4th & Girl

“Not bad for a rookie,” he said with a slap to my shoulder, rounding the bench to get in front of me.

I crooked a smile, but he turned serious, and I took notice. Serious hadn’t been his MO in the few months I’d really known him, and it certainly hadn’t been with me.

He was always busting my balls, giving me shit, or testing me on the field with the help of Sean.

But we’d just played our first game of the season—a 21-to-14 win over Tampa—and while it wasn’t an all-star performance on my part by any means, I hadn’t fucked anything up too badly either. I was counting it as a win. At least, I had been until he’d turned serious.

“What’s up?” I asked with nerves I was hoping didn’t show.

“Not bad for a first game.”

I shrugged, unwilling to get my hopes up that he was actually giving me a compliment. I hadn’t really earned it, and his behavior prior definitely hadn’t taught me to expect it.

“Look, I’m not washing your balls here. You weren’t some fucking star out there, but you were something better. You were a team player, and I gotta tell you, that’s a fuck of a lot more important than trying to showboat.”

My muscles tensed as I tried to take it all in.

The praise felt nice, but the direction felt better. I could focus my energy a hell of a lot better if I felt reinforced in where I was putting it.

“The guys noticed. That’s huge. Don’t waste the opportunity.”

With a bump of his shoulder, he pushed past me and out the locker room door, and I sank to the bench beside my bag.

My nerves were shot, my adrenaline was through the roof, but I’d just gotten the okay from one of the most important players on this team and the advice I needed not to fuck it up.

Immediately, the first person I always wanted to celebrate with came to mind.

My biggest friend. My greatest champion. My Nonna.

Digging for my phone in the outside pocket of my bag, I pulled it out and typed a quick text.

She was geriatric, but she was forward-thinking, and according to our last FaceTime chat, I was supposed to text her just like one of the “cool kids”. Mind you, those were her words, not mine.

I nearly laughed at the memory of her face as she said that to me and typed in her number to hit send.

Me: Hey, Nonna. Just got done with my first game. Wish you could have been here.

Nonna: I watched, don’t worry. Of course, if I saw you more often, I might have been able to pick up some tickets and come.

The old biddy knew she could get tickets to a game anytime she wanted, but obviously, my Nonna had a flair for the dramatic.

I chuckled at her near-immediate jump into guilting me and typed out another message.

Me: I know it’s been too long. But I’ve been a little busy, you know. Playing pro football doesn’t exactly equate to a plethora of free time.

Nonna: Horseshit. There’s always time for your Nonna. I could even do some exercises with you.

Me: That’s sweet, but I don’t know that exercising with you would be a good enough workout.

Nonna: Are you trying to say I’m not fit? I’ve been doing them Jane Fonda videos.

Me: Yeah, that’s great, but I haven’t seen Jane take on a guy who weighs 350 pounds.

Nonna: Oh, she could. Believe you me. Jane can take on anyone with her goddamn thighs alone.

I grimaced at the visual and raised the white flag via text.

Me: Okay, Nonna. Whatever you say. I’ll have to take your word for it.

Nonna: You should take all my words. And I’d be happy to give them to you at lunch next week.

Me: Subtle, Nonna.

Nonna: Subtle is for schoolgirls and priests, and I’m neither of those. I’ll see you next week. Maybe that’ll stop my beloved sister Darla from rolling over in her grave.

I laughed at the timely mention of my dead grandmother and admired my Nonna’s spunk. It was one of the reasons I loved her most, and the number one reason I didn’t want to think about her not being around one day. It also made it easy to feel bad about not seeing her, even when she wasn’t slathering on a thick coating of guilt. With my parents’ recent relocation to Florida, she was the only local family I had left.

Me: Okay. I’ll try to make lunch one day next week work.

Nonna: I’ll see you then.

Me: I said I’d try.

Nonna: Wednesday at noon works good for me too.

Me: Nonna…

Nonna: Bye now. Love you, dear.

My laughter echoed through the locker room as I shook my head. Man, she was a pistol.

Me: I’ll let you know.

Nonna: Dress nice. I want you to meet someone.