It was almost half-way through the soccer season when Sara, her hand deep into the bag of organic, fair-trade flax seed blue corn chips I brought, asked me, “Who’s that?”
“Who?”
“That brunette over there.”
“I dunno. Must be related to one of the players. I’ve seen her at a few games.”
“Find out.”
So I inched over to the team busybody, Gayle. You know the type—a former stockbroker who turned all her MBA acumen into organizing the team’s snack, driver, and year-end party schedules.
“Hey Gayle, do you know who that brunette is?”
She pursed her lips. “Who wants to know?”
“Sara.”
Gayle leaned over, teetering on the edge of her seat to give Sara the once-over. “Does she really want to know?”
Hmm, that’s an odd reaction, I thought, to what seemed like a pretty simple question. After all, Sara is the former wife of the assistant coach—she’s with the “in” crowd. I didn’t expect to be cross-examined. “Uh, I’ll ask,” I said, realizing I just may have been wrong about her former profession. CIA operative, perhaps?
“She wants to know if you really want to know,” I said to Sara.
“What is this? An interrogation? Of course I want to know!”
I inched back over to Gayle, feeling very much like the frustrated monkey in the middle of my elementary-school days.
“Yes, she wants to know.”
Gayle took a deep breath and then leaned into me to whisper, “It’s her ex’s new girlfriend.”
Gulp!
What’s in your water bottle?” I asked Sara as I slid back by her side.
“Water, duh. Why?”
Why doesn’t anyone carry flasks of whiskey anymore?
“Take a sip,” I sighed.
And so I told her, fully aware of how everyone always hates the messenger.
Now it was Sara giving Ms. Brunette the once-over. “She’s a lot older that I am, wouldn’t you say?”
“Absolutely! Even if she’s not, she looks it.”
“I guess that’s why John’s been so nice to me lately. He’s finally getting laid! That always mellowed him out,” Sara said with a matter-of-fact maturity that comes with being several years out of a marriage. But there was just a hint of wistfulness, too.
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