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“Oh! Yes, of course. The reason I was calling is because I’m coming to see you this weekend.”
My heart skids to a stop in my chest. “What?”
“Yes, Tommy has a show Friday night near St. Louis, so I thought I’d drive to Springfield to visit my only daughter.”
My stomach drops. “Actually, I’m not home. I’m visiting Caleb for a bit.”
“Caleb, huh? How’s he doing? How’s his dad?”
“Ourdad is fine. Caleb’s fine. I’m not sure when I’ll be back to my place yet,” I reply, avoiding the whole conversation about moving out.
“Well, I guess I’ll just catch up to you another time. Say hello to Caleb and your dad for me. Love you!”
She hangs up before I can reply, finally cutting off the heavy music, and all I feel is a sense of relief. Talking to my mom is taxing. There’s always some sort of drama surrounding her, and I hate the way she asks about Dad and Caleb. Mostly because I know she’s not just asking out of the goodness of her heart. There’s always motive, always an agenda.
Tossing my phone onto the bed, I fire off my last résumé email and prepare to shut down my computer. But an idea hits me, and I pull up the internet browser once more. Caleb mentioned to me which hotel they’re staying at in Chicago, so I pull up their website and check availability.
Nothing.
I know they try not to book too many guest rooms when a sporting team is staying with them, but they can’t be completely full, can they? Deciding to call, just in case they’re not reserving over the internet, I reach for my phone.
“Good afternoon, you’ve reached the Marriott. How may I help you?”
“I’d like to reserve a room, please.”
“Absolutely,” the gentleman says. “What dates were you looking for?”
“This weekend. Sunday and Monday night, please.”
He pauses. “Let me check on that for you.” I can hear him clicking away on the keyboard before he replies, “I’m sorry, we’re all booked up for those two nights. May I transfer your call to one of our sister facilities nearby?”
“Uhh, no. Thank you,” I mumble, hanging up.
Shit.
How am I supposed to get all sexified with Brock if I can’t actually stay in the same hotel? There’s no way it would work if I were in a completely different hotel. The chances of someone seeing him or me coming and going are greater, and the last thing we need are questions.
I try a second time, just to see if I can get a room, but that search comes up the same. They say they’re all booked for the weekend.
This dilemma leaves me with few choices. I can back out of my weekend away to see Brock, stay at a neighboring hotel, which creates its own set of problems, or make another call. One I know I’ll regret, yet it feels like my only real option.
I pull up his contact, my finger hovering over the Call button. With a deep sigh, I touch the screen, the phone ringing.
“Josephine, what a surprise.”
“Hi, Dad,” I greet, my voice overly sweet.
“We’re in the middle of watching game films. I don’t have a lot of time,” he says, letting me know he’s with the team.
“Actually, I needed a favor. I tried to book a room in Chicago at the Marriott where you are staying, but they say they’re full. I know they usually keep rooms back for families of players, so I thought I’d see if it were possible to get one of those.”
“Nonsense, you can stay with me in my suite.”
My eyes almost pop out of my head. I hadn’t expected that. “Oh, no, Dad, that’s not necessary. I don’t want to be in the way,” I insist.
“You won’t be. You’re my daughter. You used to travel with me from time to time as a child.”
“I know, Dad, but you’ll be so busy helping run the team. You have meetings in your suite all the time, and I don’t want to cause disruptions. Plus, I like to read in silence, and we both know when you have coaches and players in and out, it’s rarely quiet.”
