I sighed deeply as I approached the group, knowing that even though I was having a stellar, undefeated season, I would barely get a glance from the group of teenagers.
“Y’all have a good night now.” My dad broke away when he spotted me, his dazzling smile so white it definitely hypnotized the group.
“It’s like you’re allergic to a hat and sunglasses,” I complained. He definitely knew I’d prefer if he went incognito where I was involved.
“Oh, come on Junior, you know I like the attention too much.” He winked. I didn’t have many nicknames except for Nolly, bequeathed to me by my seven year old sister, so unfortunately Junior had taken root and stuck around. I’m not the son my dad always wanted, but at least I played like one, his words, not mine.
“Did you and Mom fly in together?”
“Nah, she was too salty over her loss.”
“Was she salty, or did she know you’d talk shit?”
He looked down at me, humor on his face, “‘Aight, you got me there.”
The frozen yogurt shop was around the corner from the hotel, and surprisingly had two people inside. The evident emptiness on such a busy few days here only meant one thing.
“Did you call and ask for an extra hour, or did you clear the shop out?” I stopped in front of the door, the bright white light from inside beating down on one half of our bodies.
It was not that I hated that my parents—especially my dad—were famous and rich enough to get their way, it was just that they didn’t think about the cost to normal human beings. Was there another father and daughter excited for late night dessert during the most exciting three days of their lives just to see the shop had closed early? What if the employees were excited to call it a night before mega superstar Nolan Williams called up and asked for a favor, and was willing to pay the price?
We were just living in his world.
Nolan shrugged, like it was easy work, when I was willing to bet his assistant, Gabe, had done all the planning. “Just an extra hour for a thousand-dollar tip per employee.”
“Right.”
We stepped into the shop, and I ordered a lactose-free cookies and cream cup because I was too hypersensitive to spiral over what dairy could do to my body right before the second-biggest game of my freshman career. My dad ordered cookie butter and we sat in a corner booth, my dad facing away from the window and me looking out into the street.
I wonder what flavor Brittney would order.
Before I thought logically, I pulled out my phone and shot over a DM asking her favorite flavor. If fate wouldn’t let us run into each other, I guessed I’d just have to hang the moon myself.
“You ready for tomorrow?”
“As ready as I’ll ever be.” I tried to be nonchalant because that’s how I’d been raised. On the inside, every massive opportunity threw my world off kilter. Iwantedto say it’s so crazy that we were undefeated, let alone had made it to the final four, but my parents would tell me that’s expected. They created and supported my career and helped me believe I could be the best when I pushed and applied myself. In the words of my mother, the countless coaches and summers spent in college gyms was all for this moment. To show up and perform well.
So while I was freaking out on the inside, on the outside I was cool as a cucumber. Somewhere between my senior night and getting selected for the U-19 tournament, cool had become my default.
“I’m excited though. I’ve always seen basketball through you and mom’s eyes. So it’s cool just making it because of me and the team.”
“You know what’s one of my favorite things about you?”
“That I have your name?”
My dad laughed, making the freckles dotted under his eyes dance. “You’re not self-absorbed like I am.”
I practically snorted out my ice cream. “No way you actually admitted that.”
“It’s true! You’re not selfish with the ball, you know everyone’s names on your team…”
“You didn’t?” Honestly, that was on brand for Nolan.
“I didn’tcareto. I was only worried about myself and what I was doing on the court. It’s why I chose to enter the draft so early. I knewIwas gonna be good either way.”
Even if the women’s league didn’t have a rule about domestic players needing to be twenty-two years old to enter the draft, finishing college and getting my degree was a no-brainer. Plus, I wanted an as-typical-as-possible college experience I could get.
“Thanks…I guess?”
