Page 32 of Five Things I See in You

“Wow. You’re better at this than I am,” I tell her.

I try again. She counts to three, shakes her head, and starts from the beginning. No mercy.

“Who taught you to dance so well? One of your moms?” I ask.

“Both. But Mama Holland is better.”

“Don’t tell Natalia that. She’s Brazilian. Everyone’s supposed to know how to dance there.”

“I already did,” she admits, dissolving into giggles.

A few yards away, Iris has finished talking to Jordan and is shouting at Tina.

“Is this a wedding or a funeral with reggaeton?”

Tina narrows her eyes and puts on another song.

Iris complains but goes out to dance anyway, her arms above her head.

Mireya’s mother calls me over while I’m taking a break.

“My husband painted it. Thirty years ago now,” she says, pointing at the club crest.

It’s a simple design. A ball, two stars, the club’s initials. Nothing special. But as she gets talking about how they taught Mireya to play, I think how much I’d have liked a father like that.

When the music slows down, I find Jordan sitting with an untouched glass of champagne beside her.

“Are you okay?”

“Just tired. It’s been a long day.”

“I’m driving tonight,” I tell her. “You’ve looked half asleep all afternoon.”

***

She falls asleep against the window as soon as we reach the highway. An hour into the drive, a little rain starts falling, and the road gleams in the headlights. I turn on the heat, though it isn’t cold, and lower the music so she can sleep. I also drape a jacket over her legs. She doesn’t even stir.

If traffic stays clear, we have about four hours left before we reach Seattle.

A little later, she shifts in her seat.

“How much longer?” she asks, barely opening her eyes.

“Not long. We’re almost there. Go back to sleep.”

We’re not even halfway.

The radio is playing softly, tuned to a jazz station I wouldn’t have chosen if I were alone.

As I drive, I remember Amara’s question in her office. Do you play for yourself, for your father, or for the team?

I repeat it to myself, word for word, as if I’m reviewing a play.

I don’t answer. I don’t dare.

***

The message we’ve all been waiting for arrives a few weeks later, at one in the morning, in the team group chat.