Page 37 of After the Snap

“Of course, you did.”

“Morning, Harold.”

He leans back in his chair, looking far too pleased with himself. “Look at that. You remembered.”

“You threatened me.”

“I motivated you.”

The turnstile releases when I scan the badge, and I’m halfway through before Harold calls after me.

“Breakfast is still out. Denise came down ten minutes ago to make sure I told you.”

I glance over my shoulder. “She check up on everybody?”

“Just the ones who look like they’ll lie about eating.”

I shake my head and continue down the hallway, adjusting the strap of my bag higher on my shoulder. I ate before I left, standing at the kitchen counter with a bowl of cereal because every plate I own is still stacked inside a box beside the sink. The groceries I bought Friday mean the refrigerator is no longer empty, but the condo still looks temporary enough that I could walk away tomorrow without leaving much behind.

I don’t need to check the signs before turning toward the football offices, and nobody stops what they’re doing when I pass. A few people lift a hand or call out a greeting before returning to their conversations. Friday, I couldn’t walk twenty feet without wondering what someone had heard about the trade or whether they were trying to decide if I was worth what Charlotte gave up for me. This morning, someone passing in the opposite direction tells me good morning without even slowing down.

I reach Denise’s desk before it occurs to me that I haven’t thought about the trade once since I walked through the doors. She sits with a phone pressed between her ear and shoulder and points toward the staff kitchen the second she sees me.

“I ate at home,” I mouth when her eyes narrow.

She holds my gaze for another second before nodding, but I make it only three steps past her desk before she snaps her fingers.

When I turn around, she covers the mouthpiece. “Coffee doesn’t count.”

“I had cereal.”

“What kind?”

“Does it matter?”

“It does if you’re about to tell me it was something with a cartoon animal on the box.”

A laugh comes from the office across from her, and Coach Quinn appears in the doorway. “She’s going to ask how much protein was in it next. Save yourself.”

Denise points at him. “You stay out of this. I saw what you tried to call lunch yesterday.”

Coach looks like he considers defending himself before deciding against it. “I’ll be in the offensive staff meeting. JJ should already be in the quarterback room. Let’s catch up later.”

“All right.”

He starts down the hall, but Denise calls his name and holds out a brown paper bag from beneath her desk. Coach returns without arguing, takes it, and keeps walking while she goes right back to her phone call.

Friday, I noticed the way Denise could call him out without first checking what kind of mood he was in. Today, I'm the one being interrogated about breakfast. In the space of a weekend, I’ve been added to the list of grown men she doesn’t trust to feed themselves.

I should probably find that annoying. Instead, I'm still smiling when I head toward the quarterback room. The door is propped open with a trash can, and JJ is inside with one foot on the edge of a chair, wrestling a cable through the back of the television mounted against the wall.

“Does Coach know you’re climbing furniture again?”

He looks over his shoulder, then slowly lowers his foot. “This is barely furniture.”

“It has four legs, and you’re standing on it.”

“I’m not standing on it anymore.”