Page 94 of Player Misconduct
A screenshot fills my screen of a text exchange between me and my sister. It was training camp week one.
Me (last year):I just met my future wife today. She’s the team doctor.
Heat climbs up my neck. I remember hitting send and tossing the phone face-down like the words might explode.
Me (now):I was jet-lagged.
Saara:You were in love, and you still are. Go set up your fairy lights, Romeo.
I’m still smiling when the knock comes. Not a timid tap. Three decisive knocks that sound like a woman who has a city to run, a team to hold together, and a baby boy casually growing inside her.
I text Saara back quickly.
Me:She’s here.
Then I pocket the phone and open the door.
Kendall stands there in a soft black sweater dress and sneakers, hair braided over one shoulder, cheeks bright as if she walked three blocks fast and argued with herself the whole way. She smells like coconut shampoo and not her usual doctor smell. It hits me in the sternum in a way that has nothing to do with my lungs.
“Hi,” she says, cautious but smiling.
“Hi,” I say, trying not to stare at the curve of her belly, currently protecting our son as he grows, hopefully with a stronger heart than mine. “You’re right on time.”
“I only live a few blocks away,” she deadpans. “Even I can’t mess that up.”
I lift the picnic basket. “Good. Because I… may have planned a thing.”
“A thing?”
“Are you okay with a rooftop picnic? I might have bribed the stars too.”
The corner of her mouth tugs. “You’re bribing the stars now?”
“Only with dessert.”
“Okay,” she says softly. “Show me.”
We take the elevator up and then the extra stairs, the wind cooler on the roof, the city flaring to life around the Commons like someone flicked the dimmer from moody to gold. I’ve spent the last two hours transforming the corner by the pergola into something not even the most jaded part of me can call anything but romantic: fairy lights strung along the lattice, lanterns low, a thick blanket spread wide, mismatched cushions like a soft barricade against the world. The telescope stands beside it like a quiet conspirator. Seattle hums below us—headlights threading the streets, the bay a black mirror cut by a ferry’s light.
Kendall stops. “Aleksi…”
“It’s not much,” I start.
“It’s beautiful.” She says it like a fact she can’t talk herself out of.
I lift the basket onto the blanket. “Sit. Eat. Pretend we’ve always done this in the right order and I didn’t…” I gesture vaguely at her belly. “Get enthusiastic before asking you out.”
She chuckles. “Enthusiastic? Is that what we're calling failed condoms now?”
“I’m working on my PG version of events. We’re going to have little ears here soon enough.”
Her laugh breaks open the last of my tension. I pour sparkling water into tumblers, plate the food: still-warm mushroom and truffle flatbreads from the place across the street that Scottie says has the best food, roasted carrots with yogurt, a tangy apple salad with butter lettuce, a little box of cardamom buns because Saara previews the menu for me to make sure I was picking the best ideas and told me if I didn’t include the cardamom buns that I’d lose Kendall forever to a man with better taste in food.
I was going to cook but when I told Saara she told me that mom’s always been biased and my cooking is not that great.
“So,” I say, passing her a plate. “The doctor is allowed to eat carbs tonight?”
“The doctor is allowed to eat anything that doesn’t smell like onions.” She stares at the flatbread like it might make vows to her. “This smells like heaven.”
