by Ashey, Katie
With Jake on both my mind and heart, I whirled around. “You know what? I think he had a pretty good game. Yeah, he missed that one guy, but he still got the turnover in the 3rd quarter, which helped Tech to score. That sure as hell counts for something,” I countered at Martin.
When Martin’s eyes popped wide, I braced myself for his wrath. But instead of him telling me to mind my own business, he laughed. The sound was just as jarring as if he had yelled at me. “Yeah, I suppose you’re right, Pres.” He then turned to Jonathan. “My apologies.”
Jonathan’s mouth fell open almost comically wide. I’m sure it mirrored mine. I never in a million years would’ve believed Martin would’ve reacted the way that he did. As Martin and Evelyn walked on ahead, Jonathan still seemed frozen to his spot in the parking lot.
“Didn’t see that one coming, huh?” I jokingly asked.
Jonathan brought his hands to his head and mimicked his head exploding. “Like my mind is obliterated right now.”
I laughed. “Trust me, I was bracing myself for his wrath.”
“Inwardly, I was screaming at you to shut up before he totally took your head off.” His lips quirked up. “At the same time, I was really digging what you were saying.”
“You’re welcome. I meant every word.”
“I know you did. And at the same time, it wasn’t all for me.”
Furrowing my brows at him, I asked, “What do you mean?”
“It was for Jake.” At what must’ve been my shocked expression, Jonathan said, “I’m sure you witnessed Dad chewing Jake a new one after football games.”
Nodding, I replied, “Unfortunately yes. I don’t know why he had to rag on him so much. It literally ruined his Friday nights.”
With a shrug, Jonathan said, “What can I say? Dad’s an extreme asshole.”
“Shh, he’ll hear you,” I warned.
Jonathan snorted. “They’re too far out of earshot.” He stared at his parents in the distance. “Besides, it’s past time I said it to his face. Maybe tell him it’s in memory of Jake.”
“I’m sure Jake would’ve loved that.”
“Like me, he probably would’ve been a little embarrassed that he didn’t have the balls to tell Dad off himself.” With a pointed look, he added, “He would’ve been so fucking proud of you for standing up to Dad.”
“You think so?”
“Oh yeah.” With a genuine smile, he added, “I know I am.”
Warmth rushed through me at his words. It was such a simple sentiment, but it meant so much. In my life, there weren’t a lot of people who had been proud of me. Even if it was just over a few words about football, I would take it.
“Thanks, Jonathan.”
“No problem.”
Chapter Nine: Jonathan
On Tuesday after Saturday’s somewhat momentous home game, I found myself standing on the sidelines at Tech’s Brock Practice Facility. Outfitted in my gear, I cradled my helmet under my arm. Instead of being surrounded by teammates, I stood somewhat isolated on the turf.
Dr. Ziegler stood beside me, looking extremely out of place. “What will you say if your teammates ask who I am?” he asked.
With a grin, I replied, “I guess it’s out of the question to claim you’re my bodyguard.”
He chuckled. “I would say so.”
“More than likely, they’ll think you’re a scout of some kind.”
Rubbing his hands together, Ziegler said, “Oh, I like that scenario. Like an NFL scout or something.”
“If you say so.”
“You know, Jonathan, I have to say I’m impressed you were willing to meet me here for a session,” Ziegler said.
“I didn’t have a choice. It’s the only time I could since this week I’m slammed with school work. Thankfully, Coach Dawson agreed to let me take the time, and you agreed to come here.”
A shit-eating grin came over Ziegler’s face. “You had a choice—you could’ve canceled. But here we are.” Nudging my shoulder with his, he said, “Admit it. You really like me.”
“As much as I hate to admit it, I’m afraid of you.”
“A strong, strapping guy like you is afraid of little old me?”
“Har, har. Your strength is in the hand you use to sign off on my therapy visits.”
He stared intently at me for a moment. “What if I told you the contract between you, the team, and me had been satisfied since the season began?”
I blinked at him. “Excuse me?”
“You only had to come until I signed off that I felt you were ready to play.”
“No. You said you would only sign off if I continued throughout the season.”
Ziegler shook his head. “The focus was to get you cleared to get back in the game. When you began to speak aloud the events of the night of Jake’s death, you began to see a cessation of the daily flashbacks along with the nightmares. I felt you were ready to play again. Especially since football was such an integral part of your life.”
Holy shit. He was right. But somehow in the past three months since the season began, I’d still kept up my sessions at least once or twice a week. And all that time, Ziegler had never said a damn thing. He just let me ramble about whatever was on my mind. Mainly it was memories from when Jake and I were kids. Sometimes they were good memories and sometimes they were bad. Sometimes I laughed my way through the session while others I cried.
“I don’t believe it,” I murmured.
“I’m sure you’re wondering how you could have possibly not have realized your mistake.”
“You’re damn right I am.”
“Then allow me to explain how you’ve been experiencing a hidden censor or unconscious selective attention. It’s when you fail to notice something right in front of you. The unconscious mind is one of extreme mystery. However, in your case, your subconscious was so desperate to work through your trauma, it didn’t want to accept your mandated therapy was over.”
“That’s some crazy shit.”
Dr. Z laughed. “It truly is.” He clapped his hands together. “Since time is of the essence today, tell me how you feel about the holidays coming up.”
“Wow, you’re going right for the jugular on that one.”
“The holidays are very traumatic during the grieving season.”
Shifting my helmet to my other arm, I sighed. “Usually we go to my mom’s parents the Sunday before Thanksgiving. But I want to bail.”
“Is there a specific reason why you don’t want to see your family?”
I swallowed. “I haven’t been back to the farm since…”
“I see.”
“I know it’s stupid because I eventually have to go back and face it.”
Ziegler shook his head. “It’s not stupid. And yes, eventually you will have to go back, but if it’s too raw for you at the moment, then you shouldn’t go.”
“How the hell would it look if I didn’t go back?”
“That you’re protecting your sanity during a difficult time of year.”
“Everyone would think I’m…”
Cocking his brows, Ziegler prompted, “That you’re what? Unmanly? Weak? A sissy?”
If there had been one prevalent theme these past few months in therapy, it was my fear of how my grief made me perceived by others. Most of all, that by mourning by brother I was somehow less of a man. It went back to the old adage of men don’t cry and show emotion that had been beaten into the male culture for years. For me, it had come straight from my dad.
“Look, like I’ve said before, I can’t help it. You didn’t grow up with my dad. The ‘be a man’ and ‘don’t show emotion’ got engrained in me. If I got hurt on the field, I walked it off, and I didn’t dare fucking cry.”
“You’ve told me how it related to being physical. Can you remember a time it was emotionally driven?”
With a nod, I replied, “My earliest memory of it was when we were kids and were watching Old Yeller. When it came time for the scene where they shoot Old Y
eller, I started to cry. I didn’t like thinking of our own dog dying.” As the memory swept over me, I gritted my teeth. “When my dad realized I was crying, he sent me out of the room. He told me I couldn’t come back until I got a hold of myself.”
“How old were you?”
“Five.”
“Did your brothers react the same way to the movie?”
“They thought it was sad, but they didn’t cry.”
“So, you were always more sensitive than your brothers.”
I rolled my eyes. “That’s another word men don’t want to be.”
“What’s wrong with being sensitive?”
“It’s about being all emotional.”
“You’re right about it being ‘all emotional’. But it’s far from being bad. It a good thing to possess. Sensitivity is part of empathy, and there can never be anything wrong with caring for others.”
Snorting, I replied, “Tell that to my dad.”
“No. One day I want you to tell that to your dad.”
I stared at him. “You gotta be joking.”
“I’m not. One aspect of your healing involves confronting your father about his toxic masculinity.”
Turning my head, I focused on the players on the field. I couldn’t begin to imagine telling my dad that being sensitive was good. He would go ballistic. His reaction to Presley was a fluke. Not to mention the fact, he would’ve been an even bigger bastard to go off on a pregnant chick.
Interrupting my thoughts, Ziegler insisted, “It has to be done, Jonathan.”
“Whatever.”
“Let’s get back to Thanksgiving. You do know you can tell your extended family why you aren’t going. After all you have been through, they would understand.”
“Some of them might. Others would think I needed to man up for my mother’s sake.”
“From what you’ve told me of your mother, she would be more than understanding if you wanted to stay home. She might even be harboring her own doubts about returning to the place where her son died.”
With my free hand, I scratched the back of my neck. “Maybe I could suggest that we do something new?”
Ziegler nodded. “Making new traditions is always a good idea after a death.”
“You don’t think that’s like avoiding shit?”
“Preserving your sanity isn’t avoidance. You will eventually return to your grandparents’. It just doesn’t have to be this coming weekend.”
A relieved breath whooshed from my lips. “I guess, it’s already going to be different because Presley is there.”
“You know, I find it interesting how little you’ve spoken of her over the past few months.”
Shrugging, I replied, “I just don’t think of her much.”
“You don’t think about the girl who is having your brother’s baby?”
“I try not to think about her, okay?”
“Why is that?”
“Because the whole situation is just too weird.”
“Before your brother began dating her, was there a time you were attracted to this girl?”
What the hell? Had he lost his mind? Me attracted to Presley? “Uh, no. Never.” Grimacing, I added, “Okay, so there was this one time we kissed during a party.”
“Mm, hmm.”
I shook my head. “It was one kiss during a round of spin the bottle.”
“So, you were attracted to her.”
“Hell no!”
Ziegler crossed his arms over his chest. “Me thinks you doth protest too quickly there.”
“Yeah because I wanted to make it abundantly clear there was no way I was attracted to Presley.” When he gave me a knowing look, a frustrated grunt came from deep within me. “Fine. She’s pretty. I’d have to be dead not to notice.”
“Just pretty?”
“No, she’s gorgeous. She’s blonde and tall with long legs and an amazing body.” The moment the words escaped my lips I clapped my free hand over my eyes. “Jesus, what’s wrong with me.”
“Nothing.”
Pulling my hand away, I challenged, “She’s my dead brother’s…” She wasn’t Jake’s girlfriend. Not entirely. Yet they’d been together on and off since their Freshman year. “Baby Mama,” I finally answered.
“There’s nothing wrong with admitting her attractiveness. It’s not like you’re fantasizing about her.” He gave me a pointed look. “Are you?”
I fumbled with my helmet before it fell to the ground. Fantasizing about screwing Presley? Was he insane? Sure, there might’ve been a time before Jake died that I thought she was hot. She had this particular skimpy red bikini she’d strut around in at our pool. There might’ve been one time I entertained the thought of her coming out of the water like Phoebe Cates in Fast Times at Ridgemont High, so I could get a full-on look at her rack. But I’d sure as hell never jerked off to her. Now that Jake was dead and she was pregnant, I got a little nauseous thinking about that fantasy.
After swiping my helmet off the turf, I turned back to Ziegler. “Dude, what the fuck? She’s almost eight months pregnant. Presley and anything sexual is the farthest fucking thing from my mind.”
Ziegler held up his hands. “I’m just trying to gage why it is you’ve never talked about her much. Especially considering your initial animosity towards her.”
“Because it’s complicated. Everything with Presley seems complicated.”
“I thought the two of you were getting along now.”
“We are.” And we had been. I’d always known she was fun to be around, and she had a wicked sense of humor. But somehow, I’d never noticed she had a shy smirk that I bet she wasn’t even aware of. If she was embarrassed, she’d look down, and there it was. It made her seem . . . innocent or less of a temptress. She was guarded and careful around me, and I hoped it wasn’t because she was still hurt by my harsh words. But it was...
“Complicated? Why”
“Because she’s living in Jake’s room and having his baby. I lost my brother, and now I’ve gained some sort of sister.” I shook my head. “I grew up with two brothers, so I have no idea how to relate to a sister. Then there’s the fact she’s pregnant. I don’t know how to change diapers or feed a baby.”
“No one expects you to know right off the bat. You’ll learn. I was a total mess when my first was born.”
It was the first time he’d ever spoken about his family. I’d seen a photograph of him with his wife and kids in his office. “But it’s not my kid.”
“While that is true, I hope you’re preparing yourself for the role you will inevitably play in this child’s life.”
Creasing my brows, I asked, “As an uncle?”
“And potentially more. At least until Presley gets into a long-term relationship or marries.”
“Hold the phone. You’re telling me I should be like a father to this kid?”
“A father figure.”
“Won’t my dad be enough?”
“As a grandfather, I’m sure he will be. But he is clearly of the age to be a grandfather while you’re the age to be a father.”
“I just turned twenty-one.”
“And Jake was only eighteen.”
“Nineteen. Remember his birthday was in October?” I’m sure he did since I’d come to therapy three times that week.
He nodded. “In the end, you’re not taking on this child to raise, Jonathan. You’re merely—”
“But what if I fuck it up?”
“Why would you?”
“Because I tend to fuck things up.”
“You have a spot on a college football team where you see playing time, and academically you’ve managed to stay in school for three years. Those are two huge things you haven’t managed to ‘fuck up’, as you say.”
I opened my mouth to protest when Coach Dawson bellowed, “All right, Nelson. Time to get on the field.”
“Right. I gotta go.”
Quirking his brows at me, Ziegler asked, “Now that you know the truth about our thera
py plan, will I see you after the holidays?”
There was a part of me that wanted to tell him I was done with exposing myself emotionally. But then I realized how over the last few months, the nightmares had stopped along with the PTSD episodes. Even though it sounded hokey, I was healing.
“Yeah, I’ll see you,” I replied as I slipped on my helmet.
He grinned. “My place or yours.”
“We’ll say yours.”
“I’ll see ya then.”
“Later, Ziegler.”
Chapter Ten: Presley
In my life, Thanksgiving had been a huge holiday until my grandmother died. She always had her brothers and their families over, which meant her modest house was filled to the brim. The mahogany dining room table would be packed with food from top to bottom. The night before the big day, I would help her in the kitchen as she mixed up the bowls of homemade cornbread dressing, squash casserole, and sweet potato soufflé.
The first few years after she died, Mom and I would go to one of my uncle’s houses. Although they were welcoming, it was never the same. The last two years had seen us eating with her current boyfriend’s family, which was extremely awkward. I’d come to dread the holiday. The only bright spot would be that night when Jake would get home from his grandparents, he would call me to hang out.
This year as I sat around the table in the Nelson’s dining room, a mixture of emotions flowed through me. While Evelyn and Martin worked hard to make me feel I was more than welcome, I couldn’t shake the feeling of being out of place. I wasn’t their blood family or their son’s widow. I was just the girl who was carrying his child and who lived with them.
At the same time, I couldn’t help feeling grateful that I not only had a place to go, but they’d extended that invitation to my mom and her boyfriend. Surprisingly, my mom had accepted the invitation. “We can work on your nursery,” she’d said. I hadn’t had the heart at the time to tell her that Evelyn had already organized everything for me.
Of course, a shadow hung over the day with it being the first year without Jake. It was the reason why we weren’t going to eat at Evelyn’s parents’ house with the rest of her family. None of the immediate family had been there since Jake had died, and it was still too hard. She’d debated going to North Carolina to be with Martin’s sister and her family, but in the end, she didn’t like the idea of me being in the car for so long.