the ordeal of being known

Layla

To her surprise, Kione took it quite seriously. He even gave her virtual advice while they were traveling. Sometimes she would hang up early on Jess just to call Kione and show him how she made the shot.

She didn’t think she could actually beat Jess; he had set the bar pretty low. Whoever gets all thirty shots wins. She could win if she mixed a little bit of seduction along with her new small knowledge of basketball.

Kione to the audience : looking back at it, I still don’t understand why he was mad. I thought Layla and I really bonded during that time.

“HAVE YOU THOUGHT THAT MAYBE YOURE JUST A HORRIBLE TEACHER???” she yelled.

“OH I’M THE PROBLEM NOW?”

“YES.”

“I GAVE YOU CLEAR INSTRUCTIONS.”

“STOP YELLING AT ME.”

“YOU STOP FIRST.” He crossed his arms, waiting for a more gentle tone. She had hung up on him. 

The next time Jess tried to play with her, she had gotten all the shots. He was confused and annoyed. While Layla was in the bathroom, he grabbed his phone and sent a dozen texts to Mateo to ask him if he was sure that he never taught Layla how to shoot. Matty was with Kione so he got a call from his best friend as soon as he sent the texts.

“I thought you were teaching her,” his friend signed.

“I wasn’t. I mean, I was and I wasn’t. I was holding back so I could win. How do you think she learned? Youtube?”

“Unlikely, it was probably someone else.”

“But who?”

“Now that you mention it, I did see her eyeing that Chris guy from the Warriors during the game. Maybe she asked him.”

“Chris? No, she doesn’t know him.”

“Hold on, let me check something.” After a pause, he said, “Oh, there it is. He follows her on Instagram.”

“No!”

Kione’s fun little game did not last long. When Layla came back, he’d asked her to walk him through how she learned, and he recognized Kio’s words through her mouth. He decided he needed a new best friend as the one he got only gave him headaches.

He sat on the bench when he realized Layla hadn’t actually had her eyes on Chris. He sighed, his whole body relaxing. He had spent an hour trying to come up with a way to address the situation, and she told him he was acting strange.

“What had gotten into you today?” she asked him, looking down at where he was sitting. He explained Kione’s stupid prank, and she laughed.

“This isn’t funny. I was going to burst into fire.”

“You’re fine.”

“No, nono, I think we should be just friends,” he said dramatically, clutching his heart.

“Just friends?”

“Yes, I don’t think I’m built for these kinds of things. I was too stressed out today. I think my heart gave out. Is it possible to have a heart attack at twenty-four?” He started pacing. Layla rolled her eyes.

Layla to the audience: I’ve always thought men were very dramatic.

Layla walked to him and pushed him to sit down. He made no protest.

She sat between his spread legs on the floor and started unzipping his jacket.

Jess’s mind was too stunned. He kept staring at her fingers. Layla moved closer, slowly, just in case he wanted to push her away.

He didn’t.

She started kissing down his neck. He drew in a sharp breath. Layla’s hands were exploring his body, but they were never where he wanted them to most.

She abruptly stopped and pulled back. Jess scrambled out of his dazed state to pull her back in. He really liked how she kissed him, how she touched him.

“I dare you to tell me we’re just friends again,” she told him., “You wouldn’t be so hard and whiny for me if we were just friends.”

She had to set the record straight. She may have a lot of issues, but she wanted him and, after all this, she was going to have him. Friend was not a word she wanted to use.

“Alright, not friends,” he swallowed. “Pending statues.”

To both his dismay and delight, Layla won that night because she got all the shots and he lost because she had flashed him and he lost his focus.

Jess to the audience: she has a small tattoo on the side of her left boob, and I was only trying to figure out what it is. I’m just a curious man, okay?

In early December, the Lakers had ten days with no games in schedule. Jess’s parents had decided to visit him and he’d asked Layla to meet them. She surprised him by saying yes. The day of the dinner, the house would be empty save for Jess, his parents, and Layla.

His parents were excited. He had never brought someone he was interested in romantically to meet them. His mom was a ball of energy, making various dishes, cleaning every inch of the house, and then running to get ready.

Layla showed up on time, with a little cake in her hand. She wore a long-sleeved midi, light blue dress that made her hair brighter. When he took the cake, he noted that her hands were shaking, and that she was constantly wiping them on her dress.

“You don’t have to be nervous.”

“Oh! Oh, thank you, that helps.” She glared at him.

His parents decided they couldn’t wait any longer and made their way to welcome their guest. There was a lot of polite hand shaking.

“What were you whispering about?” his father asked them both.

“Layla was shaking, and I was reassuring her.”

“I was shaking with annoyance. Your son will not stop bothering me, and he was also very impolite as he did not mention how nice I looked, sir.”

“Jess! That’s not how I raised you. You always shower a woman with compliments when you know she took the time to look good for you,” his father scolded. Jess glared back at Layla.

“You look stunning,” his mother added.

“I was getting to it.”

Layla looked at his parents in awe. She was puzzled by how present his father was, how easily they joked with each other. He knew so much about his son; he spoke of his son, asked question but avoided speaking about himself.

Layla was very charmed by Anne, both father and son noted with fond eyes. Anne was elegant and kind, and she was an attentive mother. When she spoke of how much she admired Layla’s art, she pretended to look for her phone while blinking rapidly.

Layla reacted to Anne’s kindness with restraint. She was too still, too quiet. Anne had no problems filling the silence, talking about art, what she made for dinner, and talking about her son.

When Anne went to set the table, everyone helped. Layla dropped a plate, a fancy one, and it broke. She panicked, apologizing profoundly over and over again

“Sorry, I’ll clean it up.” She knelt. Anne took Layla’s hands.

“Darling, your hands, you need to be careful.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Oh, don’t be silly. I really hate that plate. It’s part of a set and we got it as a gift from this woman who we later found out was talking shit behind our backs. I keep forgetting to donate them.”

That plate was from Anne’s favorite set, but Layla didn’t need to know that. Jess couldn’t be more grateful to his mom.

Layla leaned into Anne’s affection like a frightened cat would.

“I simply must get you something for your birthday, as a thank you for the amazing job you did for the painting. When is it?”

“Oh, that’s okay. I don’t really celebrate birthdays, ma’am.”

“Just Anne. How come?”

“I don’t know. It wasn’t an important celebration when I was growing up.”

Anne stared at her. They shared what Jess liked to call the ’understanding sisterhood’ look. Then she slowly reached out and gently squeezed Layla’s hand.

Anne had seen and dealt with those who acted like frightened cats whenever they were offered affection. She’d had married one, so she was a bit more familiar with the subtle signs and so was her son. She’d told him almost every detail about the journey with his father.

Jess had seen that look on the girl’s faces and eyes countless times, when they talked without really using words, when they understand a lot about the situation with having to explain it in painful detail.

“Will you let me bake a cake for you when it’s time? I’m really good at baking,” his father told her.

“That’s true.”

Andrew was a lot more reserved than Anne. He was polite and mostly opted to observe Layla’s interactions with his family. He was the kind of man whose affection you had to win slowly over time.

The sound of her phone ringing broke through the conversation. It was Celia. Layla texted her that she’d be home soon.

“I should go back. I need to get up early tomorrow.” She hastily said her goodbyes. Jess followed. It was starting to rain. They got wet as soon as they left the house.

“Do you think I did okay? I should have talked a little more. Do you think the cake was too much? My grandmother said it’s impolite to go empty-handed the first time you’re invited to someone’s home.”

“Sweetheart, take a few breaths, yeah?” She did, but she was still pacing. Jess grabbed her gently and pulled her towards him. Her back met his chest, and he tightened his hands. He marveled for a second at the trust given to him to be able to hold her in his arms. “They adored you.”

Her hand came up to stifle a small sob. She’d been nervous all day. She had to change of her first choice because she soaked the dress in sweat; he didn’t realize just how important this was to her, just how sore her heart was when it came to this. He kissed her head with all the tenderness he could offer.

“I’m sorry I didn’t realize how frail my nerves are today. I really wanted them to like me.”

“They do.”

“Do they change their mind often?”

“Not that I know of.” 

“That’s good.”

“You could spend the night if you want. I’d really like you to.”

“I have a painting to work on. It’s really special, so I’d like to finish it soon.” She saw the hope disappear from his eyes.

“I’m going to pick you up tomorrow for breakfast. I want us to talk about something but I don’t feel like now is the time. I’ll let you have your break down in peace tonight.”

“Chivalry is alive and well.”

“I also want the excuse to see you again as soon as possible.”

“I’ll allow it then,” she sniffed.