Blessings
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“Damn!” A.D. curses, “What a shot!” She shakes her head, feeling frustrated and slightly in awe of the angle in which the goal was scored.
“There was nothing Bix could do,” Tobin observes, a sly smile on her face, “That was a crazy goal.”
A.D. elbows her lightly, “Yer girl got a hattrick!”
Tobin shrugs but beams with pride, “I’m glad she played,” she says, “she needed to,”
A.D. nods knowingly, “Yeah,” she agrees, “she’s been pretty wound up,”
Tobin nods absently, thinking it must be pretty damn apparent for her to observe Christen’s behavior.
“She’s been struggling since her Mom,” she states quietly.
A.D. sighs, “Yeah, I know,” she says, “we talked about it,”
That surprises Tobin, making her turn her head to look at the goalkeeper.
A.D. just smiles, “We talk, ya know,” she says easily.
Tobin rolls her eyes, “Yeah, I know,” she pauses, “wait, really?”
A.D. nods and shrugs, “With all the BLM stuff and the new Black Players org, we talk.”
Tobin nods, “Has she said how she’s doing?” Tobin asks tentatively, frowning.
A.D. eyes her, seeing her worry. “It’s been a tough year,” she states, “the whole racial thing coming to the forefront,” she sighs, rubbing the side of her head, “I wasn’t prepared for that. It brought up a lot of stuff, ya know? And the pandemic, having to quarantine…” she gives her a tired look, “it takes a lot out of ya. You know that,”
Tobin nods.
“She’s down,” A.D. states matter of factly, “there’s no doubt about it. But she’s not ready to climb herself out yet.”
Tears well in Tobin’s eyes, “I so wish she was,” she whispers.
“I do too,” A.D. agrees, laying a hand on Tobin’s thigh, “Who knows,” she grins at her, “maybe what happened to you will be one of those blessings in disguise you always talk about.”
Tobin arches an eyebrow at her, “Huh,” she considers, “yeah, who knows.” It gives her something to think about.
And she does.
Ten minutes later, the Thorns pull out a win despite Christen’s hattrick. A.D. reluctantly lets Tobin convince her to go home when Tobin repeatedly assures her she would be fine for an hour on her own. It feels strange to be alone. She walks through the condo, just looking, as if she’s reacquainting herself with the place after being gone for a long time. She rolls her eyes fondly when she sees the few pieces of today’s unopened mail in a neat stack on the narrow table in the hallway by the front door. That’s her Mom’s doing and she’s positive she’ll find other little details from her visit.
She opens the louvered doors in the hallway to expose the laundry area. One glance in the filled basket of clean clothes she sees that Perry was on a mission. She can tell just from how the clothes are folded. When she enters the kitchen she glances in the cabinets knowing Tyler and Channing, in their effort to help out with the dishes, have most likely placed items in their incorrect spot and Christen will grumble about it with a smile until it’s reorganized to how they should be.
Tobin also knows not to do the reorganizing while Christen is here, it’s one of those tasks she wants to do herself and she respects it. The unspoken rule is that Tobin has full license to finish whatever may be misplaced after Christen leaves.
She doesn’t need to look around to know that her Father has checked the furnace filter and most likely replaced it while also giving a once over to the lint trap and vent on the dryer while he was here. She knows Cody has sharpened their cooking knives and no doubt tsked about how dull had they become and wonder aloud how either her or Chris hadn’t cut off a digit.
Her brother Jeffrey will leave some Post-It notes with random quotes or jokes in strange places. She’s found them before inside the cabinet doors, the freezer, inside the second bathroom shower, on her PS3 system and elsewhere. He’s also known to create little people out of tin foil and leave them around as well. It makes her smile.
She looks through the pantry for a snack, shaking her head with how Katie has straightened it up with the labels of the cans and boxes facing forward. Dissatisfied with the selection, she moves to the refrigerator. She usually will have some fruit or a yogurt but she figures she won’t be playing for a while so it won’t hurt anything to sneak a treat. In the freezer she finds a box of ice cream sandwiches. The old school ones like she used to get as a kid from the ice cream truck that would linger by the soccer fields when she seven or eight years old. The completely unhealthy, not sure if it’s real ice cream and let’s not even think of what the sandwich part made of treat. A treat she would never buy, no matter how bad she was PMSing. Her Mom must have bought them, she figures.
It takes a minute to unwrap it one handed, clumsily tearing at the thin waxed paper enough to shake it free. Tobin can’t remember how long it’s been since she had one of these, licking at the already melting vanilla quasi-ice cream. She tries not think of how many chemicals she is putting into her body at the moment and just enjoy it.
She moves to the couch, sitting on the opposite side, using a pillow under her right arm for support. She feels like she’s made an imprint of her butt on the chaise and gives it a rest for a while. Unfortunately, she realizes she only has one hand, which is holding the ice cream sandwich. She can’t use the remote and the screen is showing the message that her event is over. She rolls her eyes and huffs in between bites, then shakes her head at herself for being so impatient.
It only takes under two minutes before she’s eaten the whole thing. She’s surprised she didn’t get an ice cream headache or brain freeze then considers again if it truly was ice cream anyway. She picks up the remote, navigating the screen to find something to watch. She mindlessly scrolls around for a few minutes before clicking on one of those shows where buyers are finding the perfect lake house to buy. She settles in to watch, using her good hand to pull the ever present blanket over herself, slightly annoyed because it takes so long and multiple attempts to get herself covered up. She leans back into her comfortable slouch and puts her feet on the coffee table, content to just chill and look at the interesting houses.
She’s watched nearly two half hour episodes when she hears the key in the door lock.
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