freshman. It was my first time living away from home. He was my first serious boyfriend. I took advantage of both situations.” Amelia stares into her glass of red wine. “Bryan was a nice enough guy. He played on the practice squad with my brother. And he was one of the players who actually had a little cash stashed away. That meant he could take me out to dinners—fancy ones by my standards at the time. He treated me well and put up with the dramatics I thrived on. That seemed a lot like love to me.”
She sets aside the glass and picks up her project again. It’s a baby blanket made of soft pinks and purples. “I ended up pregnant junior year. It wasn’t planned, but it wasn’t my first scare either. We’d been careless with protection in the past. I can’t even blame a lack of sex ed. I understood what could happen. But I believed I was the exception to the rule that unprotected sex can result in a child.”
“We’re at our most invincible when we’re young, or at least in our heads we are.”
Amelia nods. “We opted not to get married then. Bryan didn’t want to be a cliché with a shotgun wedding, and I didn’t want to be fat in photos. We said we’d get married someday. So, I took a semester off of school and had Marley. I started classes again part-time, and he took a decent job after graduation. A couple of years later I was pregnant again, and we had Ellery. We didn’t even bother pretending we’d get married. By then we both understood we weren’t cut out for till death do us part. At least not with each other.”
“It’s hard to let go of the first love.” I can appreciate that from my own experience. “Even when we understand we’re not in it for forever, it’s hard to walk away.”
Amelia’s voice shakes when she says, “I love my daughters with every bit of my heart. We did our best to set aside our differences for their well-being, but . . . we weren’t ready to become parents. Neither of us had a good enough grip on our own lives, on our relationship, to have any business bringing other lives into this world.”
“You’re a great mom. Those girls are smart, funny, and unstoppable. And in a few years, they’re going to grow up into bright, witty women who can beat everyone in my fantasy football league.”
“They are their uncle’s nieces.” She drops her knitting needles again. “I’m lucky I have a family to support me. I’m lucky I have a brother who was willing to step in and be a father-like figure when their dad decided he couldn’t handle being a full-time parent and took a job with a chemical company in Saudi Arabia. If not for Brook . . . I’d be lost. We’d get by financially. Bryan never misses a child support payment. But he only comes back once or twice a year and only for a few days. Brook is their day-to-day. He does it without me asking. He supports me without judgment—has never questioned my decisions and the consequences. I’ll never be able to repay him for doing that for me.”
He doesn’t want to be paid back. I almost say it, but I’m sure Amelia realizes that, too. It doesn’t ease her desire to balance the scales again.
“Your brother is a good man.”
“The best.” She wipes away the few tears that managed to slip out. “Which reminds me . . . what’s going on with you two?”
“Nothing,” I say too quickly and her eyebrows rise. “He’s nice to me, and . . . he’s a friend.”
“Oh no! You’re going to put my brother in the friend zone already? Poor guy.”
I give her a pointed look. “You’re also familiar with the friend zone, aren’t you?” I ignore her gasp at my not so subtle hint about her feelings for Wade. “But maybe we both have our reasons for not jumping into anything. It’s one thing to have a relationship end when the basis is lust or butterflies. But when there’s more at a stake—a friendship you count on—it’s hard to want to rock the boat.”
Amelia nods then clears her throats. “I heard what happened on Friday night.”
“Brook told you?” So much for being Mr. Nice. Being a gossiper does not fall under the parameters of being perfect.
“No.”
“Then who?”
She doesn’t say, but I make the connection. Oh. Wade told her.
“We don’t believe what he said. J.J. is all about tall tales and stirring up trouble.”
I’m touched by her support, but I can’t be the martyr in this story. Not when I’m undeserving. “What he said was closer to the truth than being a lie.”
“And I’ll be glad to hear the real story whenever you’re ready.”
I stare into Amelia’s eyes, the same light blue as Brook’s, and I realize that now is the time. I top off each of our glasses of wine and settle back in my seat to tell her about Dallas.
Week Five Recap: Team Harper is in it to Lose it
We can sum up Team Harper’s five consecutive loss streak in five simple words: You’ve gotta be kidding me.
I . . . no, you know what, I can’t. Not even going to bother. Good luck to you, Team Harper. I hope you have something else going on in your life because if you’re depending on fantasy football to find happiness or success, you’ll be severely disappointed.
Team Harper goes up against the top team in the league in Week Six. She’ll need more than the power of prayer to sneak in a win.
Record: 0-5
Chapter Fourteen
A STAMPEDE OF FEET and shrieking laughter jolts me awake. My heart still racing, I crack open one eye. I’m in my bed. At Scott’s house. And the chaos around me isn’t a military invasion, but my nephew playing an epic game of tag with Christopher. It’s also morning. My eyes scrunch back shut. I should have covered the windows last night. I keep forgetting.
I push myself up on my elbows. Forget about the light. Who could sleep through this circus? I grab my phone and sigh. It’s barely eight. Way too early to be awake on a Sunday.
While the frenzy continues upstairs, I check my fantasy lineup. I had my backup wide receiver playing the flex position in Thursday night’s game. He did well. No, he was amazing. His pe
rformance surpassed the projections, and I might actually be able to breathe today.
I frown at the questionable rating next to my star running back’s name. Tony Moor has been on the questionable list most of this season. He screwed me over last week, so to be safe I check my go-to fantasy blogger’s remarks.
Moor resumed light practice on Friday and put up good numbers. Coaches indicate he will be active during today’s 1 p.m. EST game. While his knee continues to be an issue, team owners can still expect a solid showing on the field.
I snort. Even with a bum knee, Moor does better than most of his counterpoints performing at their peak condition.
Scrolling through the rest of the list, I switch out my tight end. Troy Westerman did a great job in week one but didn’t do much in the three weeks since. Time to give someone else another chance. And I picked up Alden Wynn, a sleeper who was still available in the waiver wire earlier this week. Wait. The fantasy football guru didn’t give him a good projection for this week. I check who he’s playing against. Unfortunately, they’re good. Who is Hunter playing? Oh. They’re bad. Maybe the worst team in the league. Pursing my lips I switch to Harley Hunter, the backup tight end I drafted.
None of this makes sense. The only sure bet on my team continues to be Todd Northwood. Everyone else seems to be hit or miss depending on the week.
I rub my eyes again. What a mess. How did I end up caring this much? I joined the league to make a few friends. Now, well, now I want to start winning because I hate losing.
We’ll find out my chances of winning or losing in a few hours when the games start. Until then, I have a few tasks to take care of: bathroom, breakfast, then primping. I slip out of bed and into my bathrobe. I pull open the door in time to hear a huge thump. My nephew’s wail suggests his game of tag hasn’t ended well. Gazing longingly up the stairs to where an empty bathroom surely awaits me, I wonder if I should make sure no one is bruised or bleeding before I take care of my needs. I move toward the stairs.
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