Jump Shot

by Sierra Hill

  It’s girl’s night tonight. She wanted to include her sister, Anika, who is only fifteen, so we were just going to go out to dinner and then play some games at her house tonight. I check the clock and notice it’s six thirty. I’m thirty minutes late.

  “Are you okay, sweetie? What’s wrong? I can hear it in your voice. Did something happen with Lance?”

  And then I break like a levy in a dam, spilling over like a raging river.

  She listens to me through sobs and tears, which clog up my throat and make me sound like a frog underwater.

  I tell her everything. All that was said and done since they last saw me at the game.

  And when I’m finally done choking back tears and blabbering on in a nonsensical manner, Ainsley confronts me in the logical and level-headed way she normally comes at things.

  “Well, if I know Lance, I’m sure it was a knee-jerk reaction, peppered with the agony and pain he was in physically, as well as the mental state he was in at the time. He’s gone through a hell of a lot of shit in the last year. I think you need to give him a chance to explain and talk it out. Don’t shut him out entirely. Leave that door open, at least for now.”

  “You’re right. I know you are. And I will. But not tonight.”

  She laughs. “Well, duh. Because tonight, your ass is over here with us. I’ll drink the champagne and you and Ani can sip the Ginger Ale. Now get your tookus over here, woman.”

  32

  Lance

  To say it’s been a week from hell is an understatement.

  I’ve been trying to get used to using this wheelie-mobile to get around on campus. It’s a scooter with a padded bench that I prop my knee on, so I can remain mobile and keep my foot elevated at the same time, avoiding crutches. That would’ve been killer.

  Originally, I had been worried that the pain would be unbearable, and I wouldn’t be able to medicate myself and that would lead me to using again. But I’ve doubled up on meetings and also on my therapist appointments this week to keep me centered. And I’m also on my way to have coffee with Coach Parker.

  We have clicked since my stint in rehab. There’s something that ties us together. Maybe it’s the pain of losing people, I don’t know. He’s only six years older than me, but at twenty-eight, he offers me a lot of real life perspective.

  “Well if it isn’t Lance “Scooter” Britton,” he calls out as I make my way into the coffee shop off campus.

  We decided to meet here because there was good handicap parking right outside and I have a temporary parking placard that I get to use while in this get-up.

  I wheel over to the table and he stands up to grab my backpack from my shoulder as I sit down, careful not to hit my booted foot against the table.

  “Go ahead and poke fun, old man. You’ll be using a walker sooner than you know it.”

  I always give him hell about his age because he knows I’m kidding. The guy looks like he could still be a college student. He just dresses better.

  The waitress comes over and takes our orders. I’m starving because I haven’t eaten yet this morning. He just orders coffee and a bagel.

  “So, how you feeling? The pain manageable?” he asks, pouring some sugar in the coffee mug the waitress sets down in front of him.

  I shrug. “Meh, it’s not as bad as it could be, so there’s that.”

  He stares at me intently while stirring his coffee. “So then why the long face? You look like someone killed your puppy.”

  I groan, taking a gulp of my orange juice and mumble, “Worse than that.”

  He cocks an eyebrow. “And?”

  I plop my elbow down on the table, scrubbing a hand through my hair.

  “My girlfriend, Mica…” I look around the room to make sure I’m not overheard. “She’s pregnant.”

  Coach’s face is thoughtful, reflective as he sits up against the chair and nods his head.

  “Been there, done that. At least she’s your girlfriend and not a stranger.”

  For a second, I’m confused. What’s he saying?

  “You mean, you had a kid with a one-night stand?”

  He smiles tightly. “Yup, that’s exactly what I’m saying.”

  I’m still confused, because I thought he married his girlfriend. “But, you were married. She wasn’t the mother?”

  Coach shifts in his seat and looks out the window. “It’s a long story. I don’t want to bore you with details. But I’ll tell you what. My son, Caleb, is the best thing that ever happened to me.”

  When I give him a ‘you’re full of shit’ cocked eyebrow, he smiles.

  “I’m not kidding, man. I’ve been dealt a lot of shit through the choices I made. And Caleb’s mother being a stranger was a pretty fucked up situation. I wasn’t ready to be a father. I wasn’t ready to deal with the aftermath of a one-night-stand. Or the shit I had to go through with my then girlfriend, who turned into my wife. It had me growing up fast. And I learned how to love something so precious and pure. That little boy, the minute his tiny fist held on to my finger…shit, my life changed for the better.”

  My head feels dizzy. Unbalanced. Like I’m one of those hanging punching bags, and I’ve been thwamped and pummeled and I’m spinning around, unable to stop.

  “Lance, I don’t know where you’re at with your girlfriend.”

  I interrupt him with, “I love her. She’s amazing.”

  “That’s good. Does she want to keep the baby?”

  Biting my lip, I look away from his gaze. Trying to avoid the question but knowing it’s there regardless.

  “She does. I don’t.”

  “Hmm.” Is all he says.

  When I look back at him, Coach is pulling up his phone and shows me a picture of his son.

  “I didn’t want him at first, either. He was only a mistake to me at the time. An accident with a woman I fucked one drunken night on a road trip in Pittsburgh. I could have easily walked away. Thrown some money at this woman, paid her child-support and gone on my merry way. But this boy,” he taps on the photos, one after another. “He became my world. The minute I saw him I just knew.

  “And I’m not saying it’ll be the same for you, Lance. But you should explore it and consider what good might come from it. Because you can do the right thing by Mica and your baby. Or you can do the best thing for everyone.”

  His words bore into me like a stake into a vampire heart. They slay me. Cripple me. Take me to the ground.

  The old me…the selfish guy who buried his feelings of self-doubt and worthlessness with booze and pills…would walk away. Wouldn’t pay a second glance.

  But this new me…the one who’s learned a few things about himself through therapy and treatment, knows that I have the capacity to love and the strength to deal with these explosions in my life. That I have the tools necessary to work through these roadblocks instead of turning the other way and running. That I am not my father.

  “Ah, man. I gotta go,” I blurt out, trying to extricate myself from the seat and onto my scooter while not making a spectacle of myself.

  Coach Parker laughs at me, handing me my backpack and clasping me on top of my shoulder.

  “You’re a good man, Britton. Call me if you need anything.”

  “I will. And thanks.”

  Just as I near the door, I turn my head back over my shoulder. “I’d like to meet him sometime. Caleb, that is.”

  Coach smiles and winks. “He’d like that, too.”

  33

  Mica

  My back and legs hurt from all the bending and lifting today. Tuesdays are my long cleaning shift days and today I scrubbed and cleaned houses for over six hours straight.

  I’m exhausted and could fall into bed and sleep for days.

  But instead, I have a term paper to finish before I go to sleep. Thankfully I’ve already written the first draft and now need to edit it and make sure all my citations are accurately noted.

  The microwave beeps, indicating my frozen dinner is done when there’
s a knock at my door.

  I’m so tired that I almost let it go, but I am waiting for a package to be delivered. I carefully remove the plastic wrap from the container and head to the front door.

  When I look through the peep hole, I don’t see anything, but I open it up to see if the package is on the floor.

  The first thing I see is a bouquet of flowers shoved toward my face at eye level. They are being held there by a hand, and as the body moves into view, I know it’s Lance.

  My eyes dart from the fresh and fragrant floral arrangement to Lance’s face, which is cast downward.

  “Special delivery. Read the card.”

  There’s a small four-by-four envelope stuffed into the top of the bouquet and I pull it out, still silent because I don’t know what to say, my hands trembling.

  I open it and pinch the note in my fingers to slide it out of its envelope.

  It reads:

  There are no words to express how sorry I am. I’m a fool.

  Love, Your Baby Daddy

  Tears prickle the backs of my eyes and I suck back the sob that threatens to escape my throat. If it weren’t so sad and this situation so dramatic, it would be funny. Because no matter what, Lance can always lighten the mood with his goofy antics.

  He hands me the flowers to hold and then he’s down off the scooter and on one knee in front of me – still in the doorway. He holds out a small box, his hand shaking in front of me.

  “Micaela Anna Reyes, before you entered my life, I was hollow. Shallow, empty and sad. But you’ve been the light at the end of that endlessly dark tunnel. Yet once again, I’ve made a mess of things. I take one step forward and three steps back. But I want to do the right thing.”

  Tears stream down my face and I’m crying shamelessly, swiping them away with the back of my hand as they continue to stain my cheeks and wet my lashes. My vision blurs and I’m blinded by my love for him.

  But not so blinded to believe that this is the right thing for either of us at this time.

  I love him with all of my heart, so telling him no is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. Yet my heart has sustained so many blows over the last few months that it needs time to heal.

  This time, I’m not going to succumb so easily to Lance’s charm and desperate attempts to do the right thing. We both need time. This time, I won’t surrender myself so completely without considering how this will affect me and my life going forward.

  The life of my unborn child is at stake now and I need to take that into account before I jump back into things with Lance. I’m not about to let him be that yo-yo in my life and every time something gets hard he pushes me away. He needs to be able to stand on his own two feet for longer than four months and figure out who he is before he can be a father to our child.

  This decision is a life-long commitment. He needs to be certain it’s what he wants before we move forward in this thing together.

  I step back out of the doorway, sucking in a breath and let it out slowly, the anger and emotion that’s simmered inside me over the last few days suddenly boiling over and spilling out, as I slip into my explosive tirade.

  “No,” I state clearly and resolutely, as his eyes grow wide with shock from my rejection. “You can’t just show up here and drop to a knee after what you’ve put us through. After you shut me out and told me you didn’t want to be our baby’s father. You can’t just take that back with a ring and a question mark.”

  I throw up my hands in the air and tip my head back, speaking to God and the saints who will listen to me, pleading my case in my fast-tongued Spanish language.

  “I’ve only ever wanted a man to love me more than anything in the world and give me a family that he protects and adores. I deserve that. I don’t deserve to receive a half-hearted proposal from someone who just thinks it’s the right thing to do.”

  Turning my back to him, I pace the room, shaking my head, confusion and frustration pouring from my lips, mumbling out my thoughts that have been pent-up over the last few months – my insecurities over who I am to Lance. What I am to him.

  When I’ve finally concluded my litany of doubts, I turn to find him still in the doorway, his eyes cast down. My heart breaks and I want to run to him and comfort him, but I stop myself because I have to stand up for myself. He needs to understand this isn’t easy for me, but he needs to put in more time and effort before I’ll come back around.

  Standing my ground, I cross my arms over my chest, leaving no room for confusion over what I want and what I expect.

  “Lance, I won’t be your afterthought. I don’t ever want you to live with regret when it comes to me or our child. I know you’re sorry for how you handled things the other night, and so am I. But I’m not sorry for feeling like this could be a mistake if we’re not careful. So, until you can prove to me that this is what you really want, I think you should go. Figure things out with you before we can be an us.”

  My chest heaves in pain as the sorrow and dejection flashes across his face. I divert my eyes so I don’t have to look at him. I know this hurts him because it hurts me too.

  Unfortunately, if this doesn’t happen now – if I don’t give him the time he needs to recover now – it will color the rest of our lives. It could at some point send him back to that ugly place of despair and hopelessness. Changes need to be made now or the course of our lives will be mapped with regret.

  “Mica,” he begins, but I cut him off.

  “Goodbye, Lance. Don’t come back until you know for sure.”

  And with that, I close and lock the door, one hand covering my belly, hoping I can keep things together and not fall apart again.

  34

  It took everything I had in me not to drive to Dodi’s that night. Not to show up at his door begging for a score. Or stopping at the liquor store to pick up a bottle of Jim Beam and getting fucking wasted off my ass to cover that pain of rejection.

  Mica said no. She fucking said no to my marriage proposal.

  If that’s not a reason to drink or get high, I don’t know what is.

  It would’ve been so easy to drown my sorrows in pills and booze. Just like I’d done in the past. Just like my parents did.

  I’d gripped the steering wheel so tight that night that my knuckles strained, and my fingers trembled.

  Everything in me warred against the pull of my addiction.

  In the end, it was simply Mica’s words that forced me into calling my sponsor instead of my dealer. She’d told me to “figure out me first.”

  And this was me, figuring out my shit the right way. Dealing with it and coming to grips with the consequences without creating more consequences with old behaviors that would’ve only brought me more pain.

  I’d met up with my sponsor at a local coffee shop. We talked through the experience of Mica’s rejection and what it meant to me.

  I was angry at first. Mica’s decision to deny me back into her life made me feel worthless. Unworthy. And it’s those exact feelings that had led me down all the wrong paths in my previous experience.

  With the help of therapy and group, as well as my sponsor, I could now lean on a different coping mechanism to deal the sting of rejection.

  It’s been two weeks now since that night and I’m sitting in my car parked outside the front of the Reyes’s house.

  I’d called Mr. Reyes earlier in the day and asked if I could come to Sunday dinner. By now, they know about Mica’s pregnancy and I know I’m taking a serious chance of losing my life by walking in that door where he and her brothers could do some serious physical harm to me.

  But that’s the price I am willing to pay to prove to Mica that I’m ready for this. I’m ready for a life with her in it. I’m ready to be the man she needs.

  I take a breath to calm my nerves and step out of the car, sweat beads sliding down the back of my shirt – the direct result of heat and anxiety. Mica will be surprised to see me, no doubt. But I’m sure she’ll also get a good chuckle over the fact that I�
�m wearing something other than a basketball jersey today. I wanted to look my best today, so I wore a button-down polo.

  I also carry four bouquets of flowers in my hands. It may be overkill, but I’m willing to pull out all the stops. One for her grandmother, her mother, her sister, and the biggest for Mica.

  Luckily, Mr. Reyes spots me from inside and opens the door for me so I don’t have to knock.

  “Buenos dias, Mr. Reyes,” I say as he swings the door open for me to enter.

  He nods his head and grunts his acknowledgment. I guess I wasn’t expecting any more than that. At least he allowed me to come over.

  Therese comes around the corner and stops abruptly, shock and then bitterness expressed in her deep-set dark eyes. And then she turns around and walks out before I can hand her a bouquet.

  “Don’t mind her. Therese takes after her abuela and is not as quick to forgive,” Mateo says from the couch where he’s on his phone. “You’re lucky Mica’s like our mother.”

  I grunt in agreement, hoping he’s right.

  Following Mr. Reyes, we head into the back of the house and the kitchen, which is teaming with three generations of Reyes women. My gaze latches on to the back of Mica’s head. She’s standing at the counter dicing up vegetables.

  I clear my throat.

  “Buenos dias, Mrs. Reyes. These are for you.”

  Stepping forward, I hand the flowers over to the two older women who stare at me speechless to my presence.

  Mica turns around, her mouth open in astonishment. Her cheeks are rosy and pink, flushed from her tasks. Or my unexpected appearance. Either way, she looks gorgeous. Glowing. Mine.

  “Hola, Mica.”

  I hold out her bouquet, having given the others to her female family members, and stand in front of her.

  She accepts the flowers and greets me. “Hola, Lance.”

  It’s showtime.

  “Micaela Reyes, I love you. I love your beauty and your strength. Your perseverance and fortitude. I love that you give yourself fully to everyone – to your family and your friends – and especially to me. And you made me realize that until I determined what I wanted for myself, I couldn’t give myself fully to you or our baby.