Page 101 of Nothing Less Than Everything

“Now,” Dad began, settling back into his recliner. “Let’s see. Last season you had seventeen games played, one hundred and sixty-three targets, a hundred and thirteen receptions, and eleven touchdowns. This season you’re shaping up to surpass those. Not too shabby. I can see you being a hall-of-famer one day. How you feelin’ this season?”

Tatum’s arm around my shoulder kept me anchored as he and my dad chatted about Rhode Island football. My dad could ramble off the stats of every player on the team. He knew where they were ranked in the draft, what college they had played for, who their coaches were, when they were on fire and when they were having an off day. When I’d first made it onto the Ladies in Red, my dad would help quiz me on the facts I had to learn about each player.

The boys had launched into a spirited debate about next season’s draft. As much as I loved football, I wasn’t ready to hear speculations for a new season before the current one had even finished.

I slid out from under Tatum’s arm and tiptoed down the hallway when my dad started talking about Seth McBride. He and Tatum shared the same concerns about the rookie wide receiver. Unlike the beginning of the season where Seth had been a partyboy, Tatum’s influence had been just what he needed. Seth was putting in the work and keeping his nose clean.

Instead of taking a left into the bathroom—where I told Tatum I was going—I strolled to my dad’s bedroom and found myself standing in front of the vanity. A thin layer of dust had settled over the compacts and lipstick tubes. Everything was untouched except for Mom’s daily makeup staples. We had given those to the funeral director.

Her perfume still sat in its rightful place at the top left. It was situated between a card I had given to her last Mother’s Day and a black and white photo of her and my dad cutting their wedding cake. The giant sleeves, oversized bow, and teased hair were decades out of style, but her smile and how my dad looked at her were timeless.

I uncapped the perfume and held it to my nose. Top notes of violet and jasmine were rounded out with a gentle base of sandalwood. Every single day of my life, my mom had spritzed some on her wrists and neck.

A tear slid down my cheek as a gentle mist of the fragrance coated my skin. I sank down onto the padded bench and let myself cry as I stared at the wedding photo.

“I miss you so much,” I whispered. “I wish you were here. I…” A sob caught in my throat, but I didn’t make a peep. “I wish I could talk to you. I wish you could help me figure this out. Things are… Things are good. But they’re changing. I can’t stop time, no matter how much I want to. Whether it’s this season or next or the one after that, I know my body is done dancing—at least with the Reds. And as much as I like what I do with the firm, I don’t know if New York is right for me—rubbing elbows instead of laying tile, hanging fixtures, and throwing up primer and paint. I just don’t know what I’m supposed to be doing.” Sniffing, I dabbed at my eyes. “Why does no one ever tell you that adulthood is a constant cycle of figuring out a question mark, then being handed another?”

I fingered the strand of pearls that spilled from the half-opened jewelry box. “I wish you could have met Tatum. He’s the exact opposite of Preston. Gentle and kind. He’s a great listener. Selfless. I think he brings out the best in me. It’s a side of myself I haven’t seen in a while. Maybe that’s why cheering with the squad doesn’t seem like a good fit anymore. Maybe I’m just getting old, or maybe the red boot’s shine has worn off. I-I don’t know where I’m supposed to be.”

“Right here, love.”

My head snapped to the door where Tatum stood. Gut-wrenching grief washed over me, and I sobbed.

He padded across the carpet and kneeled before me. Gently, he pulled me into his arms and held me tight against his chest. “Right here. This is where you belong.”

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