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“We’re so proud!” Elle added.
Four sisters, all Georgia grads.
My mom pulled me into a hug next. And then Josie shrieked loud enough that the rest of the people in the stands looked at us.
There were tears in her eyes as she found me. “The network picked it up,” she said, her voice barely a whisper.
“Josie!” I gasped.
“Oh my God!” Marley said.
“I start shooting the rest of the season next week!”
We all jumped up and down for another brilliant reason. I’d never felt luckier to be surrounded by such an incredible group of women. I might not have any of the men in my life, but I had this. And this was good enough for right now.
Part II
19
Atlanta
May 29, 2015
“Hey, new girl.” A woman snapped her fingers at me.
I blinked at her, trying to remember her name. Kristen, Kirsten, Krista? I wasn’t sure, but I forced down my snarky response. I was the new girl after all. I’d done my time, completed physical therapy school, and I was only one week into my new job as an Atlanta Falcons physical therapist and athletic trainer.
“Yes? How can I help?”
“Ferguson wants a coffee. Here’s his order.” She passed me a piece of paper with the coffee order for the head athletic trainer.
And when the boss said he needed something, it was better to jump than ask questions.
So, I jumped, heading back out of the training room and into the main break room with its fancy espresso machine. Three years in physical therapy school, and I was back to making coffee runs.
It was hard to complain when I finally had my dream job. Sure, I’d had that momentary existential crisis, where I worried this wasn’t what I wanted to do, but I’d come around quickly after graduation. I’d worked my ass to get here. Eventually, someone else in the training room would acknowledge that. I’d have to prove myself and work my way up like anyone else.
The break room was relatively empty. I headed straight to the espresso machine and stared down at it. Someone had shown me how it worked a few days ago, and I eventually made it how Ferguson liked it before returning to the training room. I wordlessly handed him the coffee. He didn’t thank me. Then, I went back to my work, which was currently cleaning out a whirlpool. The grunt work wasn’t beneath me, but man, I wanted to do more.
By the end of the day, I was beat and ready to have a good, long soak with a much-needed glass of wine.
“Hey, new girl!” the same woman said.
I faced her. “It’s Lila. Lila Greer.”
“Right, Lila. Thanks. I’m shit with names.” She was beaming. “I’m Kristen Ng.”
We shook hands. “Nice to officially meet you.”
“Yeah, I know you’ve had a rough time since you started. Ferguson is in a real mood. Training camp is still six weeks away, but he’s pissed about everything.”
I chuckled. “Seems to be his MO.”
“Yeah, I’ve been here three years, and he’s never exactly been warm and fuzzy.”
She slid out of her jacket as we walked out of the overly air-conditioned building and into the Atlanta summer sun. Post–Memorial Day weekend until almost Halloween was Georgia’s blistering summer. It stretched humid and oppressive for months and months. I’d always loved it, but a part of me missed the Savannah breeze off of the Atlantic.
“A few of us are meeting up at The Ivy later. No Ferg in sight. You interested?”
“Definitely,” I said eagerly.
I’d been desperate for friends. I’d lived in Atlanta for a year after graduation, but gone to PT school out of the city. Only two weeks back in Atlanta, I’d realized that my friends from my Falcons cheer days were long gone. Josie was in LA right now. Marley had defended her dissertation and would be starting as faculty at Emory this fall. But she wasn’t here yet, and I missed people.
“Cool. We’re meeting up at eight.”
We exchanged numbers, and I agreed to meet her there. I left work with more pep in my step than I’d had in a while.
The Ivy Buckhead was practically an institution in Atlanta at this point. It was the place to be for young professionals. After college, I’d spent many nights in the converted mansion with my fellow cheerleaders. It felt like homecoming, returning to spend time with my colleagues.
I’d grabbed a quick shower before blowing out my long hair, which had long outgrown the bleached highlights from college and was back to its natural ash-blonde. I’d paired a teal sundress with strappy brown sandals, and I entered The Ivy.
I scanned the first floor, bypassing the bar to see if I could locate Kristen. I found her in a red-and-white patterned strapless jumpsuit at a booth in the back. She jumped up onto her platform heels and gestured for me to follow her.
