Page 7 of Secret Santa

Be it the little horsehair stuffed animal, the pep talk from Cash, or a combination of both, by the time I landed in Toronto I felt settled. Less out of my skin with worry. My schedule was a whirlwind of getting the swimmers situated, coaches’ meetings, team updates, and pool warmups that I hardly had time to even entertain my imposter syndrome.

I loved those kids. Both the men’s and women’s teams. Despite constant access to social media, bearing witness to never ending discussions of their talent on the various talking head sports channels, podcasts, and radio shows—they still possessed unfettered excitement and genuine positive attitudes.

“Suddenly the shoe is on the other foot and it’s me that has to schedule time inyourbusy calendar just to get a second to say hello!” Beckett yanked me into a bear hug. “I’ve been trying to track you down for most of the day.”

Even with his fancy tailored pants rolled up at the cuffs and sporting a pair of deck friendly flip flops the guy still looked like a supermodel. I didn’t know how he did it. Not that I had any desire to look like him. I was perfectly content in a pair of jeans and a T-shirt.

“Damn.” Beckett whistled long and low. “These kids are … wow.”

He stood next to me, surveying their practice, commenting on some of them as they hit the wall and their times posted on the board. They were all so focused on getting warmed up no one had noticed that my super star brother had entered the room to watch them.

“Kelsey,” I called to one of my star swimmers, “you’re dropping your hips too low coming out of that turn.”

She took a sip from her water bottle, gave me a thumbs up and pushed off the wall in pursuit of another attempt.

“How many from your team are in time trials?” Beckett asked.

Not everyone on our university team came to FINA. It was for those pursuing spots on USA Swimming, or those who were already part of USAS.

“Ten. Six women, four men, and six backups.”

“They look great.” Beckett watched as Kelsey approached her turn a second time, hips up like I told her, slicing through the water like it owed her something.

“Well, well, well. The Brothers Murray.” Charley Villa, Olympic Golden Boy, and best friend turned mortal enemy of my brother’s, sauntered across the deck, scrubbing the water from his hair. “It’s so sweet that your big brother is giving you pointers on how to coach.”

“So nice to see that that USAS still holds positions open for the dinosaurs of the sport,” I told him. “Be careful on the deck. In your advanced age, you run a greater risk of breaking a bone if you slip and fall.”

* * *

“Look, here’s Jeung’s girlfriend, Sofia.”

Beckett held up a picture of some woman I’d never met. The pair of us finagled a few hours out of our schedules to meet for dinner. Though I did somehow get roped in to appearing on ESPN with Beckett again to discuss my team and their expected performance.

“Doesn’t she look adorable with that tiny basketball in her belly. Lane is going to look a million times cuter. She’s going to be the poster child for adorably pregnant women.”

I honestly couldn’t even wrap my head around it. Two years ago, he was the stone that gathered no moss. Mr. “who has time for a serious relationship” Murray. And now he was almost married and chomping at the bit to start a family? It was as if I existed in another world entirely.

“The last time I met Jeung he was obnoxiously drunk telling me stories about a group of women from the Swedish diving team and a crazy night that a handful of you had. So, no, I can’t picture Jeung as the settling down in a monogamous relationship type, or comfortably comment on his girlfriend’s basketball belly.”

He paid no mind to my objections. Thankfully a phone call pressed paused on the awkward discussion of Beckett’s biological clock running at hyper speed. Of course, I hadn’t expected Fitzy of all people to be the one to call me.

“Damn sugar, you hit that one out of the park. She was squealing like a teenager that just tossed her panties at a rock concert.”

Fitzy’s comment thrilled me and also shot a strange wave of longing through me. I knew when I saw that nutcracker that she would lose her head over it. I just knew it. Logically Fitzy delivering the gift made the most sense, but damn I wish I would have been there to see her face.

“Did she already have one?” I assumed not if she was that excited, but one never knew.

“No but you’re one lucky son of a gun, because her friend Olive works at that bookstore and had one put aside for her. Good thing I got in there when I did, otherwise youwouldhave been giving her something she already had.”

Her voice was all singsongy like she desperately wanted to sayI told you so. Though we’d had no conversations about any gifts I was considering. It was honestly total happenstance. I’d been walking past, not sure what I was going to get, when I saw it in the display window.

“Fitzy, you’re my hero. Is there something I can bring you back from Canada as a thank you?”

“How about one of those Mounties? I always dug a guy in uniform.”

“You mean like a stuffed Mountie?” I asked.

“Please. The real thing. I’m not getting any younger, sugar. I need to fulfill all of my fantasies.”

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