Chapter Eleven
Cade
Present Day
“You never have time for me,” Josephine complains in my ear through the phone, and I suppress the urge to let out a guttural scream in annoyance.
“Not that it matters at this point, but I saw you last night and the night before, Jo.”
“I didn’t see you for a whole week before that,” she whines. “I think that’s what our problem is.”
“I was out of town. I had a job,” I state matter-of-factly.
“Your job is talking about football. I’d hardly call that a job.”
It takes everything in me to keep from throwing my phone into the wall across the room with the same force I once threw a football.
“Well then, you should pick your next boyfriend based on his job so that he has one you find acceptable.”
“Next boyfriend?” she scoffs. “I already have you.”
“No. You don’t have me, Josephine. I told you last night – I’m done.”
“I know you weren’t serious, Cade. This is us. We break up, we see other people for a week, and then we make up. Rinse and repeat. It’s cute, the press loves it.”
“I don’t need that kind of gratification, though. And, I was very serious last night. Our cycle of breaking up and making up is ridiculous and I’m over it. We always end up back here because it’s all we know. I don’t love you, and you don’t love me.”
“Don’t be silly. Of course, I love you, Cade,” she says in a tone that isn’t even remotely believable.
“No, Josephine, you don’t. You love the idea of love, but you don’t know how to love. You parade me out when you need press, like I’m a trophy. I’m not a trophy. I’m a person. I’m a man, and I want a woman I can relate to, one I can share my life with. That’s not you.”
“What you need is someone that keeps you relevant,” she says snidely. “You commentate about a sport you don't even play anymore. No one talks about you, not since the Condors drafted that hot shot rookie quarterback who is making everyone forget who Cade Thomas ever was. Face it: you are a washed up has-been. A loser.”
“Right, I’m a loser that holds multiple records, not only in the NFL, but in college football, too. Hey, maybe I can add a new one: record number of times to break up and make up with the same girl for five straight years,” I laugh. “If anyone is a loser, it’s the actress who makes less money than the retired jock who gets paid to talk about football once a week.”
“You asshole!” she yells into the phone. “No one who is anyone is going to want you, Cade. I’ll be living the life, and you will have no one. No one, do you hear me?”
“I’m afraid I do, even if I don’t want to. I think I’ll remedy that. This conversation is over,” I say calmly.
“One day you’ll regret this!” she spews.
“I doubt it, Josephine. In fact, I have a great idea. Let’s never speak to each other again. Doesn’t that sound great?”
“It sounds perfect,” she spits with venom in her voice. “And when you come crawling, begging me to take you back, I’ll just laugh in your face.”
“Don’t hold your breath on that one. Goodbye, Josephine.”
I hang up before she can say anything else and immediately block her number in my phone. Shaking my head to clear away the conversation, I grab something to drink from the kitchen and notice the eggnog in my fridge. It's three weeks until Christmas, and my house is bare of decorations. I think about getting a tree tomorrow to get into the holiday spirit. Josephine hates the smell of a fresh tree, and I haven’t had one for as long as I’ve known her because I didn’t want to listen to her complain about it. Now seems like a good time to do what I want for the holiday.
I’ve been retired from football for over three years now, having hung up my cleats for good after I won the Super Bowl with the Condors, making my announcement a couple of months after.
A couple of months after my night with Serena. Even now, I still think about her often.
I think about that night all those years ago, wondering what might have been. She’ll never know how she was a part of what spurred me to move on from playing football. Offers to join the broadcast booth came in, to join the Condors as a scout, to coach, but none of them spoke to me. Nothing did until an opportunity to take part in a brand new weekly commentary show came along. Two dudes just talking football appealed to me and brought me back to the things that made me love the sport in the first place.
I leave in a few days to film another show, but until then – now that I have given Josephine the boot for good – I just want to relax and enjoy the time to myself. Maybe decorate the house some. I settle into the plush confines of my couch and grab the remote, flicking the TV on. I begin to flip through for something to watch, pausing briefly on a game show, the home shopping network, and a soap opera before I click past a news show in a rush.
My brain screams “go back!” And as fast as I had sped past the channel, I’m pressing the button to reverse my scanning and leaning forward on the couch, staring down my TV to make sure I actually saw what I thought I did.
Sure enough, as if I’ve conjured her from my thoughts, there on my television is Serena. I turn up the volume and drop the remote beside me as I sit up, not wanting to miss a second.
“Good afternoon, and thank you for joining us. Beside me is Dr. Serena Jacobs, astrophysicist and educator. Thank you for being here, Dr. Jacobs,” the host of the show says.
“It is my pleasure, Robyn.” Serena smiles warmly and I melt inside, just like I did the night I met her.
“Christmas is around the corner, and for most children, that only means one thing: Santa Claus is coming to town. But how exactly does he get here and everywhere else on Christmas Eve? There are some two billion children in the world, after all. So, Dr. Jacobs, how does the man in red do it? Is it even possible?”
“Well, Robyn, we know Santa doesn’t visit all of the children. There’s that naughty list to consider,” she laughs. “And, of course, those who sadly just don’t believe. Those factors reduce the number of children being visited by at least fifteen percent. Now, we are still talking about around 375 million children that Santa visits, but the good news for Santa is that he has thirty-one hours to work with.”
“How is it that Santa gets more than twenty-four hours in a day?” the host asks.
“Assuming Santa travels east to west, the rotation of the earth plus the different time zones throughout the world buys him those extra hours, which he’ll need, considering he is visiting roughly ninety-two million homes each Christmas Eve.”
“How long does that give Santa at every house?”
“Not much,” Serena laughs warmly again. “About 1/1000th of a second is all Santa has to stop, drop down the chimney, unload the presents, and get out undetected. He is working at warp speed for sure.”
“Interesting. And, how fast would Santa’s sled be traveling?”
“Rudolph and his team of reindeer are pulling Santa’s sled at a speed that is three thousand times the speed of light, so about 650 miles per second. It is quite fast for your average reindeer, but I think we all know that Rudolph and company are not your average reindeer, just as Santa is not your average jolly old man.”
The interviewer laughs “How true. You’ve heard it here first, folks: Santa is performing miracles of science, at least according to USC professor, Dr. Serena Jacobs. Thank you for joining us today. We appreciate you every time you stop in.”
“I’m always happy to be here, Robyn. Thank you for having me.”
I pause the TV on a shot of Serena smiling and stare, shocked to actually see her face and not a memory in my mind. While I’ve replayed the night with her over and over, I am unprepared for the flood of emotions coming over me. There have been women other than Josephine in the years since, but no one that meant something, and no one that made me stop and give a second thought to my life or my future...not the way Serena did. I remember how disappointed I was to discover she had snuck out during the night. It was more than just wanting another go; it was wanting to know all of her. The feeling of not knowing what might have been still claws at my chest.
The more I think about it, the more it becomes clear to me. I left playing football because it left me unsatisfied. The new show, being able to offer commentary to help others understand the game better gives me a purpose. Josephine and all the others were temporary bodies and none of them ever left me with anything but a fading sense of temporary satisfaction. The only time I've been with a woman that left me both sated and still wanting more was my one night with Serena.
The time we had spent at the bar and then at dinner had been unhurried, and without the air of pretentiousness that seemed to follow every other date I’ve been on. I was taken by her at first look, and I was under her spell as I got to know her. I was a goner the first time I kissed her.
I am sure she had her reasons to slip out of my bed, my house, my life, and while she doesn't owe me anything, I can’t help wanting to know why she never gave us a chance. Looking at her warm smile, I ask myself, what’s the harm in a casual coffee to talk after all these years?