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As much as she hates to admit it, Rebecca is still getting used to being social again. She spent more time than she'll ever admit rifling through her wardrobe, looking for something that felt appropriate for a late twenty-something’s birthday party. She is still, somehow, an hour early to Keeley’s house, wearing a red dress that felt inappropriately low the second she left the house, and holding two bottles of champagne she hopes makes up for the inconvenience.
“If you forgot the list, Roy--” she hears Keeley yell once she knocks.
“It’s me, actually,” Rebecca says, half-yelling back. “Rebecca, I mean. Forgive me for being so early, but I come bearing gifts?”
Rebecca can hear Keeley’s footsteps echo in the cavernous entranceway of hers, and then the click of her locks, and finally her face appears, gorgeous even without one eyebrow drawn on. Her body is swallowed up in the fluffiest pink robe Rebecca has ever seen.
"Hi!" Keeley says, pulling Rebecca into a hug with more squeeze than might be necessary.
“Happy birth-- Oh!” Rebecca’s mouth is full of robe, and then Keeley is pushing her back to hold her at arm’s length.
"Oh my god, I need taller shoes, I can't be eye level with your breasts all night. Where did you get this dress? You look amazing!"
"You look amazing," Rebecca says. "I already feel woefully underdressed."
"Shut up," Keeley says. "I feel like a glamorous ogre standing next to you. But I'm so glad you're here already - I sent Roy out to buy cheese and now I can't figure out how to get these lights working. And I am changing my shoes. Come on in, do you want anything? Can we open your champagne?"
Rebecca lets out a breath. "Please."
*
By 9pm, Keeley's house is a spectacle of pink decorations and crowded with people, but there aren’t too many familiar faces from AFC Richmond. (“I love the boys,” Keeley had explained, “but I don’t trust them not to fuck up my couch.”) Higgins shows up, though he only stays long enough to drop off a gift, and Ted arrives with cake. It's - nice. Rebecca can't remember the last time she went out for something that didn't require her to schmooze, or where it didn't feel like the press was watching her every move. No one seems to be paying her any mind, really, except for Keeley, who orbits her in a way that makes Rebecca feel secure rather than surveilled.
Rebecca settles into her favorite chair of Keeley's, and Keeley pops over every once in a while to bring a snack or a kind word. Keeley introduces her to people with a fond familiarity Rebecca isn’t sure she deserves, but it's quite cozy, being settled into Keeley's side with a glass of champagne as the conversation flows around her, neither requiring her engagement nor shutting her out.
It's one of the most comfortable nights Rebecca has had in a while.
Which is why she is unprepared when Dr. Sharon Fieldstone walks in. "What the fuck," she says.
"What--" Keeley looks around and absolutely lights up when she sees Dr. Fieldstone. "Sharon!" she yells, tottering up on the ridiculous heels of hers. "You made it! And you look radiant, oh my god!" She turns to Rebecca and mouths, Be nice.
"I’m nice," Rebecca says, frowning.
"That's a very charming expression," Keeley says, "and I love you, but I’m not fucking around.” She points an extra threatening finger at Roy, who has settled into Rebecca’s other favorite chair. “Best behavior, both of you. I can't believe she came."
"I can't, either," Rebecca mumbles.
“What the fuck did I do?” Roy asks, accepting a peck from Keeley as she leaves. “I don’t even know who the fuck Sharon is.”
Internally, very quietly, Rebecca can admit that she is perhaps not as nice as she could be to Dr. Fieldstone. But she also gets the feeling that Dr. Fieldstone is not as nice as she could be to Rebecca, either. On the day-to-day, Higgins manages her contract; Rebecca only sees her in the building occasionally, and when she tries to smile in passing, she is often rewarded with a faintly confused look, if Dr. Fieldstone responds at all.
"She's quite cold, isn't she?" Rebecca asks Roy, who is watching Keeley and drinking with the faint desperation of a man who wants to go home and realizes he's already there.
"Hmm?" he grunts.
"Dr. Fieldstone," Rebecca says.
"Hmm."
"Sharon,” Rebecca clarifies, though the name still feels unfamiliar and inappropriate in her mouth. “She's the sports psychologist working with the team for now."
Roy's eyebrows go up just a hair. "In the green? That's the team psychologist?" he says. "Keeley didn't mention she was fit."
"She's--" normally wearing slacks, a shirt, and a very sensible jacket, Rebecca wants to say, but she stops herself. Because maybe it's not nice, and because tonight Dr. Fieldstone is wearing a shockingly neon dress and an equally vibrant lip color. She's almost unrecognizable, except her gaze is as cool as ever when Rebecca accidentally makes eye contact with her. Rebecca looks away first. "You think so?"
Roy looks at her like it’s a dumb question. It feels fair, but Rebecca doesn't want to give either Roy (or, by proxy, Keeley) the satisfaction of being right, so she excuses herself for a bathroom break.
*
The break turns into a small pep talk in the bathroom mirror to keep her energy up, and then a stop in the kitchen for snacks and a chat with Ted about the favorite gift she has ever received, which becomes a chat about the recent challenges of international shipping.
In a lull in the conversation, Rebecca asks, "Did you notice Dr. Fieldstone came tonight?"
"That was a real casual segue way, boss," Ted says, chin in his hand, "by which I mean I was in the middle of recapping the 2020 United States Postal Service crisis, which was a real doozy around Christmas time. But that's alright, is there something on your mind? Doc and I did say our hellos."
"I'm sorry, I just--" Rebecca lowers her voice. "Do you get the sense that she doesn't like me? Even just a little bit?"
Ted hums thoughtfully and pops a champagne gummy bear into his mouth. His pause feels annoyingly pointed. They make eye contact for seven very long seconds - Rebecca is counting - before he says, "You know what I think?"
Rebecca waves for him to go on and takes a handful of gummy bears of her own.
"I’m gonna go out on a pretty stable limb and say you might be projecting."
"Oh, shut up," Rebecca says, quieter still. "I don't dislike her."
"So we are whispering now, alright. Is this because she’s a," extra quietly, Ted says, "therapist?"
"What? No, Ted. I just - I don't understand her. What kind of woman voluntarily doesn't eat sugar? Or even drink fizzy water, by the looks of it."
Ted nods vigorously. "I get that, it is confusing,” he says. “So why don't you ask her?"
Rebecca grimaces. "That wouldn't be very professional, would it."
"Might be more professional than staring her down from across the room," Ted says, and when Rebecca rolls her eyes, he holds up his hands in defense, "but what do I know, I'm just the coach, not HR."
He lets it go after that, so Rebecca can go back to paying attention to him and not Dr. Fieldstone, who is deep in conversation with Keeley and does seem to be exclusively drinking flat water. She also eats a mushroom tart when it's offered to her. Around 10pm she accepts a glass of champagne for a toast and then gives it to Roy, who drains it in one go.
Ted leaves around 10, too, leaving Rebecca to her comfy chair and her third glass of champagne. When there is a shuffle to her right, she looks over, expecting Keeley, but--
"Hi," Rebecca says, her heart lurching uncomfortably in her chest.
"Hi, Ms. Welton," Dr. Fieldstone - Sharon - says, gesturing to the chair Roy left empty. "Do you mind if I sit here?"
"Not at all," Rebecca's mouth says on autopilot. "And please, call me Rebecca."
"Thank you," Sharon says. She sits very properly, the slinky material of her dress pooling in the space between her thighs. Her legs are bare, and she's wearing a pair of sensible black heels, which is the least confusing thing about her tonight.
"You don't usually wear heels, do you?" Rebecca asks, taking a sip of her champagne.
"Not to work," Sharon says.
"It's not for everyone."
"No,” Sharon agrees. Her earrings are just long enough to brush against her collarbones, and they do when she turns her head to look at Rebecca more directly. “How are you?”
Feeling slightly chastised and annoyed for it, Rebecca sits up straighter and tries on a smile. "Good, thank you. It’s a nice surprise to see you here. The team already seems to be improving with your support.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
“The team has generally been very generous with their time, and with the space," Sharon says. "And I understand you are at your office often. Do you ever get down to the field?"
"How do you mean?"
"I understand you come to the games,” Sharon says, “but do you come to training?"
"I don't," Rebecca says. Sharon gives a slight nod to acknowledge her answer, but holds eye contact like she’s waiting for Rebecca to continue. Rebecca takes a longer sip of her champagne. "Why, do you think that would be beneficial?"
"Do you?"
"No," Rebecca says, and she lets her smile slip. "I think it would be a distraction."
"As the owner?"
"Yes," Rebecca says, leaning forward and setting her empty glass down. "Do you think differently?"
Sharon’s eyes flit back to her face. "No.”
Empty-handed and suddenly vulnerable for it, Rebecca feels even more at a loss of how to engage with this version of Sharon, who is wearing a dress that falls soft and low on her chest but is still as opaque as she is in the clubhouse.
Rebecca manages to hold her tongue for all of 10 seconds before she blurts, "May I ask you something personal?"
"You can ask," Sharon says.
"If you don’t have sweets, or alcohol,” or fucking fizzy water, her brain adds, “or - I don’t know what else, those hare the only indulgences in my life at the moment. What do you enjoy?"
Sharon looks at her quietly for a few seconds longer than Rebecca would like. She is - intense, up close. "Why does it bother you?"
"I'm not bothered," Rebecca says, with what she hopes is an equally flippant hand gesture. "I'm trying to get to know you better. You're part of the team now, aren't you?"
"For now,” Sharon says, folding her arms. “And is this your usual tactic to get to know someone better?"
Maybe it wasn’t. But Rebecca was used to getting to know people who wanted money from her, or whom she wanted money from. This was getting to know someone for the purpose of - of knowing.
"No?" Rebecca said.
"No?"
"Is that your tactic?” Rebecca asks, sharper than she intends. "Asking questions to deflect from answering?"
Sharon, unexpectedly, smiles. Up close, it is startling in its softness. "Sometimes."
“Well,” Rebecca says, clearing her throat, "it's very frustrating."
"It can be." Sharon uncrosses her arms and smooths her dress down her knees. "I’m going to use the restroom now. Did you want another glass?" she asks, pointing to Rebecca's now empty champagne flute.
"Oh, no," Rebecca says. She looks at her watch out of habit, but the time surprises her. "I actually think I should head home soon. I have an early day tomorrow. But thank you. For offering. And for the chat. It was - yeah."
That earns her another smile from Sharon, that faintly confused one Rebeeca is used to, before she walks off. Rebecca takes a slow breath and closes her eyes, and when she opens her eyes again, Keeley is looking at her from across the room. Her eye contact doesn’t waver as she very pointedly texts.
Just to see Keeley’s increasingly exasperated smile, Rebecca makes slow work of pulling out her phone. The text from Keeley says: Are you being nice????
I am, Rebecca responds.
Rebecca!!! I only asked to give you an opportunity to confess. You look like you want to MURDER her.
I do not!
You don't see your face, I see your face, it's murderous
She is very frustrating, Rebecca responds.
Oh my god
"Oh my god," Keeley loudly whispers, coming to perch on Rebecca's chair. "I leave you alone for 20 minutes--"
"Hi, Keeley," Rebecca says, and, "It was far longer than that. Are you having a nice night?"
"I am," Keeley says, wrapping her arms around Rebecca in a tight hug. "Are you? Are you drunk? Do you want to sleep in my guest room?"
"I'm not drunk," Rebecca says, blinking through the curtain of Keeley's hair, "but I am quite tired. Would it be alright with you if I head out?"
"Of course! Of course. If I'm honest, I expected you to go home around 9, so this has been a pleasant surprise. Will you text me to let me know you've gotten home?"
It never fails to warm Rebecca, how easy it is for Keeley to care. "I appreciate you," Rebecca says, squeezing her hand and standing up.
"I appreciate you!" Keeley squeezes back. "I'll see you on Monday, alright? But do text me!"
"I'll text you," Rebecca says, and Keeley pulls her into another hug, her chin fitting into the crook of Rebecca's neck.
"And send me a selfie of you in this outfit," she whispers. "It deserves to be remembered."
Rebecca laughs, loud and startled. "Keeley."
"It's my birthday," Keeley says, with an exaggerated frown.
"You're very charming," Rebecca says. "I'll think about it, okay? Enjoy the rest of your party."
Keeley blows her a kiss goodbye.
No one else seems to notice her leaving except for Roy, who salutes her with an empty bottle. Rebecca manages to find her coat among the crowded hooks and quickly sends a text to her driver.
Outside, Rebecca quickly recognizes two things: it’s a lot chillier than when she had arrived, and she is a little tipsier than she had realized. The world is just fuzzy enough around the edges that she doesn’t mind the cold, or the wait, her mind quieter than it has been all night. It’s almost peaceful, even with a hum of traffic in the distance. She almost wishes she had a cigarette.
A few minutes later, the door opens and closes behind her. Rebecca doesn't have it in her to feel surprised when Sharon drifts into her peripheral vision.
"Hi again,” Rebecca says.
Sharon stops a couple feet from Rebecca. “Hello.”
Do you need a ride?" Rebecca asks before she can stop herself. "I'm headed west "
"I can walk home from here," Sharon says. "But thank you."
"You're welcome."
Rebecca stares out into Keeley’s well-maintained yard, for lack of something else to look at that isn't Sharon, who isn’t leaving. Rebecca is a head taller than her, even in heels, and it would be a horribly flattering angle, if she were to look down.
The silence stretches on until Rebecca runs out of shrubs to count. She moves on to skimming through app notifications on her phone; Keeley has already sent her another text.
"The answer is sex," Sharon eventually says.
Rebecca's neck jerks around on reflex. "Sorry?"
"You asked me what I enjoy that’s indulgent," Sharon says, looking out at Keeley’s yard too. “Forgive me for being crass, but I felt like I owed you an answer."
“Oh.”
“It was nice to get to know you better, Rebecca," Sharon says. "Have a good night."
“You too,” Rebecca murmurs, and Sharon gives her a brief smile. She looks - radiant, wasn't that was Keeley said. Rebecca watches her walk away and isn't sure how to feel.