by Mariah Dietz
I have learned of a junior league competition, and I am determined to have both her and Chase enter and allow the others to decide for themselves.
Placing two fingers inside my mouth, I release a loud whistle to draw their attention and beckon them to the side. “That was an awesome practice, you guys! You should be feeling proud of yourselves. I can see some real growth after just three weeks.” I rub my palms together, anxious to tell them the news. “I’ve been made aware of a competition that’s going to happen in Vancouver in a few weeks, and I would love to help you guys prepare for it if you’re interested in signing up.”
There are the expected cheers and smiles and a very unexpected frown from Lisa. Reaching for my bag, I grab the stack of papers I printed with information for them and their parents, and watch as they anxiously snatch them.
“Look stuff over, and make your decisions. If you need extra training time, I’ve written my number at the top. I’m sure we can make something work.”
The group breaks apart, heading for their parents with ridiculous grins.
“Hey, Lisa,” I call.
She stops, turning only a fractional amount, the only student not holding a flyer on the competition.
I walk the few steps to be even with her. “I think you should definitely sign up. You have a real chance of winning.” I again offer her a flyer.
“I can’t.”
“Because it’s a bad week? You have stage fright? You’re only here because it’s being forced upon you? Give me a little more.”
She points to the entry fee. “Toby lets me ride for free. I’m sure you’ve noticed my bike’s a little big for me. I got it at a yard sale.” Lisa looks past me.
My heart aches. “You can’t let that stop you. I can cover your entry.”
Her eyes stretch disbelievingly. “No, that’s okay. I’m cool with just coming and riding.”
“Lisa,” I call again as she starts to leave, passing by Kash, who holds the door open.
“I’ll see you next week!” she yells back. Then, she is gone.
“What was that about?” Kash asks.
I sigh deeply. “Maybe I’ve forgotten what it’s like to be a tween.”
Kash laughs. “What?”
I don’t want to remind him that yesterday it was Mercedes I upset. “That junior league competition you were invited to speak at, I want a couple of my students to participate, and she said she can’t.”
Kash’s brows furrow, knowing that’s what every rider dreams of and works for. “Why not?”
“She can’t afford it and isn’t interested in me helping her.” I glance over to the doors again even though I know she hasn’t returned, and then look back to Kash who hands me a red holiday Starbucks cup.
“What’s this?” I ask.
“Hot chocolate.”
My smile doesn’t feel natural, and I don’t know if it’s because I’m talking to Kash or still struggling with Lisa’s conviction not to pursue this competition. “What are you doing here?” I ask.
“I made a promise last week that I need your help with.” His forehead becomes lined as he forces a smile that’s clearly trying to conceal guilt.
“What’s that?”
“I told Mercedes’ class that I know the best female BMX rider, Summer Pierce, and they freaked out. They want to meet you.”
“You lie.”
Kash shakes his head. “They love you.”
“They hadn’t heard of me before, you mean.”
“Anybody who knows anything about the BMX world knows your name. You’re the best female rider there is.”
“Was.”
“Are,” Kash says firmly. He drapes an arm around my neck and steers me toward the group of kids. “An accident doesn’t take away the legacy.”
IT ISN’T UNTIL I’m walking out with Kash at my side, pushing Mercedes’ bike while she speaks with a new friend a good ten feet in front of us, that I realize Tommy didn’t show up tonight. I’m sort of relieved. Tonight felt nearly normal with the addition of nine eleven-year-olds listening to our instructions and cheering each time we practiced anything.
“Don’t forget your box of crap!” Uncle Toby calls as we pass the front counter.
Kash stops, his eyebrows rising with curiosity as I go around the counter and produce the large box, which is much heavier than it appears.
“Mercedes!” Kash calls.
She wheels around, and without instruction, she sprints back to get her bike. Kash takes the box from me, folding down the flaps as we approach the doors.
“What is all of this?” he asks, dipping his head as we step out into the rain.
“A bunch of old newspaper clippings from different competitions.”
“No shit.” Kash slows as we near my truck.
“Can I see them?” Mercedes asks.
“I bet King would like to see them too,” Kash says.
“We can get Mexican!” Mercedes is bouncing, the entire evening already mapped out in her mind.
“Let’s let Summer choose.” Kash turns to me. “I mean, as long as it’s not too late and you want to come.”
He sounds hopeful, and I’m grateful he doesn’t seem defensive or even guarded.
“I could really use a chimichanga,” I admit. “But I get to burn the pictures I look stupid in.”
Kash smiles and time stops.For a moment, it is him and me and eleven years of memories that include that very smile, each and every one of them leaving me with the same giddy and dazed emotion.
“You want to ride with us, or are you going to follow?” Kash asks.
“I’ll lead.”
“Want me to order for you?”
“Well, I’ll just ride with you guys.”
Kash smiles, but this time it isn’t one to intentionally knock me off balance and distract me, this smile is of relief, and it has an even harder blow.
He moves to his truck parked two down from mine, and unlocks the doors, his face content. For so long, I have worked to ensure that look is on his face, and it feels different, better in some ways, to see it there because he has put effort into making me happy.
Mercedes sings along with a pop song on the radio, her mood light from riding. Kash fills me in on the training with the entire team that I missed to get press releases completed. His animated gestures tell me far more than his actual words. He’s excited and happy with the progression.
“Are you enjoying coaching?” Kash asks once our laughter settles from a story he told about Parker and his insistence to annoy Spencer, something Kash knows I love hearing about.
“I am.” Sitting back in the seat, I turn and watch him navigate the road.
Through his enthusiasm and stories, Kash’s eyes have remained focused on the black stretch of asphalt, never wavering, except for brief reprieves when stopped at traffic lights.
“More than I thought I would,” I admit. “There’s something rewarding about seeing someone improve under my guidance.”
“You mean, watching more people improve?” His eyes flash to mine as we stop at another red light. Before I can answer, he pulls his cell phone from his pocket and hands it to Mercedes. “Call your uncle King, please, and ask him what he, Lo, and Grandpa want for dinner.” As soon as she accepts it, Kash’s eyes are on me again, awaiting an answer.
“What are you talking about?”
“Me. King. Parker. Mercedes.”
“You guys are already top talent.”
“I respect your opinions more than anyone’s.” He moves his hand from the wheel and covers mine, which is resting on my thigh.
I know the feel, the weight, the warmth, every detail by heart from the many years we have known each other. Still, I take the time to carefully note them all once again, enjoying each one more than the last.
“Is it weird to anyone else that Lo still has their menu memorized? All of it,” Mercedes asks from the backseat.
“She worked there,” Kash reminds her.
“Yeah,
over a year ago.” Mercedes hands the phone forward, and Kash lifts his hand to accept it as we stop at a red light.
The instant his contact is gone, I miss the details I was just carefully storing to memory.
“We go nearly every week,” I chime in. “I know their entire menu.”
“King doesn’t. And Grandpa didn’t know what half of the stuff is, so Lo picked for him.”
“Was Parker still at the house?” Kash asks.
“Yeah, but he’s leaving.”
I rub my palms together, my joints sore from coloring and riding.
“Let me see,” Kash says.
“See what?”
“Your hands.”
I look down at my lap where my hands are resting. They’re gently clasped to one another, as if seeking support. It’s as though they’re a separate piece of me. Tools. They look tired and aged.
Kash’s hand wraps around my left, and he gently lifts it into his, supporting my fingers and wrist like he knows they’ve recently started to betray me so much that, sometimes, their own weight seems to cause me pain. His fingers are slightly cool, and my skin welcomes it. Lately, my hands seem to constantly be on fire, a bizarre contrast to my perpetually cold self. I watch his thumb trace over the inside of my wrist and slide across the muscle holding my thumb before moving across my palm to my pinky. The sensation is heavenly. His thumb repeats the movement several times, my flesh absorbing the pressure and my skin, his coolness.
“Do you think it’s carpal tunnel?”
“Yeah. I decided to try and be creative like Lo, and I think it’s causing as much harm as it is good.”
“You should rest them for a couple of weeks. You don’t want to cause permanent damage.”
“I’m sure once my body gets used to the change in weather, it won’t be so bad.” It’s always the worst with every changing season; even warmer weather causes them to be more sensitive.
“You need to ice them.” His hand moves, cutting a path between my forefinger and thumb and then down to my wrist. He releases a quiet breath and then continues rubbing the same blissful pattern across my palm.
The drizzle turns into a full-blown Oregon rain, the drops heavier and thicker. I love being in the car when it rains like this. To watch the drops fall and splatter across the glass, obscuring everything from view, is one of the most beautiful things to witness. What it sometimes hides from the view is even better.
“That feels good,” I admit.
Kash smiles, and while it’s not the huge smile that makes my heart always fill with warmth, it’s sincere.
I wish I had my camera with me. If I did, I would have been snapping a dozen frames in an attempt to catch every single distinguishable and indistinguishable detail that is Kash.
We arrive at the house with bags filled with steaming containers packed with food we ordered and more that we didn’t because Lo’s old manager, Estella, insisted on making sure we had plenty. King and Lo are emptying the dishwasher, while Robert watches TV.
“Robert, they hooked you up! If you don’t like what Lo ordered for you, there are like three other options,” Kash explains as he pulls a final container free. He wads up the plastic sacks to toss into the recycling bin.
Robert flips off the TV and stands, smiling brightly when he sees me. “How’s my girl?”
“Starving.” I begin opening each container, searching for my chimichanga.
Laughing, Robert grabs a fistful of forks as he passes through the kitchen.
Conversation begins light and ends with us all sitting in the living room, passing clipped articles and stories around. The first several articles were of only me from when I began riding and competing, several years before I knew Kash. Then, the articles become mixed with headlines of Kash and King as well, a well-paved memory lane of how our friendship was built along with terrible hairstyles, genuine smiles, and endless celebrations of varying degrees.
I’m not sure I ever saw half of them, and though some of the memories are harder to trace back than others, they all eventually come back to me. And while Kash wasn’t there for my first years of riding, it’s harder to remember the stories documented that he wasn’t a part of.
Hours pass until the box is sitting empty. Everyone is smiling, content and happy, and now with the mention from King, anxious for Thanksgiving and the long weekend. With so much occurring, the holiday keeps slipping from my thoughts, thus silencing me and pulling my thoughts into a darkened corner where the lights of the group don’t even seem capable of reaching.
“You’re making your stuffing, right, Summer?” Mercedes asks as an attempt to include me.
Stretching my jaw, I look over my finished plate. “Yeah, of course.”
She smiles, and my confirmation placates any concerns, allowing them to fall back into an easy conversation. Their moods are light when I stand up and begin clearing the dishes and putting what’s left away. I’m scraping the few remains of an enchilada into the garbage disposal when Kash sidles up beside me. He opens the dishwasher and takes the plate, loading it as I reach for the next dish.
One by one, the table clears with painfully obvious excuses to allot Kash and me time alone. Neither of us acknowledges it though, not even with a silent exchange—or if he tries to, I don’t notice. I keep my focus on each object I handle with so much attention you would think I was holding our relationship in my hands.
“Can we talk about things?” he asks once everyone has cleared from the room.
I suck in a breath, bracing myself. It’s such a coincidence that I have wanted to discuss things between us for weeks, and now that the opportunity is presenting itself, it’s the very last thing I want to do. I’m not sure if it’s the unease or my fear of the possible outcomes, but everything inside me is telling me to change the subject, and fast.
“I know we have established a track record of simply letting things go, and usually, I’m okay with that. You know where I stand. I know where you stand…”
My eyebrows furrow, and I part my lips to object, silencing him. “I thought I did. At least, I thought I did until after…”
“I don’t know how things got to the point they have, because I wanted that night to happen. I wouldn’t take any of it back, but I feel like you hate me, and I don’t know what happened.” Kash runs a hand over his cropped hair. “Initially, I was worried you regretted it, but hearing you say I don’t know who you are has completely fucked with my head. I don’t know what you meant, and I don’t have a clue what you want at this point.”
I’m leaning back, as though my body is still encouraging me to leave and not have this conversation, but I cross my arms over my chest and face him, the desire to scream in frustration so strong my throat feels tight with the added air. “I have waited for this, for us,” I motion between our chests with my finger, “and as soon as it happened, you walked out the door without even looking back, and I realized it didn’t mean nearly as much to you. That just seemed to allow me to see how much of my life I have formed around you, waiting for you.”
“You have to know that I’ve always cared for you.”
“But that’s not enough, Kash.” I shake my head. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you.”
Kash reaches forward and rests a hand on my cheek. The touch is so intimate. I don’t know that he’s ever handled me so gently, even that night we slept together.
“As soon as I met you, I knew you were special, and for a very, very long time, I tried to ignore my feelings because I didn’t want to disrespect Arianna’s memory.” He ducks his head. Slowly, his fingers slide down my cheek, making his attention shoot back up to my face. He presses his palm more firmly to my cheek. “Sometimes I really hate myself, because I start wondering if she hadn’t been in that accident, what would I have done? Would I’ve divorced her, so I could be with you?” His brown eyes are so close that I watch as they strain, so many emotions present I hate to see them close. “And I hate myself even more when I know that I would have.
” His face falls, his lips turning into a pronounced frown, and when his eyes open, they’re heavy with tears. “But I’m afraid.”
“Of what?” I ask, my voice revealing how badly my heart is pleading with him.
“Losing you.”
“Then don’t!”
“I already am.”
Frustration makes me growl. “Fight. Fight me. Fight for me.”
“I don’t want you to feel stuck. I don’t know what in the hell I’m doing. I don’t know that I can do more than this.”
“So, what? What do you want me to do? Do you just want me to continue waiting?” I shake my head briskly, knocking his hand away with a fierce swipe of mine. “I can’t. I can’t be that person, because that person…”
My eyes are stretched wide, desperate to keep my hopes and sorrow from falling down my cheeks in wet paths that will surely expose just how vulnerable I am with him. I swallow, the action prolonged and difficult because all the moisture in my body is heading toward my eyes.
“I didn’t even look at other guys. I wasn’t interested in anyone because you dug this large moat around me, filling the island with hopes and…” Once again, I struggle to put my feelings into words while wondering how much he actually did create and how much I wanted him to.
I bite my bottom lip when more words make an effort to be heard, ones that won’t make sense or reason, ones that don’t lead to a happily and after.
“Summer, I love you.”
I shake my head, my face growing red with heat. The work to keep my emotions at bay is harder than exposing any pain I’ve ever experienced. “Stop, Kash. Just stop.”
“You love me too.”
“You don’t get to say those words to me.” I shake my head. “Not unless you’re willing and ready to act on them. This isn’t fair to me.”
“I know.” His cheeks grow tense as his jaw locks, as he refuses to say anything more, though his eyes plead with me.
“If you’re asking me to be brave enough to stay, I need you to be strong enough to try.” I stand still as a statue, my eyes pouring over him, waiting for a reaction, an acceptance of my heart that I have carved out of my chest and am offering him without leaving a single restriction or stitch of protection.