Page 101 of Player Misconduct
She says, as if she knows more about Kendall’s feelings than I do. I’m sure she does.
"Okay," Vivi says, wiping her eyes and pulling out her phone. "Let's talk about staging. We need furniture, obviously. The crib you already bought—genius. We'll add the rocking chair, a dresser, maybe a bookshelf for all the Finnish folklore you're definitely going to read to this baby."
"My mom already sent me a few boxes of things. New things, and stuff from when I was a baby. I think you’ll be able to use most of it," I say.
"That’s perfect." She grins. "Also, we need art. I'm thinking soft neutrals, maybe some constellation prints to tie in with the star map?"
"Vivi," Trey says gently. "He just bought the house."
"And now we're making it a home," she says, undeterred. "We have a week before the lamaze class, and the opening game, right? That’s plenty of time for the painters and the furniture to arrive. You said no budget right? Because I’ll have to pay rush fees for everything."
“Right. Whatever it takes for her to love the house.”
I look around the room again, imagining it filled. The crib. The chair. Kendall rocking our son to sleep in the corner. Him learning to crawl on the floor here.
"One week. I want her in before the start of the season." I echo.
Vivi squeezes my arm. "Trust me. We've got this. Leave it up to me."
That night, I'm back at my apartment, staring at the photos I took of the nursery. The empty room that won't stay empty much longer. The window that will frame morning light. The closet that will hold tiny clothes and soft blankets and all the things I'm secretly buying online when I should be sleeping.
My phone buzzes.
Kendall:Are you awake?
My heart does that stupid jump it always does when her name lights up my screen.
Me:Yeah. You okay?
Kendall:Can't sleep. He's doing gymnastics.
I smile.
Me:Want me to come over? I can bore him into submission with hockey stats.
Kendall:What an offer.
Me:That's not a no.
Three dots. Then—
Kendall:Actually… yeah. If you're not too tired.
I'm already grabbing my keys.
Twenty minutes later, I'm standing outside her door, takeout bag in one hand, a heating pad in the other. She opens the door in leggings and one of my old hoodies—the one she "forgot" to take off the morning after she stayed the night at my apartment. It looked too damn good on her to ask for it back, and I like thinking of her wearing something of mine. "You brought food," she says, eyeing the bag.
"You said you couldn't sleep. That usually means you also forgot to eat."
She sighs. "You're annoyingly observant."
"Comes with the full package. Some traits you’re going to like, some, you're not, but you’re stuck with me now," I say, stepping inside.
Her apartment smells like lavender and ginger—from the tea she’s been drinking that my mom keeps sending her. The star map is framed on the wall above her couch, coordinates glowing softly in the lamplight. Every time I see it, something in my chest loosens.
“Can I take that back? Just for a few days? I want to make some changes to it.” I tell her, pointing to the framed coordinates.
She looks at it as if she’s not willing to part with it, but then she nods.
