Chapter Text
It’s strange how quickly things change.
She’d been playing through it, wrapping up another tournament win with the national team in the midst of it all. They’d been fine in Orlando; she’d hung with Syd and the kids, chilled at Ash and Ali’s home, messed around with Pinoe. In New Jersey, they’d been a little more cautious but things had mostly carried on as normal. Then came Texas, and elbow bumps in lieu of handshakes, and everyone keeping a healthy distance.
There had been a strange finality to it beforehand. She felt sure – though it went unspoken, though there were friendlies in the calendar – that it would be their last game for a long while. It was even more reason to secure the win, not just to seal the title, but to go away on a positive note. Added to that, there was the heat of the lawsuit, a fire freshly stoked by the day’s revelations. They had something to prove; they always had something to prove. So they played one last time. They played hard, even when Japan fought back. They celebrated just as hard too, hugging and jumping on each other with any idea about minimizing contact forgotten. Because it was habit, well-learned from a lifetime of celebrating together like hyperactive puppies. In the heat of the moment, their collective instincts were to leap toward each other, to embrace each other, to hold each other up.
And then, when it was over, the world was a different place. Merely in the 90 minutes they’d been playing, the circumstances felt dramatically altered.
Travel ban. Tom Hanks tests positive. NBA shut down.
They leave camp in silence. Gone is the celebratory atmosphere that’s become as familiar to Tobin as the back of her hand. It had carried them through tournament after tournament these past few years: the young ones dancing and cheering at the back of the bus, Pinoe’s cackle from the seat in front, various members of the coaching staff trying to wrangle their players as they goof around, Kelley making the others scream from whatever hiding place she can find.
And then there’s silence. And distance.
Tobin flies back to Portland with Lindsey. They talk a little on the plane, trying to distract each other, but mostly the silence persists, the advice from their coaching staff fresh in their minds now: stay at home, quarantine early, wait for further guidance in due course. The sight of strangers in masks makes it hard to forget the situation, and they’re both exhausted from camp anyway. As they part at the airport, there’s a strange moment where they look at each other awkwardly, unsure whether to hug or elbow bump or do nothing at all. They settle on a hug in the end. Tobin instigates it, suddenly needing to hug someone more than she ever has, and notices the way the tension in Lindsey’s shoulders instantly drops as she accepts the embrace.
It’s late when Tobin gets home, too late for her to even think about going out to the store for food. She opens her fridge with zero expectation that there’ll be anything waiting for her, and sure enough: it’s empty. She stalks around the apartment slowly, trying to think up the easiest option for food, and eventually manages to find a delivery option that’s still available. Dawn would be so disappointed, she thinks to herself, hitting the pay button on a solid $40 worth of food due to arrive in approximately two and a half hours.
Three hours later, her dinner arrives. She manages to miss the alert while she’s napping, and finds out thanks to a special delivery inside the building. It’s a knock at her apartment door that catches her attention. As she pads across the room to get it, rubbing her eyes and wondering who can possibly be knocking on her door from inside the building, she hears a distantly familiar voice call out, “Sorry, I was coming back from my walk and saw the delivery guy for you. It’s right out here. I just wanted to make sure you got it.”
By the time she’s opening the door, there is only her takeout sitting on the floor waiting for her. She calls out a confused, drowsy, “Thank you!” down the hall, though there are no signs of life anywhere.
Too tired to contemplate it too much, she picks up the takeout bags and goes back to the quiet evening of food and sleep that she had planned. She’s so exhausted that it’s the next morning before she gives the encounter another thought. It’s as she’s skulking around her kitchen, filled with self-pity over the sorry selection available in the cupboards, that she hears someone outside her door again. When she steps out into her hallway, she sees a note slip under the door.
Tobin reads the name at the bottom first, quickly, and doesn’t immediately recognize it. This time, however, she’s quick to react and manages to reach the peephole while her mystery guest is still out there. To her surprise, it’s the upstairs neighbor she’s seen coming and going occasionally. The pretty one, usually wearing yoga pants, always smiling warmly as they pass each other in the building.
She looks down at the note again and reads, Hi Tobin, I noticed you were home from your trip and wanted to check you had everything you need. If there are any essentials you’re missing, I thought I’d reach out because I know you’re not here a lot so might not have been able to stock up. The stores have been out of a lot of things lately, so let me know if there’s anything you need. I’m right upstairs (flat 23), and I can also get stuff while I’m out picking up extras – going to the store early seems to be working out better so far. Anyways, I’ll leave you with my number.
Underneath her words, there’s a cellphone number written out by hand.
Immediately, Tobin texts: Hey, thanks for last night. I was totally wiped out, so would’ve probably missed my only shot at food without your help. You read me well because I haven’t stocked up on anything. She adds a row of gritted teeth emojis for dramatic effect. Was planning to head to the store today. It’s Tobin from downstairs btw. She throws in the hang loose emoji without second-guessing it and shoots off the message.
It’s only a few seconds before the little thought bubble with the ellipses pops up to show that Christen is typing. Tobin’s still staring down at her phone, waiting, when the reply comes through: Don’t want to scare you but the stores are pretty empty. Let me know if there’s stuff you need still after. Stay safe out there. C x
Tobin smiles to herself, comforted to have a nearby friend in all this, and slides the phone back into the pocket of her sweatpants. She’s not too concerned, figuring that her notable lack of pickiness when it comes to food might be about to pay off at least.
It’s only when she gets to the grocery store that she comes to understand quite what Christen means. Even being Tobin Heath in Portland – and she’s unmistakable in Supreme sweats, a snapback and Jordans – doesn’t get you very far when the stores are out. Fully out. It’s not just that her preferred brands aren’t available; it’s that whole food groups aren’t available. She shuffles around the aisles, passing strangers in masks, keeping her distance and trying not to get too freaked out by the experience. She’s staring down an entirely empty aisle, barren of the multi-packs of cereal she’d been expecting to see, when she gives in and calls Christen.
“Hey?” Christen answers, sounding a little surprised.
“Hey, so, umm, I, like, went to the store and it’s wild in here. I’m trying to get stuff I need but, like, there just isn’t… much at all. The shelves are just bare. I don’t wanna take advantage of your kind offer right off the bat but I might have to be that person,” she says, trying to unpack the oddness of the experience as she explains it to someone else.
“Yeah, that’s totally fine. Just get what you can and we can sort the rest out. I’m pretty set,” Christen replies, in a soothing, relaxed voice that seems to steady Tobin’s heart rate just as she listens to it.
“This is… so nice of you to offer. Okay, I’m gonna try and get what I can and not, like, completely freak out. It’s so fucking weird,” Tobin confesses, feeling the need to address the vaguely apocalyptic feeling of wandering around a store while everyone looks at each other with a slightly haunted look in their eyes.
“Yeah.” Christen’s voice is sad and soft, but still calming. “Were you kind of out of the real world for a while? When you were away?”
Though Christen doesn’t directly mention the national team, Tobin’s certain her neighbour knows exactly where she’d been. She distantly recalls a brief, friendly conversation after the World Cup – nothing more than it was awesome, or something to that effect. Or perhaps even, you were awesome. Either way, Tobin answers Christen readily, explaining, “Yeah, it’s like a bubble. But it’s never been this weird to come home. This is just, like, fucking crazy.”
“I can only imagine.”
They’re quiet on the line but no part of Tobin wants to hang up. She wants Christen to keep talking to her, distracting her as she searches for something, anything, to add to her basket.
Eventually, Christen says, “Well, don’t worry about whatever they don’t have. I’ve been going super early because there tends to be more there in the mornings, when they’ve just stocked up the shelves, I guess. I can just help you out when you’re home.”
“This is a really nice thing you’re doing for me,” Tobin reiterates, completely earnest in her gratitude. “Honestly.”
“Hey, don’t worry about it. Seriously. You can, umm, score for me sometime or something.” Christen laughs a little as she says it, not in a cynical way, almost nervous.
Tobin thinks sadly that she won’t be scoring any time soon, but chooses not to say it. It feels too dismissive to respond that way when Christen’s being so cheery and helpful. Instead she just replies, a little wistful despite her best efforts, “Yeah, I’ll try.”
She hangs up the phone and carries on trying to navigate the store.
It’s only when she gets home that she takes inventory of what she has and what she’s missing. She tries to minimize her requests as much as possible, feeling guilty at her total lack of preparation. There’d been no toothpaste, no soap, no tinned food – barely any food at all, in fact.
They text back and forth, and Christen’s quick to reassure her once again that it’s not a problem. Nothing seems too much trouble. It has Tobin wondering what she did to deserve this guardian angel. In the form of her cute neighbour, no less.
*
It’s only a couple of days before she discovers her first major shortage. While Christen had helped with a few small items – toothpaste, tinned tomatoes, eggs – Tobin had neglected to realize just how low she’d been running on one particular essential.
Toilet paper emergency, Tobin taps out into the phone, with a series of red siren emojis right after it. She’s wincing at the screen as she presses send from the corner of her bathroom, the storage cupboard door still open from her efforts to find some on her own.
A few minutes later, her phone lights up with a reply: Outside your door. Better get it quick before someone steals it.
She hears Christen on the other side of the door still and calls out, “Wait, are you serious?” Tobin goes to open it and notices Christen walk a few steps back in anticipation. She’s got her hair tied up into a tidy ponytail with loose curls unravelling out of it, her face almost bare of makeup but no less pretty for it. She’s just as cute as Tobin had remembered, and once again wearing yoga pants. This time, they’re a soft maroon colour and they’re perfectly paired with the matching top: light pink, with maroon detailing.
“Oh yeah,” Christen says, nodding, a wry grin on her face as their eyes finally meet. It’s strange. They haven’t seen each other face-to-face in weeks – barely know each other at all, in fact – but there’s familiarity there. “Someone stole the eggs right out of my cart last time I went to the store. It’s wild out there.”
“I’m scared now,” Tobin jokes.
There’s something fond and warm in Christen’s expression as she replies, “Didn’t mean to scare you.” And it makes Tobin forget herself for a moment. She’s a little lost, mesmerized as she looks into friendly green eyes that seem to be studying her right back.
When she realizes she’s let the silence go on a moment too long, she clears her throat. “I gotta thank you again for this, and the rest.”
“Well, I pride myself on my preparedness,” Christen says with a smile that’s brightening by the second. “I stocked up a little before all this went down. I actually… I, uh… I do this anyway. I don’t want you to think I’m an asshole. I just tend to keep like 30 rolls in the cupboard. I don’t know why but–” She catches herself. “I guess it worked out.”
Tobin nods. “You saved my ass.” She glances down at the pack of toilet paper between them and adds, “Quite literally. I never got the, uh, bidet fitted, so...”
Christen laughs. Like, really laughs. And it feels like the first time Tobin’s heard someone laugh in days. It must’ve happened after they’d won, up there on the podium with Sonnett playing class clown. She doesn’t remember the last time. All she knows is it’s music to her ears. When it stops, Christen stills to a sunny smile and says, “It’s just nice to be helpful to someone, you know? It’s, umm… a good distraction from all the things that we’re just helpless to do anything about.”
“That makes sense.”
“Listen, it’s probably best that we, umm, keep a distance and self-isolate for a while because I, uh, don’t wanna risk infecting you. Not that I have it,” Christen quickly clarifies, eyes going wide, and Tobin’s trying to hide her amusement as she continues. “I don’t. I don’t think so. I just… it’d be good to talk sometimes. I have people I can call, but… it’d be good to feel like I have a friend here, close by.”
“Yeah, totally,” Tobin says, the idea warming her. She understands it, that feeling of relief that there’s someone close by. She’d felt it from their first interaction.
“And we can help each other.”
“That’d be really nice, Christen.”
“Okay then,” Tobin’s neighbor says with a firm nod.
“Okay.”
There’s a strange moment that sits there. Criss-cross applesauce, just sat between them. It’s like neither one of them knows quite what to say next, and perhaps the conversation’s over, but they linger anyway. Tobin wonders if Christen doesn’t want to leave either. It’s the only time Tobin’s seen another human since she went to the store and she doesn’t want it to be over yet. But they’re relative strangers. And, right now, she can’t think of anything to say. About the toilet paper in her hand. About the insane world outside their door. About any of it.
Eventually, Christen repeats another, “Okay,” and then adds, “Well, I better get back to, uh, my work. I was just… attempting to, umm, organize a Zoom catch-up with any of my colleagues who want to check-in about, you know, like… how they’re doing. I work in HR and a lot of them got furloughed or they’re struggling working from home. So.”
“That’s an awesome idea,” Tobin can’t help but remark, because there’s something so undeniably warm and soothing about her presence. “You like helping people, huh?”
“Doesn’t everyone?” Christen laughs.
Not like you, Tobin thinks. She only smiles and says, “I should let you get back to saving the world then.”
Christen rolls her eyes. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
“No, no. I get it,” Tobin teases her, putting her hands up in surrender, though one of them is still clutching the pack of toilet paper. “You got things to do, other people to save.”
Though it does little to conceal the way she flushes, Christen shakes her head. “Shut up.”
“I’m just saying–”
“Okay, okay. I’m going now,” Christen says, backing away further to make her point. There’s a smile she can’t shake, betraying her amusement. “Enjoy your toilet paper, loser.”
When she disappears from sight, Tobin can’t shake her own smile either as she thinks to herself about her helpful upstairs neighbor. Just as cute as she remembered her. But had she always been so warm, so talkative? It seems impossible now that Tobin hadn’t stopped to talk to her for longer, hadn’t eked out every second of conversation with this person at every chance she’d got, hadn’t at least become hugging acquaintances. And there’s a part of her that feels the loss of contact as if they were that familiar, the inability to hug this particular person holding its own unique sting. She feels herself missing something she never had.
Maybe it’s not too late.
*
The next time Tobin heads out to the store, a few days later, she thinks of Christen, the kind neighbor who’d thought of her. She texts to ask if Christen needs anything else, knowing that it’s highly unlikely she’d have much to offer but wanting to strike up a conversation more than anything. In the days since she’d arrived home, she’s had a couple of meetings with Mark, with Vlatko, with Pinoe, with her family. But still she’d felt most comforted by talking face-to-face with Christen, even if only for a few minutes.
She drops her phone down on the bed and waits. She makes herself a breakfast with what’s left over and, when there’s still no response, Tobin kills some time making a half-hearted attempt to transition the contents of her suitcase back into her wardrobe. She’s got her head in the closet when she hears a quiet buzz coming from the bed. When she turns, she sees the phone lit up with a reply.
If you can get tampons, I would seriously owe you my life. Thought I was on top of everything but it turns out my cycle did not get furloughed, Christen’s text reads, and then it finishes with the wide-eyed blushing face emoji, along with gritted teeth.
Tobin snorts to herself before shooting back, I got you.
Abandoning her task halfway through, she grabs her keys and heads out straight away, her phone buried in the pocket of her hoodie. Her mission assigned, she’s suddenly wasting no time, and whatever half-considered plan to write down a shopping list is entirely forgotten.
When she gets to the store, she finds herself in two minds about which tampons to choose, initially selecting her own preference, before adding a few other options to her basket too. With the favor at the front of her mind, she’s reminded of Christen’s current situation, feeling keenly sympathetic to the inevitable discomfort. It prompts her to choose from the skeleton selection of candy that’s available: chocolate, chocolate and a little more chocolate ought to do it. She also grabs a pack of herbal tea and, with the best of intentions, checks for Tylenol, only to be disappointed.
Tobin manages to remember a few of the items she’d been needing herself, successfully finding roughly half of them before just giving up entirely. Her haul ends up mostly an assortment of period essentials, with a smattering of basic food items that will keep her cupboards barely stocked for all of about 48 hours.
When she gets back to the apartment, she notices her heating pad on top of the dresser in her bedroom. Perfect, she thinks, grabbing it to add with the rest. She leaves the carefully-collated assortment in front of Christen’s door, then texts her from a few steps down the hall: Delivery!
Christen’s quick to answer the door, peering out with a broad smile on her face as she clocks Tobin from a distance. When she crouches down to survey the items, her voice comes out small: “Oh my god. Did you… You made me a care package.”
Tobin laughs it off. “Yeah, I guess I did. I hope you feel better.”
“Thank you,” Christen says, her voice marked with surprise still. A teasing lilt creeping in, she adds, “Looks like you’re a regular superhero yourself, huh?”
Tobin lifts one shoulder, the picture of nonchalance. “Just doing my part around here.”
“It’s very noble of you and I appreciate it.” Christen gives a grateful nod. “I’ll let you get to, umm, your next mission. I assume you’ve got things to do, other people to save?”
“Oh yeah, just squeezing you in before I go help a cat out of a tree.”
“Thanks Tobes,” she replies fondly, the nickname going unnoticed at first, until Tobin’s walking slowly back downstairs, the words echoing in her mind. It’s a warm feeling to have been able to make her neighbor’s day, especially given how much Christen’s done for her already.
A few hours later, she’s lying across the sofa when her phone lights up with a text that says: This heat pad works miracles.
Seconds later, she sees a link to a video appear below the message. Mariah Carey – Hero.
She sends a laughing emoji back, and then clicks on it. There’s no harm in a little solo karaoke with no else around.
*
As she comes to accept that this strange new reality isn’t such a short-term one, there are adjustments to make for training. Pierre sends over an adapted training plan to allow her to make the best of what she’s working with, and it’s daunting to look around the apartment space and accept that it’s all she has now. There’s such an intense pang of longing for vast fields of green, people jogging around her or making conversation or ball-juggling. To Tobin, her teammates had always been ripe for a nutmeg. She’d shoot the ball through one person’s legs before picking it up to tap it through another’s, only then to bounce it on the top of her foot before scoping out her next victim.
She was never a big talker, but she misses being the listener amongst the crowd. She misses being around them – teammates, family, friends, strangers. Company.
Now, her shiny, grey apartment feels cold and empty.
It feels a little less like a sanctuary, a little more like a cage.
The coffee table where she’d propped up her legs while playing Mario Kart with Harry is repurposed as the surface for tricep dips. The corner, beneath the framed photo of herself holding Tucker and Bailey while her sister smiles at her, is the spot for extended wall sits that leave her legs trembling. The bookshelf filled with worn paperbacks borrowed from friends and teammates is moved to allow space for her body conditioning routine.
There’s at least some relief once she’s finished reading over the new training plan as the scheduled Thorns call comes around. She balances the laptop on her little orange table on the balcony, happy to get some fresh air, only giving a few surreptitious glances to Christen’s balcony overhead, and watches as the little squares appear in a gallery: Kling, Lindsey, Sinc, Menges, Ellie, Simone, Gabby, A.D., all of them one by one and then – she’d almost forgotten – Becky. She finds herself smiling about it, brightening at the reminder as her teammates give their newest addition a teasing cheer.
What follows is an hour of Mark trying to keep them, albeit half-jokingly, in order as everyone checks in. One by one, they’re given a chance to share their situation and any concerns, each one of them using the time to rally the others.
Sinc’s stuck in Florida, Kling’s bored out of her mind, Becky’s working her way through half of Powell’s, Lindsey’s gone home to Denver for a little while. Oh, and got a dog.
Tobin’s one of the last. She simply says she’s at home alone in Portland missing them, missing the Park, but that they’ll be together soon. “It’ll be even fucking sweeter,” she says, and Mark follows it up with an enthusiastic, “Fuck yeah,” that makes her laugh.
There’s no doubt she feels better for having talked to her fellow Thorns, for having seen their smiling faces and sat amid the banter once again. The team environment is all she’s known her whole life: noise, chaos, camaraderie. Before football, she’d had her family, she’d had sisters arguing and organized fun and people always up in each other’s space. It’s what she’s used to, even while being able to entertain herself perfectly well. It’s always been there in the backdrop at the very least.
Knowing that Lindsey had opted to head to Colorado, it makes Tobin wonder about Florida – or somewhere else, somewhere she’ll not feel so alone. The feeling of missing people sneaks up so often, so out-of-the-blue, it can be hard to know how best to manage it. Sometimes it’s specific. Sometimes it’s the very particular feeling of sitting around a table with Pinoe, Ash, Ali and Lyss, venting or joking around or righting the world’s wrongs. Sometimes it’s the ache of her back as she runs, half-bent over, chasing after her tiny nephews. Sometimes it’s her mom and the hugs she’d give, or the way she’d fondly say “Tobes” like her daughter was her favorite person in the world, or the food she’d make just to bring their family together.
It’s that last little thought that compels her to action. She decides, suddenly, that she wants to make her mom’s bolognese recipe. A taste of home.
She gets her mom to text her the whole thing, because it’s not like she can remember – it’s not like she’d ever been able to stand still long enough to help with making it. Then she heads to the store, picks up what she needs, and finds every little thing except for the actual pasta.
For some reason it’s this, above all else, that feels most crushing.
It feels like falling at the last hurdle. It feels like losing in the final. It feels fucking terrible because all she wants is to walk into her mom’s kitchen and smell it. All she wants is to walk into her mom’s arms and have her promise everything’s going to be fine. All she wants is her mom.
Can’t find pasta anywhere, she texts her mom back, adding a broken heart emoji.
Seconds later, her mom asks, You want me to send you some in the mail? You can have it in a few days then, sweetie. It makes Tobin want to cry.
Instead of replying directly to the caring offer, she simply texts back, I miss you. The feeling of loneliness is overwhelming as she stands, basket hanging on her forearm, in the middle of a half-empty store.
She’s still looking down at her phone when she notices Christen has texted her. She’s sent a cute dog video with the note: If you’re missing sports, I thought you might enjoy the puppy Olympics. It’s a silly video of two dogs very lazily fighting over a chew toy while a voice commentates over the scene like it’s an extremely serious Olympic final.
Still feeling choked up, Tobin’s relieved to laugh to herself. She’s relieved to feel the heaviness dissipate, the pain in her throat easing. Even if it makes her look a little crazy in the middle of the grocery store.
She immediately replies to Christen, So you’re a dog person then?
Ohhhhhhh yeah, Christen texts, with the puppy emoji.
Tobin takes a deep breath, steadying herself, looking back up at the empty shelves. Before she can think twice about it, she taps out: Store was out of pasta. Any chance you have some and want to claim the biggest IOU of all time?
Christen sends back: I have tagliatelle, lasagne, fusilli, some weird pasta I found last week called trottole, and a little bit of penne. What’s your poison?
First, Tobin replies with a Youtube link to Wind Beneath My Wings, then says: Hero. Any of the shapes pls!!!!
It’s so casual, so easy, but to Tobin it feels like a lifeline. Where she’d been frozen in the middle of the aisle, unsure of what to do next, she suddenly comes to life. She’s soon marching off to the checkout.
Delivery incoming, is the response from Christen when she looks down at her phone once she’s out of the store, and Tobin has to laugh at the plane emojis she uses, along with a brown package one.
A few minutes later, Christen sends the emoji of the mailbox with the signal flag up.
When she gets home, her arms already weighed down with bags, Tobin wanders to her door to discover an unopened pack of fusilli on the doormat, along with a tupperware container with a note on the top. Impatient as ever, she drops everything else so that she can open the box to a great waft of freshly baked brownies, only to discover a delicious-looking batch inside.
Brownies?!?! Is it too soon to ask you to move in with me? she types out, before tapping back on the last sentence, second-guessing herself. In its place, she writes, I owe you SO BIG.
I’m now worried you have a nut allergy. Or some special athlete diet. If so, I’m so sorry. Grab epi pen immediately just in case. If not, you’re welcome! Salted caramel and chocolate, btw, Christen adds.
No allergies, Tobin sends back, adding only the shaka sign emoji.
In that case, enjoy. I hope the pasta selection is to your liking.
Sensing the conversation beginning to naturally wrap itself up and wishing for it not to end, Tobin taps to call. Before Christen can say a word, she rushes to say: “I owe you my life. Or, like, at least food, and lots of it. I, uh… We should properly hang after this. Maybe after the two weeks of isolation are up, just in case? Like, I don’t have anyone else around really so it’d be cool to have at least one person for company.”
“You want to do this thing together? Quarantine buddies?”
Feeling the dizzying swoop of her stomach, she musters all her cool to reply, “Yeah. How ‘bout it?”
“Those brownies are that good, huh?”
Tobin bites down a smile, though Christen can’t see it.
“Thought you’d never ask,” Christen says with a warm, easy laugh that does nothing to silence the voice in the back of Tobin’s head that says you’re in trouble.
A little while later, she takes a picture of her masterful fusilli bolognese, made just how her mom makes it, even turning on portrait mode to capture it. She sends the photograph to Christen with a short, Thank you. Then she sends it to her mom, with nothing but a heart.
Cindy replies just as she’s tucking in: You found some pasta! I sent you some anyway, Tobes, so it should get to you in a couple days. Love you.
Suddenly, Tobin doesn’t feel alone at all.