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Unlocking the large PO Box, I see a handful of letters and one small box. I pull out the folded cloth tote I keep in my purse and stuff all the mail into the bag. I tell Barb to have a great day as I push through the revolving door back into the freezing cold.
I’ve sipped my piping hot mocha enough that I’ve got about half a cup left when I make it back to my apartment. Remembering to get my own mail, I head toward the small mail room when I hear a grumble from around the corner. I slow, peeking my head in, and see it’s Gia.
“I thought I recognized that grumble,” I quip as I walk to my mailbox.
Gia is bent down with her arm halfway disappearing into a mailbox. Looking up at me, she tries to smile, but it comes out more pained.
“Hey, Bern.” And then she starts pulling her arm out as envelopes and magazines and flyers fall to the floor at her feet.
“Whoa, what’s all that?” My eyes go wide. That’s a lot of mail.
“Oh, you know, only about a month’s worth of mail. I was today years old when I learned that the grown man I love and his roommates are incapable of adulting.” She swears as she looks down at the pile of mail.
I unlock my own box, seeing only a couple of items. “Translation: you found out the guys haven’t checked the mail in a while.”
“Bingo.” She squats and starts piling the mail together. I snag my own and close my box. I bend, grabbing a postcard off the floor and handing it to her.
“Hey, so I could use some girl time,” Gia says, finally standing with so much stinking mail that I can’t help shaking my head. “What are you doing tonight?” Gia glances at the mound in her hand and grumbles, “This is ridiculous.”
I giggle. “It really is. It’s why I make a trip to the post office once a week and clean out our PO Box.” We walk out of the mail room together. “I’d love some girl time, but I’m going rock climbing tonight.”
“Oh, that’s fun. I haven’t been in years. It’s fun—hard work but fun. Who ya going with?”
“Just a friend.” It comes out quickly, and I’m not exactly sure why I don’t tell her I’m going with Wade. Gia’s eyebrow quirks, but she doesn’t say anything.
“Actually, I’m not sure if it’s just a friend or not,” I say more to myself than her, but she grabs ahold of it and runs.
“Talk to me, Benny.” She smiles and I can help but smirk.
“We sticking with Benny now?”
She bumps into my shoulder. “It stuck for sure.”
“Okay, so hypothetically, you’re texting with a guy off and on, who’s just a friend, and then he randomly asks you to hang out, just the two of you, which you’ve never done before. And you say yes, and he responds, “It’s a date.” So is it a date, or are you still just friends?” I push the button for my floor and then push hers as well since her hands are full.
“Why are we pretending this is a hypothetical? Is this really the case? And who is this friend?” She’s onto me for sure, but I’m not sure I want anyone to know about Wade and me hanging out. If they do, it will be a thing, and the girls will get excited, and then I’ll get excited, and I can’t afford to get excited. What I need is to get Gia’s take on this maybe-date so I can get my head on straight.
“The who doesn’t matter,” I say, staring at the door, avoiding eye contact. I can feel Gia’s stare, and out of the corner of my eye, I can see her pondering my reply.
“Well, I think it could go either way. Without knowing the who, I can’t for sure say if it’s a date or not. But if you’ve never hung out alone and he’s pushing for a hang out now, I would be willing to say it’s more than just two buddies hanging out.” She’s matter-of-fact, and I appreciate it but it doesn’t help me much.
The elevator dings, and the door slides open. Before I can get out, she reaches out and blocks the door. “If you’re not wanting it to be a date, then make it clear from the start. But, if you are hoping it’s a date, my best advice to you is to prepare for the worst but expect the best. Treat it like a date but keep yourself grounded so you’re not disappointed if he makes it clear it’s not a date. And at the end of the night, if you’re still not sure, ask. You deserve to know, and it’s not fair to you if he’s going to be unsure.” I know in that moment she knows I’m talking about Wade.
I give her a sheepish smile and nod. “That all makes sense. I’ll keep myself grounded. Good luck with that.” I point to the mail and take my final step off the elevator.
“Have fun. You got this.” She winks.
The doors slide closed, and I walk to my apartment. I’m not any better off in knowing if I’m going on a date or not, but I can hype myself up for a date but keep my heart in check. Hell, I’ve been doing it every time I’ve seen Wade since the first day we met all those years ago.
I’ve got this.
After unlocking the door, I walk in and drop my purse on the side table. I shrug out of my coat and untie my shoes, then walk to the table and pour out the contents of the mailbag. Before sitting down, I grab my slipper boots and put them on, ready to warm up.
I organize the mail into piles—sponsor information and industry mailers, fan mail into its own pile, and junk in another. Starting with the first pile, I go through events and tournament news, keeping important stuff and trashing the rest. While most is trash, I go through the junk, saving my favorite, fan mail, for last.
We get fan mail weekly, and I love reading and responding to our fans. We keep swag on hand, and I try to reply by way of email, social media shout-out, or sending swag to every person who takes time to send us mail. You’d think in the digital world we live in that we’d get more email than snail mail, but there will always be people who send us handwritten letters.
I open a couple letters, one from a ten-year-old boy telling us about his recent stats and how he wants to be part of Team NoMad someday, and then one from a young woman confessing her love for my male teammates. She’s getting a signed poster and a key chain and that’s it. Its best she doesn’t get a written response because she’s clearly high on the obsessed meter.
