The lobby was more elegant than it should be for a team hotel. We were used to suburban Hampton Inns with lobbies designed by Hospital Waiting Rooms Inc. This one, while also suburban, had a upscale feel to it. The polished wood bar seemed more suited to the Campbell Bar at Grand Central, while the teardrop chandelier overhanging the lounge area had Tiffany aspirations.
While there were a handful of customers in business attire, studying P&Ls over cocktails, most of the people in the bar were soccer parents in windbreakers, jeans, and sweatshirts. Nothing was lost by the contrast, though.
As I exited the elevator, I could see my team's parents still gathered at the tables, still watching the same games on the flatscreen TVs--just more empty wine glasses, beer bottles, and crumpled napkins than there were when I'd walked by an hour earlier. By this time, the parents of the older team J. coached had arrived, and were sitting at adjacent tables. I could see J. was sitting with them. While he was friendly and personable, I did notice that although he socialized with the parents of the older team he coached, he seemed to be a little distant with the parents on our team.
I glanced in the mirrored surface between the elevators to check my lipstick. I was wearing a black tank top (no bleach stain this time) tucked into an ankle-length emerald-green sarong that tied at the waist; it was so long that it brushed the tops of my wedge sandals. I'd spent the last six weeks in heavy sweaters and a puffer coat. There was no way I was going to walk around Arizona in anything long-sleeved--I had a huge vitamin D deficit to make up here.
I texted Jackson to tell him that I ordered a pizza that would be delivered to Brad's room, and that he could share with the boys, and that I'd be down in the lobby with the other parents. He didn't respond.
As I approached the sunken lounge from the elevator bank, I could tell J. had already seen me. Of course, as always, as soon as my gaze rested on him, he looked away, returning to his conversation with two dads I didn't know. You could drive yourself crazy trying to figure out what was going through another person's mind--trying to parse that out was a fool's errand. But I couldn't help it. I felt myself wanting to play the game again.
Kayla saw me and waved me over. I made my way over to the table where our parents sat, exchanged greetings, and settled in for a replay of the same conversations we always had in hotel lobby bars on every single out-of-town trip: Remembrance of Games Past, Portrait of the Terrible Ref as a Young Man, Their Eyes Were Watching the Game Clock.
Kayla leaned in. "How's Jackson?"
"Still hates me."
She touched my hand. "I'm so sorry. Have you talked to J. about it yet?"
"Not yet. I'm not even sure how to start that conversation."
"Just pull him aside and ask if you can have a quick word with him," Kayla said, like it was the easiest thing in the world.
"I will," I promised.
Ellie, at least three glasses of Yellowtail in, leaned over. "You will what?" Kayla glanced at me to see if I'd told Ellie. "Jackson's dad and I are getting divorced," I said.
She reached over and gave me a fist bump. "Welcome to the club, honey. You gonna make a big announcement?"
"Ha ha."
Ellie shook her blonde curls. "No, get it out--catharsis time. Let the world know."
"Oh boy," Kayla said.
Ellie set her wine glass down and unsteadily hoisted herself up on the banquette where we were sitting. Kayla tried to coax Ellie down, but it was no use. Ellie wasn't going anywhere. She put both her pinky fingers in her mouth, and let loose with an ear-piercing whistle. I wanted to crawl under the table. "Listen up, I've got an announcement to make," she bellowed. Everyone turned to look at her.
I considered whether it would be more or less obvious if I did a cartoon slide down the banquette and onto the floor, then crawled out of the lounge toward the elevator bank. "This beautiful lady sitting next to me is officially single and ready to mingle. Her no-good husband is history and maybe one of you can be the future. Get in while the getting's good."
Good-natured laughter and applause followed Ellie's pronouncement. The only one who wasn't smiling was J., who studied the coaster under his beer like it was the most important thing in the world.
"How good's the getting?" Brad called over from his table. Mary chastised him in an undertone. "What? I'm asking for a friend!"
I wanted to disapear. One by one, the soccer moms made their way to our table like I was a bereaved widow at a wake, offering their condolences on the death of my marriage. I needed a drink.
