“Don’t send it,” Maya said. “I left something out.”
I had an email open to Coach Jordan. Maya had come home saying he wanted her to apologize to Brittney after practice.
She’d told me they had argued about where to serve. I thought he was unfairly blaming her.
“What did you leave out?”
Maya sat across from me.
“I told Brittney I wished I’d picked someone else.”
I took my hands off the keyboard.
“Why?”
“She kept missing serves. Then she said my sets were too low.”
“And you said that?”
Maya nodded.
“Did you mean it?”
“Then, yes.”
“Now?”
She shook her head.
I read the email again. Three paragraphs defending a conversation I hadn’t heard.
“You told me you were just talking about serving.”
“I knew you’d be disappointed.”
I closed the draft.
“I don’t like what you said. But I’m glad you told me.”
“Are you still going to email him?”
“No. I should have asked more questions before I started writing.”
Maya pulled at the cuff of her sweatshirt.
“Everyone heard me.”
“Then Brittney was probably embarrassed.”
“I know.”
For a while, neither of us spoke.
“I don’t want to go tomorrow.”
“Because you don’t want to play, or because you don’t want to face her?”
“The second one.”
“I’ll drive you.”
Maya looked up.
“You’re making me go?”
“I think you need to talk to her. I’ll walk over with you, but you need to do the talking.”
“What do I say?”
“Tell her what you’re sorry for.”
“Can I explain why I was upset?”
“Yes. But don’t make your apology another conversation about her missed serves.”
Maya opened her messages.
She typed for a minute, then handed me the phone.
I’m sorry I said I wished I’d picked someone else. I shouldn’t have said that. Can we talk before practice?
“Does that sound okay?”
“Yes.”
She sent it.
While I started dinner, she stayed at the table.
“She hasn’t answered.”
“Give her some time.”
“Do you think she’ll still play with me?”
“I don’t know.”
Maya put her phone down.
I set two plates on the table.
“Stay here and eat with me.”
She pulled her chair closer.
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