“What do you really want?” There’s an energy in this room that rattles me, catching every part of me off guard. Feels like I’m gonna suffocate.
I purse my lips, another wave of emotions wracking my soul. My heels bounce against the ugly rug. “What I really want is to apologize.”
“Apologize?”
“It’s my fault. But I don’t wanna tell you all that. I wanna move on. I wanna get over this shit. I wanna be able to go to a restaurant and order whatever the hell I want and not throw it up that night. I wanna train hard and be in good shape. But not in a way that makes my athletic trainer worried so much she texts me three times a day to make sure I ate somethin’ and that I kept it down.” The words stumble over my tongue like I can’t say them fast enough. “So you wanna know what better looks like, Doctor?” My voice is getting louder with each word. “Better is when I can fuckin’ eat again, every day, and not have to force myself to not ram my finger down my throat. I wanna get over all this.” I’m yelling now, but it doesn’t phase him. He lets me feel. Shit, I’ve never said any of this.
“How long have you felt this way?”
“Suicidal? I don’t know.” My nails bore into the fabric of my jeans and I focus on the bookshelf behind Crossfit Santa. There’s a bunch of thick, old-looking books that I can’t quite make out the titles for.
“Wanting to be with your friend is a longing that many experience after losing a loved one, Bobby.” His words settle in the air, and I want to believe them. Want to believe that I’m not broken or messed up. Not alone. But that desire feels distant, like I can’t reach it even if I exert all my effort from now until forever.
We were supposed to have forever, Cody. I should be watchin’ you on television playin’ ball. Goin’ to see broadway shows like Spider-Man: Turn Off the Dark, starring Reeve Carney, with you on your days off. Workin’ our thumbs raw on our controllers playin’ Diablo all night long.
Shit, this hurts. All of it hurts. All the time. All the fucking time.
“You said you want to apologize. Can you tell me more about that?”
I look away. The clock on the wall ticks. Tick. Tick. Tick. It sounds like a sledge hammer, destroying the walls I’ve worked so hard to build.
“I should’ve been there with him. I should’ve saved him. If I could’ve kept him from that accident. If I would’ve talked to him longer, he wouldn’t have been at the wrong place at the wrong time, and he would still be here with her.”
“Her? The Lexie you mentioned earlier?”
Tick. Tick. Tick. The rhythm of the clock brings peace this time, calming my racing thoughts. Tick. Tick. Tick. I twist Lexie’s hair tie around my wrist. When I get out of here I’m buying a watch so I can have this calm with me everyday. Like my cross necklace and her hair ties. I need to be able to wear things that bring comfort. It helps. Something concrete. I need more things that are concrete.
“Yep, Lexie. She’s my girl now. But she shouldn’t be.” It feels so heavy coming from my lips. I didn’t expect any part of this to be easy. But I also didn’t know what would make it hard. It’s that sharing of myself that makes it so much. Things I never speak to anyone else come sliding out of my mouth, like when I slide into home. Natural, but uncomfortable at the same time. As if my brain has been waiting for its chance to work through the issues.
Somehow, I talk through my fifty-five minute session. Crossfit Santa deduces that I am ridiculously hard on myself.
“If someone else was in your situation, would you be this hard on them?” His question makes me think. If this were Cody, I would have grace for him.
“No.” It’s barely a whisper.
“Seems that you’re very hard on yourself. I’ve seen you play baseball. That dedication is very helpful on the field. But there needs to be a way for you to shift into a more comfortable headspace. A way for you to reframe the pressure into a mentality that helps you have faith and grace for yourself.” Crossfit Santa goes into an analogy but I’m still hung on his last statement.
The clock says it’s time to go. This ticking brings peace. I feel calmer watching the second hand. Tick, tick, tick.
“Maybe you can take some time to think about that.” He stands from his chair and shakes my hand. “Good to meet with you. I look forward to our next appointment.”
“Thank you.” I gather my things and go.
Since I was gone for a while, it’s already time to head to willardson. Wish I had a moment to catch my breath.
“Ready?” Her sweet smile greets me, arms wrapping around my waist, hugging me close. Lips meet mine, thirsty to be filled. But I feel drained. Like I have nothing to offer her.
Did I ever?
“What?” She holds me at arms length, the smell of her cinnamon perfume filling my nose. “What’s wrong?”
I want to be with you, but I don’t know how. Right now I don’t know how to be with myself. Feeling overwhelmed, I sit on the bed. She comes up beside me.
“It was a lot.” I debate telling her why. No, that won’t help. Mindy’s wrong about this one. Telling her will only make everything harder. The last thing we need is for her to be conscious about my food choices. I’m already concerned enough for both of us. Let me get this under control. Then maybe I’ll tell her. Yes, then. After I’ve figured it out.
“I thought it might be.” Her hand rubs between my shoulder blades. “You talked about Cody?”
I nod.
“I’m glad you went.”
“I’m not. Jeez, does therapy always open up a big ol’ can a worms?”
“Yeah, I think it does, actually. Good to go through those worms though, figure out which ones you wanna keep and which ones you need to let go.” She leans her head on my shoulder for several heartbeats. “I went to a grief counselor for a little bit. Helped a lot.”
“I have a lot to sort through.” Come on Bobby, just tell her.
It’s on the tip of my tongue when her phone alarm plays some annoying song.
“We gotta go.” She takes my hand. “Mom’s expectin’ us for dinner and she goes psycho if we are late. I’ll drive. We can talk about it on the way, okay?”
“Okay.” Only, I don’t talk about it. Too many thoughts go through my head, making it ache as I recall every second of that appointment.
She stops for a Coke at the McDonalds. “What do you want?”
“Nothin’.” Couldn’t put anything in my mouth to save my life.
“One large Coke.” She shakes her head to the music playing while we wait in the drive-thru. After she pulls out of the parking lot, she sips as we drive.
We’re fifteen miles down the road before we say another word. I’m still on pins and needles, like my body can’t calm down. This is not a good way to feel going into my first dinner at the Hawthorne’s, as Lexie’s boyfriend.
Shit, I need to relax.
“Do you like your therapist?” She glances my way.
“Yeah. I mean, sure, he’s fine.” I strain to swallow. My mouth is so fucking dry.
“Did your mom ever call you back?”
“No, I’m assumin’ she’s busy with stuff for the holidays.” The excuse is forced, and I wish I believed it. But since Mom didn’t bother calling me for my birthday or Thanksgiving, I’m really fucking angry. I know Mrs. Harris needs attention, but this is bullshit. She hasn’t had any time to call me?
“You’ve called her several times. You’d think she’d text back, at the very least.” Lexie wrinkles her brows.
“I can’t think of a time in my whole life when we’ve gone this long without an actual phone call. We are the type of family that actually talks to each other. Makes it even weirder.”
“That is weird.” Lex focuses on the road. “I try not to talk to my parents.”
“Yeah, that may be my new approach.” I shake my head. This is so strange for Mom and Dad. Good thing I’ll see them soon so I can figure all this out.
“I remember the cookie exchanges your mom always used to ho
st. We’d come back with platters full.” Lexie pops the lid off her Coke and pours a few ice cubes into her mouth to chew on.
A smile pulls at my face. I loved the times that our families all got together.
“Have you told your parents about us?” I ask.
“Yep. Have you?” Her eyebrow raises.
I rub my forehead. “No, not in the few and far between conversations we’ve had.”
“Oh, right.”
“It’s a little unsettlin’. I don’t know if they are just extra busy or what.”
“We’re all busy.”
Her words bite my insides. I’m empty. The weight of my therapy appointment and this conflict covers me like a blanket of fire, singeing my skin.
“I’m sure it’s fine.” She gives me a smile.
I hope she’s right. I’m worried that it’s not going to be the picture-perfect holiday from years past. It already isn’t.
Enough of the heaviness. I work to shake it off. Optimism is everything. Good vibes only. I’m about done with all this stress.
Pulling up in Lexie’s driveway, I see the estate. My parents are well off, but hers are in a whole other tax bracket. Her dad made it big in the bank law business. I think her family came from money, anyway.
Makes my heart ache for Cody’s family. Pain wraps around my tight throat wondering if they are still in debt from the funeral. Grief flows through my system and on top of all the other heaviness, I can’t breathe. Vomit comes to the back of my throat. I swallow and it burns a trail back into my stomach, acid lingering on my tonsils.
“Maybe I should have you drop me at my parent’s place? I don’t want to impose on your family.” I run my tongue over the roof of my mouth. So fucking dry.
“Don’t be silly.” She gets her backpack out of the back while I grab the duffel. “Mom is fine with you stayin’ over.”
“You’re sure?” I eye her.
“I don’t want to be here without you.”
There is a weight to her words that makes me worry. What has her homelife been like? Mick is her half brother. Her mom treated her like she didn’t want her. What is Mr. Hawthorne like? She has his last name, but that may or may not mean he accepts her.
She unlocks the door.
Meg, their maid, pulls her into a big hug. I remember Meg from when we hung out here as kids. She’s worked here since before I was in junior high.
“Where’s Mom?” Lexie steps back from the embrace and cleans her shoes on the greeting mat.
“She is finishing a call with the country club.” Meg smiles.
Their home is stunning. Something you’d expect to see in a Southern Living magazine. Pristine marble floors. Large hallways with arched walkways. A grand staircase with gold trim.
Famous paintings hang on the wall. None of ‘em are ones Lexie painted. Jeez. She wasn’t kidding when she said she didn’t feel like she fit in with her mom. How hard is it to display your daughter’s prized work? My parents made the whole living room a tribute to me playing ball.
My eyes scan the visible walls, hoping maybe I’ve just missed it. I could pick Lexie’s style out of a gallery. But these? Not one is even close to how she paints. I wish that her parents cared more about her. If this was my house, my daughter’s work would be all over the halls. Lexie’s paintings are good enough, too. She’s an amazing artist.
“You remember Bobby?” Lexie gestures to me.
“Oh, yes.” Meg shakes my hand.
“Baby girl?” Mr. Hawthorne steps out of his home office.
“Hey, Dad.” Lex rises up on her toes to hug him. He smiles big and pulls her close for a hug, like he’s missed her a lot. Seems they get along just fine. She’s really only mentioned things being tense with her mom.
“Bobby.” He shakes my hand. “Good to see you.”
“Mr. Hawthorne, you as well.” I match his firm grip with my own.
“Bobby’s stayin’ over. Did Mom tell you?” Lexie brushes a strand of hair out of her face.
Butterflies flutter in my stomach, not having a clue what her dad is going to think about this.
“Oh, is your home life still in shambles, Bobby?” Mr. Hawthorne’s face is serious while I wait for him to crack a joke. The longer we stand there, I realize he’s not teasing.
“Dad!” Lexie gasps, bringing her fingers to her lips. Her eyes dart to mine and I give her a frazzled look.
Shock plays on my face. My cheeks are burning hot. “Shambles?” I try to play it cool, but my pulse throbs in my veins.
“Lexie.” Her mom rushes down the stairs.
I welcome the distraction. I don’t know what the hell he was talking about. Shambles? Terror squeezes my insides. My frustration and worry turn to near panic and total confusion.
Lexie and her mom hug like nothing’s wrong. I know otherwise by the way that Lexie’s smile doesn’t reach her eyes. Whatever Mrs. Hawthorne did that day when Lexie found out about her birth father likely caused a permanent wedge between them. It’s sad, but I can see it.
“Bobby and I are goin’ up to my room.” Lex takes my hand. I carry the duffel up the stairs.
“Don’t be too long,” her mom calls after us.
“Okay, Mom.”
“Meg has lasagna in the oven.”
“Got it.” Lexie sounds annoyed.
“Dinner is promptly at six!” her mom calls, louder.
“We understand!”
“God, my mother.” She lets out an exasperated sigh as we get into her bedroom, childhood pink coating the room, like a cotton candy machine blew up in here.
“Pink?” I run my hand against the pastel textured wall.
“Gotta make sure I stay their little princess.”
I shake my head. “They don’t have a clue about you, do they?”
“Never cared to find out.” She tucks the suitcase on the top of her dresser. “I’m sorry about my dad. I don’t know what he’s talkin’ about.”
My stomach tenses so tight. “I need to figure out what’s goin’ on.” I pull out my phone and dial mom. It rings to voicemail. I call again. Same thing. Try Dad. No answer.
My mind spirals into worse case scenarios. What the hell is wrong? Some trouble with the house? Their health? Money? Shit, I don’t even know what kind of trouble they could be in. This isn’t Cody’s family I’m talking about. His family was a shit show running a marathon all day every day. But mine? Nope. A normal, well adjusted, mostly functional family.
Until they stopped talking to me.
Oh shit.
The reality that something is horribly wrong consumes me. As if today wasn’t overwhelming enough. I’m here at the Hawthorne’s trying to look like a good boyfriend. Just dumped my whole fucking soul in Crossfit Santa’s office. Now shambles….
Holy hell how am I supposed to handle all this?
I want to go get in the car and drive over there. But I can’t. Not with how Lexie’s parents are. That would ruin any good impression I’m capable of making.
I don’t even know if my parents are at home.
Shambles.
“My dad says a lot of shit. He’s probably just over exaggerating.” Lexie must be sensing my inner terror.
“Am I that easy to read?”
“Your face is all red.” She leans up and kisses me, like she’s trying to give me comfort. “It’s gonna be alright, okay?” Her fingers fix my hair. “I don’t know what Dad meant.”
“I wish I did.” My heart races as I pull off my shirt.
“Here.” Lexie gets her yellow dress and my button up out of the suitcase. “Try not to worry ‘til we know what’s goin’ on, alright?” She steps closer to me, her hands on my back, drawing me tight to her.
I force out a breath. “Okay.”
Their dining room is big enough to fit the whole baseball team. The clink of silver forks against fine China is the only sound. We dressed for dinner, because here, that’s what you do. Lex’s yellow dress hugs her in all the places that I refuse to star
e at with her father looking.
I dish up a small serving of the lasagna. About a quarter cup. Thoughtful portion.
“Oh, take more than that.” Lexie’s mom grabs the serving spoon from my hand and dishes up a heap that covers my plate. She doesn’t understand that I’ll pay for it later. I could’ve handled a little bit, but not this much.
I keep waiting for them to ask me stuff like most families do when you bring a fella home. Or at least, what I’ve watched in movies. I guess I’ve never been in an actual dinner-with-the-parents situation, until now. But they don’t. They don’t say anything. Tension builds in the air like fog after a bad storm.
“Well, Bobby, how’s the team lookin’ this year?” Mr. Hawthorn breaks the silence. Thank God.
“It’s lookin’ great.” I smile and nod. “Coach Conners has us workin’ hard already.”
“Glad to hear it. I mean, last year it fell apart toward the end of the season. But you boys really pulled it together.” He holds his fork out, like he’s punctuating his thoughts. “Reminds me of–” Her father talks about some case he’s working on and I zone it out, shaking in my skin needing to get home.
Focus, Bobby, focus.
I gotta keep up appearances now that I’m the boyfriend. Mom always said I was good with people, so it’s no trouble to get them to like me. The feeling may never be mutual. I don’t like anyone who isn’t willing to take care of my girl. She isn’t hard to take care of. Her mom barely tries at all.
Cool it, Anderson. Not like you need to drive a wedge between you and her family so soon.
Her dad may be a good person, but he doesn’t do enough to support her dreams.
I hope she’s ready to tell me more someday. I want to hear all her stories. I want to ease all her pain.
Will she ever be ready to hear about mine?
The grandfather clock in the corner ticks. Tick. Tick. Tick. Just like the clock in Crossfit Santa’s office. I try to find that bit of calm.
Her dad’s monologue drones on and no one competes with it. Her mom looks tired. That kind of tired that makes me think she’s listened to his stories for too many years. Like, if it wasn’t for the money, she wouldn’t still be married to him.
A Game Like Ours: Suncastle College Book One Page 19
