by Britt Morrow
Now though, I’m excited. I’ve enjoyed watching the game thus far, but I have energy that I need to burn off if I don’t want to spend all night thinking about Charlie. I’d rather have football to think about. Even if things go poorly, I’d rather brood over my mistakes on the field than my heartache.
I pull on my helmet as I run out onto the field. I’m dimly aware of the announcer declaring that this is my first game at Tennessee Tech and rattling off some of my high school statistics, but they don’t actually register. I’m in the zone where nothing matters except the ball and the players in front of me.
My palms are slick with sweat, but I still manage a decent throw to James, a runningback who’s faster than any I’ve ever played with. True to form, he hustles down the field and manages to gain some impressive yardage. He claps me on the back appreciatively as we huddle up for the second down.
Tonight, football actually feels like a game. I no longer feel like my future hangs in the balance of every pass, my reputation dependent on the outcome of every game. Now, it can just be something I enjoy. Something I do for the thrill I get from a perfect pass, the satisfaction of a well-executed play. Which is exactly what I get as the clock winds down. I don’t manage any touchdowns, but I’m pleased with my performance. And so is Coach. He congratulates everyone as they come in, but gives me a little extra encouragement. “Good job Levi, a strong start to the season.”
It’s the kind of praise that will buoy me through the next week at least. Maybe it will even prevent me from questioning what I’m doing here and whether leaving Charlie was the right choice for a couple of days.
“You killed it,” I tell Jeremiah as we strip off our gear. It’s not just friendly lip-service, he made some beautiful hits tonight.
“Thanks, bud. You looked great out there!”
“I’d say we all deserve a few celebratory drinks,” Beau calls out. “Afterparty at our house!”
Beau shares an old house with a few of the other seniors on the team. I haven’t been yet, but apparently, the parties make up for the filth.
Once everyone is showered and dressed, we head out as a herd. It’s nice to be part of a group where I actually feel a sense of belonging, rather than my usual position on the fringes. Jeremiah and James are breathlessly discussing the highlights of the game, and I can feel myself smile for the first time in a while. I may not have the same deep, experiential connection with them that I do with Charlie, but I still enjoy their company.
Beau is at the head of the pack, leading the way to an old, vinyl-sided house on the outskirts of the campus. It’s rather decrepit: the sagging porch makes the whole house look like it’s drooping, as if saddened by its plight of only ever being inhabited by university students unable, or maybe just unwilling, to properly take care of it.
“You don’t lock your front door?” Jeremiah asks as Beau walks right in.
“What’s anyone gonna take? The recycling?”
Maybe, if they’re smart. There’s at least five dollars worth of beer cans in the overflowing receptacle. In fact, the whole house seems to be overflowing: with unwashed laundry, dishes in the sink, and now dozens of guys, and their significant others, or just whoever happened to show interest in them tonight. I’m no stranger to sloppy living conditions, though; I feel right at home.
Beau opens up the fridge with a flourish. It’s packed almost exclusively with cheap domestic beer - my favourite. I readily accept one; it was well-earned after tonight’s game.
One beer quickly turns into two, then three, then a whiskey before I lose count, animatedly chatting away with Jeremiah and his date for the evening, Miranda. Beau and a couple of the other guys join us. Jeremiah and Miranda disappear. James takes Jeremiah’s seat. I’m socializing and enjoying myself to the point where I lose track of time and who I’m talking to.
It’s nice to just exist in this moment. I’ve always been so intent on surviving, struggling to get from one moment to the next - hopefully better - one that I’ve forgotten that’s it’s possible to just be in the moment. Existence isn’t the same as truly living, though. I’ve only truly lived, like the zealous, fulfilling kind of living, when I was with Charlie.
Chapter 14
“You wanna come to brunch with us?”
I groan. I’d forgotten that I’d agreed to meet Jeremiah’s family. And now I’m cotton-mouthed and sluggish in my hangover, reluctant to open my eyes despite his insistent shaking of my shoulder.
I’m not usually one to drink to excess. Years of watching Brandi stumble around pathetically and slur nonsensical insults have made me disgusted by overconsumption. I was having fun and forgot myself last night, though. Or at least that’s what I’m telling myself. It sounds better than admitting that I’m still drowning my sorrows over Charlie.
I’m fine with a one-off celebratory bout of drunkenness, especially since it was my first college football game, and it went even better than I expected. But I can’t let this become my coping mechanism, especially if hangovers are going to make me this crabby and lazy.
“Come on, I’ve already told them that you’re coming,” Jeremiah insists.
I struggle to pull myself into a seated position. My head is pounding, and I’m not sure if my stomach is settled enough to make it through brunch. I figure that I can probably get through it with a couple of Advil, though.
“Relax, I’m coming,” I reply begrudgingly.
“Ok, then you’re gonna have to shower first and do something about that hair. I don’t want my parents to think that I’ve befriended a vagrant.”
I grumble at him, but do as requested while Jeremiah goes off in search of Gatorade and painkillers. When he returns, he’s accompanied by a slender female who shares his large eyes and high cheekbones.
“Levi, this is my sister, Nia.”
“It’s nice to meet you,” I respond, my brain too lethargic to come up with anything more engaging to add.
“Likewise, I’ve heard a lot about you,” she tells me.
I’m not sure what there could possibly be to say about me, so I just smile back.
“Don’t mind him, he had a little too much fun last night,” Jeremiah jokes, handing me a couple of Advil. It turns out that they also share the same laugh.
I follow them out of the dorm and into the lobby of the residence, where Jeremiah’s parents are waiting.
“I’m Dwayne.” His dad immediately holds out a hand for a shake that borders on painful. He’s almost as fit as Jeremiah.
“Gabrielle,” his mom adds, enveloping me in an unexpected hug. “Thanks for being a friend to Jeremiah. We were worried that he might get homesick.”
I wouldn’t blame him if he did. Gabrielle is the quintessential Mom figure in her floral dress and sensible heels. She flashes me a broad smile, and I can immediately tell where Jeremiah gets his charm.
“I hope you like breakfast food?” She thinks to add. “Apparently, there’s a good diner a couple of blocks from here.”
Gabrielle loops her arm through mine. She peppers me with questions as we walk towards the restaurant. Nia and Dwayne walk slightly ahead of us, listening intently to Jeremiah’s recap of last night’s game. “Jeremiah mentioned that you’re majoring in engineering?”
“Yeah, I’ve always liked math and physics.”
“Good for you! I’m glad to hear that Jeremiah is spending time with friends who are so studious. He’s very disciplined when it comes to football, but school has never really been his forte. Have you two been studying together at all?”
“Yeah, he joins me sometimes,” I lie.
She’s peering at me anxiously, and I feel bad about misleading her, but I don’t want to rat out Jeremiah. I make a mental note to start encouraging him to join Dawson and me in our evening study sessions.
“That’s good to hear. And he hasn’t been partying too much?”
That one I don’t have to lie about. “No, he keeps telling me that alcohol has too many empty calories.”
/> Like Jeremiah and Nia, Gabrielle has a loud, friendly laugh. She squeezes my shoulder and drops her voice to a whisper, “I’m relieved that Jeremiah ended up with you as a roommate. I was afraid that he would get lonely on his own out here.”
I can see why he might. Gabrielle strikes me as the type of mom who always carries a bandaid in her purse, has a snack waiting for you when you get home, and never misses a football game or a booster event.
Some women approach motherhood as a duty, a series of tasks that should be accomplished in order to avoid raising delinquents: wake them up for school on time, make sure they arrive clean and fed, ensure that their homework is complete. For others, like Gabrielle, motherhood is a calling, the nurturing is fierce and innate in an almost all-consuming way. And then there are those for whom motherhood is an albatross, a life cut short by the inevitability of bringing another one into this world. I’m sure you can guess which category Brandi falls into.
“I don’t think you need to worry about him,” I reassure her. “He has no shortage of friends.”
“He’s always been well-liked, but it’s a mother’s job to worry.” She flashes me another wide smile.
“What about you, Levi? Jeremiah hasn’t told me much about your family or where you’re from.”
I’m relieved that I’m spared from answering this question by our arrival at the diner. I’ve become pretty skilled at giving evasive answers - I’m not a talented enough actor to actually say anything positive about Brandi - but there’s something disarming about Gabrielle that makes me reluctant to tell her any more half-truths.
“So, you’re the team quarterback that we’ve heard so much about?” Dwayne asks once we’re seated.
“The backup quarterback,” I clarify.
“I really tried to get Jeremiah interested in the quarterback position, but he never had the focus,” Dwayne sighs. “The kid just wanted to run.”
“He’s always been a bundle of energy. I used to put a leash on him when we would go anywhere because I couldn’t keep track of him,” Gabrielle laughs.
They regale me with funny stories from Jeremiah’s childhood while we enjoy our ham and toast slathered in strawberry jam. As much as I like Jeremiah, I can’t help but feel a twinge of resentment. I envy the teasing way Dwayne recounts stories about him, the loving smile he receives from Gabrielle every time Dwayne says something particularly funny, the way Nia shakes her head in a way that conveys equal parts admiration and exasperation - the plight of a younger sibling with a lot to live up to.
I’ve always seen families like this in the movies. Families bonded by love and genuine appreciation for one another, rather than individuals cobbled together based on obligation and a lack of accessible government services. I’ve rarely had to bear witness to one, though. I’ve mostly been surrounded by parents who received that title at an age where it was an overwhelming burden rather than a privilege. Buying a stroller before you buy your first car has a particular way of ruining a person. As a kid, nobody aspires to diaper changes, runny noses, and a lifetime of responsibility. The desire to be a parent usually only surfaces later in life, when you’ve been selfish long enough that you’re ready to try something else. Either that, or you’re sick of being guilted into parenthood by friends and relatives who want you to validate their own lifestyle choices.
Jeremiah belongs to the type of family who I’m sure has a portrait in color-coordinated sweaters hung somewhere in their house. And the smiles probably aren’t even forced. The unfairness of it stings. But it also serves as a powerful motivator. I’m not one for color-coordinated sweaters, but I intend to create a family worthy of that kind of portrait one day.
“I’m sure we’re boring you with all of our family stories,” Gabrielle apologizes.
I wonder if she noticed me zoning out. It wasn’t out of boredom; I was honestly enjoying hearing about Jeremiah’s childhood. I’m filing away these anecdotes to embarrass him with later on. Watching the dynamic between the four of them is difficult, though. A starving man doesn’t want to watch someone devour a feast.
“Not at all. I’m sorry, I’m just a little tired from last night’s game.”
“Are you sure it’s the game that tired you out? You were going strong at the afterparty,” Jeremiah counters slyly.
“What about your family, Levi? Are you from around here?” Dwayne spares me the need to come up with a quick retort for Jeremiah, but the alternative - coming up with a satisfactory answer about my upbringing - is even worse.
“Yeah, a small town ninety minutes south of here.” I’ve learned to say the bare minimum about myself. People usually take the hint after a couple of terse replies.
“Is your family all there?” Gabrielle questions.
“Yeah. It’s just my mom and me.”
I hope she doesn’t take notice of my involuntary grimace. She must though, because she doesn’t press any further and pretends to be distracted by the arrival of the waitress with our cheque.
I offer to chip in, but I’m secretly relieved when Dwayne waves me away and retrieves his credit card. I’m pretty sure the amount in my wallet figures in the low double digits, and that’s my entire net worth. I’m hoping to find a part-time job once the football season is over, but until then, I don’t even have enough for gas or diner money.
“Thank you very much for inviting me, this was great.” I’m grateful for Dwayne’s generosity, but that’s not why I say it. I genuinely enjoyed spending time with Jeremiah’s family. Even with the throbbing behind my temples that the Advil did little to dull.
“It was great to meet you, Levi. It’s nice to see that Jeremiah’s making some good friends here already.” Dwayne rises, clapping me on the back.
Gabrielle envelopes me in a warm hug. “Don’t be a stranger now. You’re more than welcome for Thanksgiving, or any time you need a good home-cooked meal. I can fry up a mean catfish.”
I’m not sure if it’s just a pity invitation based on my reticence to talk about home, but I would definitely be willing to take her up on the offer.
“I would love to try it,” I tell her sincerely. “It was really nice to meet you all.”
“I’m going to give them a tour of the campus. I’ll see you back in the room, Levi?” Jeremiah asks.
“Yeah, of course.”
I try to convince myself that the roiling in my stomach is simply a result of all of the beer I consumed last night, and not jealousy, slick and acidic coiling up inside of me as I watch them walk away: Jeremiah at the front with Nia hurrying to keep pace with him. They’re chatting animatedly in a way that suggests they’re not only siblings, but actually friends. Dwayne and Gabrielle take up the rear, sneaking a quick kiss that has the anticipatory urgency of a much younger couple, instead of the obligatory feeling that I’m used to seeing between parents with nearly adult children. Meanwhile, I have nothing but the solitude of the dorm awaiting me.
I used to love the quiet. It meant Brandi wasn’t around and that I was safe. Now though, it also means that Charlie isn’t around and, while I might be physically safe, being alone with my thoughts feels anything but. I worry that there’s something wrong with me. That my formative years, characterized by acrimony and resentment, have left me with some kind of void. I have everything I thought I wanted - access to higher education, a spot on a college football team, better friends than I’ve ever had before - and I’m still left wanting. I wonder if a childhood devoid of love has made me so desperate for it that I can’t appreciate anything else.
Or maybe my hangover is making me feel particularly edgy, and I just need to sleep it off. Either way, my bed, still unmade after this morning’s hasty exit, is beckoning me -a much safer alternative to spending any more time thinking about Charlie.
Chapter 15
“Do you know what the p-value is for the second question?” The girl who sits near me in statistics asks.
I do know the p-value, but I don’t think she actually cares that much about the an
swer. Over the last few weeks, she has been gradually moving closer to me and Dawson’s habitual spot in the back of the lecture hall. I’ve pretended not to notice her migration, or the frequent looks she shoots in my direction. Dawson isn’t nearly as subtle though, he nudges me sharply. He’s been doing this repeatedly over the past couple of weeks every time she tries to catch my eye, and I don’t appreciate his knobby little elbows jabbing my ribcage.
She’s pretty, but not in a striking way that would cause me to do a double-take. Her eyes are large and wide-set, and her skin has the pale translucence of someone who spends all of her time in the library. I’m sure she already knows the answer to her own question, but I respond out of politeness.
“0.05”
She smiles gratefully but doesn’t write it down. She’s slightly prettier when she smiles. Even if she was stunning though, I doubt I’d be any more interested.
“Thanks! Have you guys started studying for next week’s quiz yet?”
I say yes at the same time Dawson says no. Although he almost always has his nose buried in a book, it’s rarely one of our textbooks. He barely needs to glance at those to understand the concepts. I want to hate him for it, but he’s always willing to spend the extra time he doesn’t need for studying to help me out instead.
“Do you mind if I join you? I could really use a study group.”
She’s looking at me, but Dawson takes it upon himself to respond as if he can sense my reluctance. “For sure. We usually study on the third floor of the library after class, if you want to join.”
She nods enthusiastically as if he’s just invited her to a great party or something. I want to nudge Dawson back, but I restrain myself. I’m not thrilled that he asked her, but I can’t even articulate why I’m being so unfriendly. The only thing that I actually have to dislike about her is the fact that she’s not Charlie.
