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I want back what Pen and Win had, even if all I ever get are emails.
I look back up, still surrounded by players celebrating, to find Penelope staring down at us on the ice with her arms folded and deep in thought. She might be watching our team celebrate, but something tells me she’s staring straight at me.
Before post-game media, Tessa, the Hawkeyes PR and media manager, told me that I would be going in first.
“This is your night to shine. The lion's den wants you. But don’t worry; I can tame them if they step out of line. Are you ready?” she asks.
“Bring on the questions,” I tell her.
I’ve never shied away from the spotlight, but public speaking doesn’t make me clam up as it does for other players.
With only a limited amount of time per player, it isn’t long before all of us are through media and headed to Oakley’s.
I pull out my phone that’s been on vibrate since I walked into the stadium earlier today.
An email notification waits to be opened, and I click it instantly as I walk down a couple of blocks to Oakley’s, following Seven, Reeve, and Brett by foot as other players drive.
It’s from Penelope, and the time stamp puts this email right before we went out on the ice. She was sitting above me in the owner’s box while she typed this.
From: SkatrGirlPen
To: WinTheDay067
Win,
I’m sorry it’s taken me several days to respond back. Your emails came out of nowhere and even though I have no idea how I feel about it, I can’t deny that your timing is at a time when I could really use a friend. Someone to give me advice like you did before.
I hit reply and send her an email.
From: WinTheDay067
To: SkatrGirlPen
Pen,
You never have to apologize for anything. I deserve your resistance, but I hope to make it up to you and prove that I’m not going anywhere this time.
Tell me what’s going on. What advice do you need?
I send it off and then check my text messages. I have over a hundred missed text messages from old buddies in college, my uncle on my mom’s side, a few friends I made in Canada and a couple of cousins from my dad’s side who I get along with better than I do my actual father.
My social media accounts are jam-packed with DM’s from people I don’t know, including women asking what bar I’ll be at tonight. I ignore it all and open the text from my mom who rarely reaches out unless my dad lets her.
Mom: Your father said you won tonight. Congratulations sweetheart. We miss you; come home soon to visit.
I love my mom, but I know that her allegiance lies with my dad.
I pass over all the congratulations texts and open the only one that I know will make me feel like shit, even after a win.
Dad: OK, you got your win. Are you done making me look like a laughingstock in front of my colleagues?
Dad: It’s time to take this seriously and go to medical school. I already talked to the dean. You don’t even have to apply; he’ll let you in as a favor to me.
I click into the messages to send off some snarky, spoiled rich kid comment that he’s sure to expect… but then an email comes through.
Penelope.
I quickly click out and abandon my father’s insults in favor of pretending to be someone else to win over a woman who hates me.
