“Sure, I’ll be here. Have a nice day at work.”
“Thanks, sweety, seeyou later.”
The summer sun shone through the condo. FOX 5 New York predicted a heatwave that was likely to challenge the hottest on record, with temperatures reaching a soaring 104 degrees over a five-day period. Megan had purposefully set her alarm for eight o’clock in the morning; she had to shoot her daily hoops before the weather became unbearable, then she could retreat to the comfort of the air-conditioned condo.
Megan entered the grand open-plan living and dining area, with dark hardwood floors and soaring ceilings. It reminded her of her home in England. The decor was similar to that of her parents’ contemporary barn conversion that was set on seven acres of land; it was a place she adored. The similarities between New York, USA and York, England stopped at the name. The bustling city of New York differed tremendously from the calm, tranquil countryside of York, but Megan was grateful for the opportunity to experience both.
To quench her thirst, a fresh smoothie was in order. The large glass fruit bowl sat delicately on the white marble kitchen surface, housing an array of fruits. This morning, she opted for raspberry, rhubarb, apple and pomegranate—a new concoction. Within minutes, she had a glass full of a pink, fruity blend that pleased her tastebuds.
Like clockwork, her mobile phone rang. It would only be one person at that time in the morning. A phone call from her father was an expectation on a daily basis. England had a time difference of five hours, so they often planned phone calls for a time that suited everyone.
“Hi, Dad.”
Michael Davis was forty-one years old, with brown eyes, a 6’7” athletic frame and a head of grey hair. Often referred to as the ‘silver fox’ by his family and friends, he had gone prematurely grey attwenty-nine.
“Hi, Meg. I wasn’t sure if you’d be awake.”
“The idea of sleeping in did appeal to me, but do you know how hot it’s going to be today? I’ll pass out if I try to work out inthat heat.”
“Your mother mentioned it actually, it’s not quite the same here. I think we will be lucky to hit 17 degrees today.”
Megan often found herself confused between the two; degrees Celsius was used in England to determine the heat, whereas Fahrenheit was used more predominantlyin America.
“I don’t miss the English weather. California hasspoilt me.”
“Have you heard anything fromCheryl yet?”
Cheryl Eagan was a former Division 1 head-coach-turned-agent and Megan’s current representation.
“Not yet. She had those few offers we discussed, so she’s been trying to work out thebest deal.”
“Is it still between Lyon and the Mystics?”
Numerous scenarios had unfolded after an unsuccessful WNBA draft in April of that year. Megan was a 5’8” guard. The league had been looking for more height, which immediately ruled her out. Cheryl had suggested playing in Europe to gain some vital professional experience, which she could then hopefully, one day, take back to the USA. There had been several teams interested after submitting contract demands; the two teams remaining were Lyon or The Mystics—she would be heading to France or returningto England.
“Pretty much, there was a couple of teams in Germany interested, but they fell through.”
“Are you still leaning more towards Lyon?” Megan’s conversations with her dad always started and ended the same way—basketball.
“I think so, but at this point, I just want to be able to play the sport I love at a high level. Whichever team I go to, I’ll give it 110%,” Megan stated withconfidence.
“I know you will. It would be nice to have you back with us. We miss you so much, but I know all about doing what’s best for your career, so I’ll support you no matter what.”
The familiar feeling of nausea returned. Conversations with her family brought to the forefront the homesick feeling she tried so hard to bury. The four years spent at college meant she only saw her family once or twice a year. It was tough, but she became accustomed to the lifestyle; her dream of playing professional basketball requiredthat of her.
“Thanks, Dad. As soon as I know what’s happening, you and Momwill know.”
“How’sAunt Julie?”
“She’s Aunt Julie. No change really. She gets up every day at five in the morning to run on the treadmill for an hour. Spends her evenings responding to emails with a glass of wine. Makes a killer dinner, but rarely ever eats it warm because her phone never stops ringing. You know how she is. We went for lunch yesterday though, that was nice.”
Julie had always been the perfect career role model to Megan. She was successful and driven, but never to the detriment of others. She possessed an overbearing passion to help those in need, which now made her one of the most sought-after therapists in NYC, treating well-known celebrities she couldn’t name for legal reasons. It took up a large part of her life. One day, Megan asked her if she would ever have a work/life balance, to which she replied,‘There is no such thing as a work/life balance. If you love what you do, then your work becomes your mission in life and the two become combined.’That statement alone made Megan more determined to play professional basketball; it was her mission in life, her calling, and she would stop at nothing toachieve it.
“That’s nice. I’m glad you’re spending some time together; she loves havingyou there.”
“I love being here. I miss New York, it’s always nice to be back. Will you be coming over at any point this summer?” Megan hoped she could see her parents sooner ratherthan later.
“We will see. I have a lot of work on at the moment, but maybe sometime in August. It depends where you are, doesn’t it? I might be flying out to Lyon.”
