Life Interrupted

by Kehoe, Kristen

  He shrugs. “I don’t know—she’s just so great and has all this stuff she wants to do and be and have, and every time we were together I just felt like she was talking to me about it, not sharing so I could be a part of it. When she asked if I wanted to move in with her, it wasn’t an exciting thing, it was more like a lifeline, like I was the only thing left she had to grab onto. Even if I said yes—and I wanted to—I knew it wouldn’t last.”

  Goddamn Doug. Like I’m going to punch him now. How do you argue with someone who did the right thing? Not even I’m that heartless. Blowing out a breath, I slump in defeat. “Well, fuck, Doug. I came here ready to blacken both your eyes and I now have to say thanks, instead.” I look up at him, trying a smile and to avoid even the briefest glance at his still mostly naked body. “Thanks for saying no, and for loving Katie even if she can’t give you what you want.”

  He stares at me as though he’s waiting for the trap door to slam closed, and when he realizes I’m serious, he nods his head once. “No problem. Can I get dressed now?”

  “Probably a good idea.”

  ~

  “What are you doing?”

  I look up from my computer guiltily and try to smile at Tripp, closing the top as he sits down next to me on the couch in my living room.

  “Nothing. What are you doing? I thought you and Tanner were playing basketball tonight.”

  He shrugs and picks up my hand, lacing our fingers together. “He’s being weird. Got there late, spent the entire time pausing to text someone and then he bagged out early and said he had to meet a girl.”

  “That’s not unheard of. Tanner’s always meeting a girl.”

  “Yeah, but he never leaves basketball to do it.” Then he shrugs it off and smiles at me. “You gonna tell me why you were on the computer? I didn’t think you did Facebook.”

  I raise my brow at him. “Um, I don’t, and am I not allowed to be on the computer?”

  “Rachel, come on. In all of the years we’ve known each other, you’ve never just been on the computer. You use the internet out of necessity, you copy my English papers, you text and email from your phone, and if you are on the computer, you don’t look like I caught you searching for porn when I ask about it.”

  “Well, maybe I am because you’re just not doing it for me these days.” He pinches my arm and I laugh.

  “Seriously, you okay? What’s with the covert ops?”

  I blow out a breath and look him in the eyes. “Promise you won’t laugh?” He crosses his heart and mocks a Boy Scout salute and I punch him in the shoulder. “I’m serious. This is a big deal to me and since we aren’t keeping secrets these days, I’m going to tell you but if you laugh at me, I’m going to hurt you.”

  “Jesus, are you writing in your diary? I already know you want me for my body, so your secret’s not really that scandalous.”

  “It’s not about you, and it’s a journal, not a diary. For Gracie,” I tell him before he can ask me what the difference is (exactly like I did when Ms. Flynn suggested it).

  “What does Gracie need a journal for? She can’t even color, I don’t think she’ll be typing anytime soon.”

  “Thank you, Captain Obvious. It’s not for her to write in, it’s for her to read someday. Maybe. I don’t know. It’s stupid.”

  When I go to stand, he puts his hand on my leg and holds me in place. When I don’t meet his eyes, he uses his other hand to grip my chin and turn my head. “Rachel, I was joking. And whatever it is, of course it’s not stupid. Tell me.”

  I can feel the heat from embarrassment on my face, and though I’d rather do anything else, I clear my throat and tuck my hands under my thighs. “After I finally held Gracie, after I realized how much I loved her, I had a hard time forgiving myself for not loving her, if you understand.”

  “Rachel, Jesus, you can’t blame yourself—” he starts to interrupt but I shake my head.

  “Let me finish, okay?” He swallows back his words and nods, his hand going to my knee and tracing patterns on the skin there. “I know all of the medical reasons it wasn’t my fault. I know because my counselor told me, my mom told me, Stacy and you and Katie and Ms. Flynn all told me, and I know because I did my research. I know depression is often triggered by a significant loss or event, that oftentimes it takes people years to pull out of rather than months, just as I know post-partum depression is more common than people know and almost one in five mothers will suffer from it. But that still couldn’t make me forget that I didn’t hold my daughter, or feed her, or care about her for the first six months of her life. Even after I was learning to do all of those things, I just couldn’t forget that I hadn’t wanted to, that I had resented Gracie and blamed her for changing my life.”

  Tears don’t fill my eyes—thank God—but my throat feels tight and thick and I take a moment to clear it before I continue. Tripp stays silent, his eyes never leaving me. “When I finally told Ms. Flynn that I was scared to move on with my life, that I wasn’t playing volleyball yet, that I wasn’t sure I was ever going to again, she sat me down and told me I had to forgive myself, and then she started helping me try and do that. She’s said a lot of things since, mainly all having to do with the fact that people think they have to sacrifice or sabotage their own happiness as some sort of payment for a wrong they’ve done. A type of sacrifice to even the scales, I guess. When she told me that’s what I was doing, I denied it, told her it wasn’t like that, that I knew how lucky I was to have a family who was always going to help, always going to love me and support me, but I just didn’t know if I wanted to play volleyball. She listened, but in the end, she made me see that I didn’t want volleyball because I didn’t think I deserved it, just like I didn’t think about my future because I didn’t think I deserved one.”

  I look at him now and smile when his fingers find my cheek and trace it back into my hair, anchoring themselves there. “One of the ways she suggested to help me through was to write to Gracie, every day or every month, whenever I had something I was scared of, whenever I was unsure, or even happy. She said to start a document or a notebook and write letters to Gracie that I can give to her when she gets older, explaining who I was before her and who I am now during this time with her. The idea is that writing things down will help me separate and then reflect on them, while still knowing that what I’m doing will be good for her, too.”

  “So you write to her,” he says and I nod.

  “So I write to her. Not every day, because well, I fucking hate writing and writing about my feelings is twice as bad, but at least once a week, sometimes just to tell her I love her, sometimes to say I’m sorry if I’ve messed up, even though she doesn’t know it, sometimes to tell her a funny joke or leave her with a piece of advice. Sometimes to ask her rhetorical questions like why do you eat your cheerios like a puppy right now? Or why can’t you stay asleep past six a.m.?”

  He laughs. “What else do you tell her?”

  I shrug and open the laptop to scroll through. One entry catches my eye and I laugh. “Here’s one I wrote a few months ago after I spent the day with Stacy.”

  “What’s it say?”

  “Gracie, feel free to torture Aunt Stacy. She tortures me all of the time. Love, Mama. P.s. when she asks you if you want to go shopping, make up an excuse and run. I’ll come find you when the coast is clear.”

  We both laugh and I keep scrolling through, reading him smaller entries that I have, silly ones from days when I didn’t know what to say but wanted to say something, to feel connected to her.

  “Swing through when you punch, use your shoulder…Always carry a tampon and use Midol instead of Advil, it works better…Don’t ever print a paper off of the internet and turn it in as your own—Nona just kicked a kid out of his major for doing that. Get Tripp to write it instead.” Tripp smiles at this, so I keep going. “If Ms. Flynn’s still at the high school, you can trust her to help you. She’ll make you talk about your feelings, but the mushy crap is worth her advice in the end.
”

  “Words of wisdom.”

  “Damn straight.”

  “Do you ever tell her about me, or about us?”

  I stop reading and look at him. “Ego much?”

  He just grins. “It’s okay, you don’t have to admit it, I can make up my own rendition. Dear Gracie, find someone as beautiful as Tripp to fall in love with, and don’t make the mistake of punching him in the face when he comes to tell you he loves you.”

  “Funny. Actually, mine says the exact opposite, like, Gracie, punch first, ask questions later.”

  His eyes twinkle with laughter and then he nods to the computer again. “What did you say to her today?”

  I stare at him and feel that burn of embarrassment in my cheeks again. “Um, nothing really. I told her that the future was scary but that it had to be worth it, and I can’t wait to share hers.”

  “And?” he prompts, because obviously there’s more.

  Since I’ve never been a coward, I clear my throat and make sure my eyes are steady on his as I tell him the rest. “And that no matter how scary it might be, to let herself love someone, and to tell them, every day, just how much she loves them so they never doubt it.”

  His eyes get that look as I speak, the one that tells me his emotions are high, and his fingers tense and then release my hair so he can take the computer off of my lap and put it on the ground. “Do you know how much I love you, Rachel?” I nod, my breath coming a little faster as he shifts closer. “Does it scare you?” I hesitate and then nod again. “Why?” he asks and shifts me until I’m in his lap, one arm around me, the other cupping my cheek to tilt my face toward his.

  “Do you—” My voice cracks and I have to stop and breathe. “Do you know how much I love you, Tripp?” He shakes his head. “Too much,” I say and rest my head against his shoulder. “It feels like it’s too much. It gets bigger every day, and I’m scared of what it will be like, what I’ll be like, if you’re not here.”

  “I’m not going anywhere, Rachel.” His mouth is on mine and it’s so tender, so gentle I barely feel it and then he brings me closer, changing the angle until my arms circle his neck, my own lips moving more forcefully, asking for more, always asking for more. “I’m not going anywhere,” he repeats, and though he’s said it before, this time, I really believe him.

  Twenty-Six

  “I heard you went to see Doug.”

  I look at Katie as we take a break from our drills for water. I swipe my forearm over my face and chug from my water bottle before setting it down and nodding.

  “Yep.”

  She drinks from her own bottle and then we head back over to line up on the opposite ends of the net—her to set, me to hit. A few players line up behind me and the three liberos head to the opposite side to defend.

  “Flow, not that I don’t appreciate it, but you didn’t have to. You shouldn’t have,” she says and I shrug, waiting for her to set before I take my three steps and jump, my arm swinging back at the rotator cuff and coming all the way around, my hand finding that sweet spot that sends the ball cross court like a bullet, angled down so the defender has to hit her knees. She does, but its force is too great and she ends up on her ass with a pair of stinging wrists.

  I jog to the end of the line and Coach shakes his head at me like go easy on her. I just shrug. She’s a freshman, that should pretty much be how her year goes. Not to mention I’m six feet tall and a hundred-forty pounds while she sits at five-five maybe a buck fifteen. My power is no match for her, but I give her points for trying.

  When I’m back up, Katie starts in again. “Flow, he didn’t do anything wrong. He just didn’t want me. You can’t beat him up for that.”

  I ignore this for the time—because really, telling me that just makes me want to prove her wrong—and I let her set me up again, aiming for the same freshman. This time, she squats and keeps her feet when she digs it. Even though the ball wings right and would in no way be playable, she’s already improved. I give her a slight head nod in approval and then turn to Katie. “First, I can beat him up for a lot less than not wanting you, so let’s not kid ourselves. It’s not like Dougie Fresh is a challenging target. Second,” I say before she can interrupt. “I didn’t touch him—hardly touched him,” I amend thinking of my very deliberate shoulder nudge on the way in the door. “And third, you have your information wrong. He does want you, Katie, that’s why he let you go.”

  Coach yells at me to stop gabbing or start running, so I head to the back of the line and she turns to set up the next hitter. An hour later, we’re finished and cooling down, doing our stretches when she begins again. “That’s ridiculous,” she says, but I can tell she’s thinking about it. “Why do you let someone go if you don’t want them?”

  I shrug, because really, who am I to dissect emotions and actions? I’ve loved the same person since elementary school and we both slept with someone else instead of talking to each other about our feelings. Not exactly exemplary behavior. But then I remember what Doug said and figure she needs to hear it. “Maybe because you know that person doesn’t really want you, you know they just want to want you, and you don’t want to hurt worse later on when they figure it out.”

  “That doesn’t even make sense,” she snaps, but I can tell it does so I sigh and sit down to unlace my shoes. In the corner of the gym I see Tripp walk in, all sweaty and a little out of breath from the basketball game he got together in the small gym so he could be here to take me home.

  “Think about it, Katie. Doug knows your feelings aren’t the same as his—he didn’t want you to move in with him and then regret it. It’s not fair to him,” I say and she stops. “And it’s not fair to you. Don’t settle, Katie.”

  Blowing out a breath, she plops down next to me and begins unlacing her shoes, too. “I don’t want to settle, Flow, I just can’t seem to find a place I fit. I mean, my mom’s gone, you’ll be gone after this, which means Tripp will be gone, too. I’m trying to find a way to save money, go to school somewhere eventually, find a way to pay for life, but now I’m all alone. What am I going to do?”

  “Where are we going?” Tripp asks and sits next to us.

  I shrug. “Katie was just telling me why she’s going to be alone next year.”

  “All I’m saying is that you can go anywhere to play, Flow.”

  “That’s not exactly true,” I interrupt. “I’ve only had a few offers and none of them are from here, from home. I’m not sure I can leave and take Gracie away from everyone.”

  She nods in understanding. “No matter where you choose, you won’t be alone—I mean let’s face it, loverboy’s going where you go.”

  “That’s true. I’m a slave for your affections.”

  “Shut up, Tripp. All I wanted was somewhere to fit, to be happy. I might not love Doug like you guys love each other, but don’t I deserve something? Do I have to live alone next year?”

  “Why wouldn’t you just come, too?” Tripp asks before I can, and we both turn to him. “I mean, Katie, I don’t know what we’re doing next year because someone hasn’t made a choice,” he says and I frown. “But I assumed wherever we went it would be close so we can make sure Gracie has her grandparents and her cousin. And I assumed you’d be with us.”

  Katie’s lips part, but no sound comes out, and then her eyes fill and I want to kiss Tripp but I wait, watching Katie as she blinks, because, well, we’re still at practice and like me, she won’t be crying in front of these people, not again. Then she’s laughing and I am too, and I think fuck it and grab her in a hug and then laugh when she grabs Tripp, placing a noisy kiss on his cheek.

  “I guess you’re not such a shithead.”

  Tripp laughs as he squeezes her back before letting go. “Yeah, I get that a lot.”

  ~

  “Were you serious when you said those things to Katie today?”

  Tripp looks away from the road for a second. “Which ones?”

  “Don’t play with me, Tripp, were you being serious
when you said you would come with me? And that she could, too? What if I choose to go across the country, what then?”

  His eyes slide to me and then back to the road. “Are you thinking of doing that?”

  I shrug and then think of the fact that I’m training harder now than I have in a long time, and I know it’s because I finally believe that I have a chance to keep playing. The thing I’ve dreamed of the longest in my life, the very thing I feared I’d lost when I chose Gracie suddenly seems available again, and still, I know I won’t go to school somewhere far away next year—I just can’t. I know that every person in my family would work with me to make it possible, and I know Tripp would find a way to be there with me if that’s what I wanted, and maybe it’s because I know all of that, that I can admit that I don’t want to. Playing next year, even in my next tournament, isn’t about the prestige and name I wear on my jersey anymore, it’s just about playing.

  When I was younger and didn’t have Gracie, my dream was to go anywhere that wasn’t here, anywhere that would pay me to play and make me a champion. Isn’t that what every athlete wants? That scholarship proves who we are is noticed and appreciated, and I still want it, but that’s not what defines me anymore. I have Gracie, and I want to live for me, but for her, too. I want to be here when she starts Kindergarten, when she rides her first bike, plays her first soccer match (though god knows I won’t be happy watching that shit). I don’t want to be five hundred or a thousand miles away, working through a brutal training schedule and wondering what she’s doing.

  I’m going to qualifiers next weekend and JOs in July, regardless of whether I have an offer by then, and right now I’m training for a future that includes my sport next year, but I know without a doubt that my future is somewhere near here.

  “No,” I finally tell him and smile. “I want to stay here, to try for this university, even though I know they’re looking hard at Sofia Banks from Crescent Valley and she and I are both outside hitters.”

  “But you’re left handed, and she’s not. You both have different strong sides,” he reminds me and I nod.