"That's my girl." Reese links her arm through mine. "Now, how about we finish this hike, then open that bottle of ridiculously tasty Cabernet I brought? I think we've earned it."
"At ten in the morning?"
"It's five o'clock somewhere," she quips. "Besides, we're processing complicated emotions. That calls for wine at any hour."
I laugh, feeling lighter than I have in days. The problems waiting for me back in Chicago haven't disappeared, but sharing them has made them feel a fraction less overwhelming. For now, that will have to be enough.
Later that day, Reese and I are sprawled on opposite ends of the weathered leather couch, legs tangled in the middle, each drinking a glass of wine. We waited until 4 pm to open the bottle of wine because we knew if we opened it in the morning we’d both be asleep at this point.
My muscles ache pleasantly from our hike, and the wine has mellowed the sharp edges of my anxiety. I'm almost relaxed when my phone vibrates against the coffee table. The name on the screen makes me sit up straight: Dr. Shanta, my graduate school advisor and mentor. We haven't spoken in months.
"I should take this," I tell Reese, grabbing my phone.
She waves her wine glass in acknowledgment, reaching for the remote to turn down the music.
"Dr. Shanta," I answer, trying to sound like I haven’t been drinking. "This is a surprise."
"Elena, my dear." Her voice is exactly as I remember—crisp, with the most amazing British accent. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything important."
"Not at all." I move to the kitchen for a bit of privacy, leaning against the counter. "It's good to hear from you."
"Likewise. I’ll get right to the point. The Chicago Steel are looking for a new sports psychologist. Their current one is about to have a baby and has decided not to come back after maternity leave, and they need someone immediately.”
She continues. “Now I know you just started with the Blades, but I also know you were hesitant when you acceptedthe position. I just wanted to make sure you know about this opportunity with the Steel in case you think it's a better fit for you.”
I grip the counter edge. The Chicago Steel—a major league baseball team with a storied history and rabid fan base.
"I... I don't know what to say," I stammer. "How did this come about?"
“William Grant—you remember him from that sports psychology conference in Denver? He's their current consulting psychiatrist. He mentioned they were struggling to find someone qualified on short notice, so I thought of you right away.”
"I mentioned your name and told him you might be looking for a change."
"Thank you," I manage. "That means a lot."
"So, are you interested? They'll need an answer rather quickly."
"When would they want me to start?"
"Two weeks. They're in a bit of a bind with off-season assessments beginning."
Two weeks. So soon. I'd be walking away from the Blades, from my father, from the job I just started only months ago.
I’d also lose all contact with Nate.
"Can I have a day to think about it?" I ask.
"Of course, dear. Call me soon, though, and let me know what you decide.”
We say our goodbyes, and I stand motionless in the kitchen, phone clutched in my hand, mind reeling with possibilities.
Reese appears in the doorway, wineglass still in hand. "What was that about?"
"I may have just gotten offered a job with the Chicago Steel." The words sound crazy coming out of my mouth.
Her eyebrows shoot up. "Are you serious?"
I nod, moving back to the living room and sinking onto the couch. "Dr. Shanta recommended me. They need someone to start in two weeks."
