Keep doing what I was doing? After that day, I wasn't sure how long that was going to be. Training camp sounded like a holiday after hours of fake-smiling so hard my face ached.
At some point during that summer, I managed to fall into something resembling a routine. Once training started it gave me something to do besides interviews and attempting, very badly, to furnish the enormous house - or at least the parts I lived in. In late August my parents came out for a very short visit, because short was all my mother could handle at the time. I met them at the airport with a baseball cap pulled down low over my eyes and an expression that I hoped concealed the worry at seeing my mother walking stiffly towards me clutching a cane in one hand.
As soon as she saw the house, though, my worry decreased.
"What have you done here?" She demanded, looking at me with the wide-eyes of a woman who can't believe her son's bad taste. "Half the rooms are entirely empty. And, Kaden, the rest of it looks like a Bed Bath and Beyond exploded in here!"
I grinned. "Isn't that a good thing, mom? I mean, at least the place has...stuff, right? Dishes, towels, all that?"
She was shaking her head and chuckling. "You're lucky I'm not back to full-strength yet, son. Because if ever a house needed a woman's touch, it's this one."
It was great having my parents around, even if it was only for a few days. They were a connection to Little Falls, to home, to a place and time that, ensconced in the bland luxury of my mansion and my life in Dallas, I was almost starting to think of as a dream I once had rather than a real place. My mother was getting better, too. Maybe she wouldn't ever be back to her old self, but her stubborn insistence on not using the wheelchair they'd brought along and the fact that her loving, joshing personality was as present and bold as ever gave me a kind of reassurance that I couldn't get from Skype sessions and e-mails. On their last night, we went out for dinner and talked about the possibility of them, at some point, moving out to Dallas so we could all be closer together.
"I'm not sure we can handle the heat," my dad joked at one point. "Or, when indoors, the icy wind."
"Yeah, they do like their full-force air-conditioning around here," I replied. "But I think it would be good for you. The healthcare in the city is better than anything mom's going to get in Little Falls and-"
"Dr. Williams is an excellent doctor!" My mother cut in. "Are you already turning into a city-boy, Kaden? Not everything is better in the city, you know."
I nodded. "Yeah, but the healthcare is, mom. You guys can't deny that."
It went on like that as we ate our meal. At one point my dad mentioned that he'd seen Tasha at the grocery store. I looked up, speaking with a tone of casual interest.
"Oh yeah?" I asked, wanting instead to grill him on how she was, who she was with, how she seemed to be doing. "Did you talk to her?"
"Briefly, yes. She's a nice girl, isn't she? Very formal, but a nice girl. She's gained a little weight but it looks good on her."
I nodded, looking at my dad, waiting for more. But he was already changing the subject. Dammit.
My first NFL game took place in mid-September. It was somewhat unusual to go straight from college to playing in the NFL, there was usually a longer bedding-in time, a process of learning the ropes, but by the time the season got underway it was clear to everyone that it would just be a waste of time to pretend I wasn't ready. And if I'd thought the pre-season media attention had been tedious, I didn't have a single clue how crazy it was going to get. Everyone, from the checkout staff at Whole Foods to the high school girls who dissolved into giggling fits and failed attempts to take photos of me on their phone whenever I was out in public, knew who I was. It was strange but almost enjoyable at first. Everybody seemed to like me. They all wanted me to take a photo with them, sign their t-shirts, chat about whether or not I was going to take the Cowboys to the Superbowl that year. I tried to accommodate everyone, but less than two months after the season started I could feel myself retreating, doing that thing of keeping my eyes straight ahead, pretending I didn't hear the greetings and requests and slightly creepy attempts to touch me. High-fives, handshakes and, from women, the kind of handsiness that would make a masseuse blush. It was too much. I started spending more and more time in an SUV with a driver and blacked out windows, ferried from one place to another without having to interact with any regular people. It wasn't snobbery or elitism, it was just that the constant attention was surprisingly draining. Playing football, actually being out on the field during a game, became a respite, the only time and the only place I felt free to be myself. The team's fortunes - and my stats - reflected it, too. Talk of the playoffs had already started back in the summer. By late fall, people were throwing around the word 'Superbowl' with ease.