And I think about the fact that twenty-six adults were standing in that yard, and the only question anyone asked was whether I would apologize.
Not one person asked her what was wrong.
Not her father. Not her grandmother. Not me, and I was the one holding the envelope.
In April, at a tournament in Halden, a teammate’s mother asked Ava who I was.
I was two feet away, holding two waters, and I braced for it the way you brace for a step that isn’t there.
Ava said, “This is Rachel.”
May you like
And then, after a beat, without looking [at me]:
“She’s mine.”
