Page 4 of Sportsball is for Lovers

Okay. Not semi. Even though I work more than forty hours a week as a writer, I still have a full-time day job, too. As the manager of a local independent bookstore, I have a lot of flexibility, but I do still have responsibilities. I can’t do it alone.

Enter Yoni. His best friend Asher is engaged to my best friend Arielle, and I genuinely like him as a friend, so when he was looking for a part-time gig six months ago, I brought him on. He helps me manage the admin stuff, packages and ships the books I’ve signed, and generally takes care of me.

I’m like his houseplant.

Except, you know, I’m a person.

Sometimes.

An hour later, freshly showered and hair washed, I feel a little more like myself. Taking my meds feels like coming up for fresh air. Even though I have a timer set to take them twice a day, sometimes I get distracted and forget what I’m doing when the alarm goes off. And then I really feel the effects of not taking them, which starts an endless cycle of self-hatred and doubt.

Yoni has cleared off my desk and made me a turkey sandwich. He’s also filled my water cup. Seriously, I’m basically a houseplant.

“You’re good at this,” I tell him.

“Good at what?”

“Taking care of me.”

He scrunches his face. “Don’t be gross.”

“Have you and Elliott thought more about⁠—”

“No,” he cuts me off.

“I’m serious, I’ll do it,” I offer again. I know I don’t want kids, but I am fairly certain I’m willing to donate my eggs—to science, to someone who needs them. I just don’t think I could also be his surrogate.

Luckily, he hasn’t asked. I’m the one who offered.

“I’m just not ready to talk about it,” he says. “When I’m in a better place.”

His spouse, Elliott, wants a kid. Yoni is not so sure. I’m not sure if his reticence is because of the timing or the idea of caring for an actual child, but he’s allowed some time to figure it out.

We all are.

And the more I think about it, the more I write stories about people falling in love and getting their happily ever afters… I’m not so sure if it’s what I want anymore.

I mean—I want a partner. I want to fall in love.

But I don’t know if I want all the things that go with it. The house in the suburbs with the kids and the minivan and…

I like living in the city. I like my job(s). I like my independence.

As it stands now, I’m traveling often. Between book signing events, writing retreats with my friends, conferences and seminars, I’m gone at least a few days each month, and then that’s not including any personal travel to my family back home in Scottsdale.

Basically, I want a semi-long-distance relationship where the other person is okay with me virtually avoiding and/or ignoring them for days at a time. Where can I find that?

Even houseplants require some care and attention when I’m in the hyperfocus zone. That’s why I have Yoni. What, am I going to get my assistant to communicate with my spouse for me when I can’t look up from my manuscript? Is he going to coordinate dinner with my in-laws or send my nieces and nephews their Chanukah presents?

That reminds me⁠—

“I have to go to Scottsdale.” Yoni pulls out his journal to take notes.

“What’s the occasion?”

“My parents’ fortieth anniversary. My sisters are throwing a party.”

He makes a face. “Does that mean I have to talk to them?”