11 - In Another Life

11

In Another Life

D rew is everything I could've wanted.

He is kind and patient. He listens and understands. Consistent, trustworthy, honest. It doesn't hurt that he's pretty to look at too—a gentle smile, warm eyes. He's perfect.

Or…he would be, if he was someone else.

I'm trying so hard. But it's simply not enough.

The air is warm, but the humidity has dwindled with the setting sun. We're hand in hand, and my skin prickles but not in the way it should. It's like a flashing warning sign telling me to let go and run away. Every time we touch, all I can think about is Isaiah. Like a virus invading my brain.

Luckily, we reach the gelato shop quickly, and he lets go to open the door. I flex my hand, welcoming the freedom it's gained back.

"Thank you." I walk inside, trying to piece together the right words to say to him.

"I am going to need you to finish the story about your sister telling your parents she was pregnant the first time."

I snort as we get in line. Part of the reason I even started telling it was so that I didn't blurt out that this has to end.

"It might've been the funniest day of my life. She snuck Kian in and pushed him to my bedroom for him to hide. She had this whole plan to call them down to the living room or whatever, but my parents beat her to it. Suddenly, they wanna talk to us both. So, Kian's in my room, we're in the living room, and our parents…" I laugh, able to picture it so clearly. "And our parents tell us they're getting divorced. Sophia's face was priceless. Not because she was surprised; we had talked about it for a while. But because I'd never seen her so shocked. She didn't often need to be the center of attention, didn't ever like it. But this…she was young, but she was excited."

"How old was she?"

We move up in line, both eyeing the flavors. "She was eighteen; I had just turned thirteen." Drew nods but motions for me to continue. "Anyway, the rest is short, and it's probably way funnier since it's my family. But she gets up and yells at them. She yells at them for deciding to tell us that day and that they were selfish, and Sophia goes, ‘ You guys suck, and you should've gotten divorced years ago. And by the way, I'm pregnant, but thanks for making today about you .' They had no idea what was going on, what she was even saying, and then Kian pops his head out from the hallway. It was all very dramatic. But I have never laughed so hard in my life."

Drew chuckles beside me, touching the small of my back. "I can't imagine being thirteen and sitting through that. I assume you already knew Sophia was pregnant?"

"Of course. Even at those ages, I was glued to her hip. She couldn't have gotten rid of me if she tried, so she had to tell me."

"It's nice that you have such a good relationship."

I smile, giving a small nod. "Yeah, it is." We move up to order, and I slip my card to the cashier before he can stop me.

My heart pounds as we carry our very full gelato cups to a seat outside. Small talk isn't going to make it any easier. We sit in silence for a moment, enjoying the first few bites and the breeze. I let my eyes glide over him again. The blue-gray of his eyes that have only ever been warm and understanding. How he never pushed, never tugged, just gently walked beside me as we began dating. He was so understanding, and I feel so fucking stupid.

I swallow the lump in my throat.

In another life…he might've been the one that got away.

In another life, he'd be perfect.

But in this life, it isn't going to work. Not with who I am, not with what I'm feeling.

Drew glances up at me, and I swear there's a knowing look in his eyes. I clear my throat but let out a dry, humorless laugh. "I have to tell you something."

"I know."

Under the table, my foot taps sporadically. "I need to end this." I take a deep breath. "God, I hate that I am about to say this, but it really, truly is not you. Nothing you have done has been anything shy of perfect." Swallowing, I look up, only to find kindness in his soft smile. "I'm not ready. I thought I was. I wanted to be at the time, but I'm…I'm not. And I can't force it; I don't want to. You deserve so much better than what I've given you, Drew."

Behind him, the sun reflects on the glass doors of the gelato shop. Drew gives a small shrug. "All anyone deserves is the truth, Aurora. You gave that to me." He reaches over, a quick brush of his fingers over my hand. "I enjoyed getting to know you as much as you let me."

My eyes prick. Couldn't he, I don't know, tell me he hates me?

"Thank you."

"I didn't do anything." He leans back, taking a bite of gelato.

Maybe if it had gone farther or if I could stomach being vulnerable, I'd tell him his kindness and his patience meant more to me than is probably healthy.

"Now, how ‘bout we finish these, I'll walk you home, and then we'll call it?"

I laugh. "Sure. Is it too awful and too soon for me to say, friends?"

Drew shakes his head. "Not at all. Friends sounds good."

The basement gym at my dad's house is a dream and a nightmare. It has anything and everything you could ever want for a home gym. But more often than not, I hate it. There isn't the same distance between my dad and I that I can cling onto on the field.

"Come on. Thirty more seconds."

Sweat drips down my brow. Frustration wins out over the burning in my legs. The time ticks down slowly, but after what feels like minutes, the timer goes off. As soon as I stop, my legs shake until I collapse onto the mat with my arms slung over my face.

"You're distracted."

I exhale. "I'm tired. And my knee is fucked. I'm not distracted."

Dad rolls a cool water bottle into my side. "Your mom told me Isaiah's back."

"So?"

"I'd call that a distraction."

"Because everything unrelated to soccer is a distraction? Why can't it just be life?" I sit up, downing half the bottle, and stare at him.

"If it's not important, if it's not getting you any further, it's a distraction."

My chest burns. Referring to Isaiah as unimportant infuriates me. "Just because it isn't important to you, doesn't mean that's true."

Dad sighs. "There's a lot coming up. Playoffs. Selection for the national team. I don't want you to lose focus. I don't want you to let up."

I take a deep breath. Focus. I hate that word. Ever since I started playing, it's been about focus. Trivial things that bothered me were brushed aside. Sometimes, I needed it—to be reminded that those things wouldn't matter after a minute. Other times, I needed him to be my dad. Not my coach, not my friend. My dad. Like he was unfailingly with Sophia. When she came to him, he listened to her, gave her advice, and he was gentle with her. More so than he ever was or ever has been with me.

"I haven't lost focus for fifteen years, dad. Can you cut me a break?"

"Why? Why are you so tired? Why are you so burnt out? You're twenty-five, and you have everything going for you. This is everything you ever dreamed of, why should I cut you a break?" Dad says, his unflinching gaze highlighted by the harsh features of his face.

"Because you never let up! You never let me breathe. You never consider anything might be wrong because all it is to you is a distraction that I shouldn't care about." I'm pacing now, my cheeks hot with anger. "I love what I do more than anything. If I seem burnt out to you, it's because I can never, ever, let you know something might be wrong. I'm burnt out of trying to act like the daughter you want me to be. The player you want me to be. Can't you just…" I swallow, angry tears pricking my eyes. "Can't you just be proud of who I am?"

Heavy silence blankets the room, filling every crevice. The urge to run is overwhelming, but I stare back at him. There's more I could say, more I want to say, but I wait. Wait to see if he has anything to say at all.

Dad rubs his hands against his sweats and stands. His expression is unreadable, like always whenever we fight. "Well. It's a shame you feel that way," is all I get before he turns and heads up the stairs.

My hand tightens on the water bottle as my chest heaves. Above me, I can hear him moving around, probably cleaning to avoid it all. I grab my bag and storm upstairs before I think better of it. We stare off.

"That's all you have to say?"

He leans on the wall. He's looking at me, but it's more like he's looking through me. "What do you want me to say?"

I bite my tongue. I'll argue, and I'll yell, but I will not beg him to care, to apologize. Not if he doesn't even mean it. The metallic taste of blood fills my mouth. "I…nothing. It doesn't matter."

Turning on my heel, I head out the door before I do something stupid and beg him to give a shit. My car door slams shut behind me. I admit I don't use it much, but it comes in handy for visiting my parents and Sophia. And it comes in handy when I need to cry and have a breakdown in the safety of its doors.

I scroll through my contacts, pausing very briefly over Isaiah's name, my heart beating faster when I do, urging me to call him. To crawl into his metaphorical arms like when we were teens. Common sense kicks in, and I find Sophia's name instead, hitting dial as I start to reverse, the phone ringing through the car speakers.

"Hey, what's up? I thought you were at Dad's?"

"I can't take it anymore, Soph." My throat tightens. "He makes me feel like a robot."

In the background, I can hear Joey's babbling and Zaza asking her dad for help. It's so stupid, but I can't help but be incredibly thankful for Kian and the father he is and will be to them.

"What happened?"

"Just the same old shit. I guess Mom told him about Isaiah, but of course, to him that means I'm distracted and I have no focus. He thinks I'm lazy and burnt out." I exhale. "And I'm not—not with soccer. But it's like I can't even be around him anymore. I'm not sure how we got here, but I feel like…like he doesn't even like me."

"Aurora, I'm sorry."

A few tears streak down my cheeks without my permission. "You're using your mom voice," I say, my voice cracking.

"You're crying. What else am I supposed to do?"

"I don't know—make me stop?"

"We all know that's Kian's specialty."

I huff, my lips turning up. "That's only cause he's so annoying, he makes you forget."

"Exactly," Sophia says. "But I am sorry, Ro. It's not fair. You are an incredible girl, one I'm very proud to have as my sister and someone who is an incredible role model for my kids. I can't speak for your dad—"

"Your dad, too," I interject before she can continue, laughing through the tears.

"Anyway…I can't speak for him, and nothing I say will erase that. But you're amazing, Ro. You're a human being, and I'm sorry he won't let you be one."

My chest constricts. "Okay, enough."

"Stubborn idiot."

"Hey!" I wipe the tears away, blinking to clear my eyes.

"Why don't you come meet us at the diner for dinner? I'll make Kian buy your food and an extra milkshake for you."

"You promise?"

"What are sisters for?"

I'm not sure why, but I wonder if Sophia knows just how much she means to me. As a sister, as my friend, as one of my favorite people in the world. "Thanks, Soph. I'll meet you guys there after I shower."

After she tells me she loves me, I hang up and turn the volume up. It's strange how empty and alone I feel after that conversation, or lack thereof, with my dad. Even with everyone that loves me, it doesn't make the cut made by my father heal any faster. Not that I expect it to; it's been an open wound since I was a teenager—Isaiah would know. He tried to bandage it up as often as Sophia. And it doesn't help that I want to call him, too. Now that he's back, I should be able to call him up and act like years haven't passed. But I can't. That wound's been bleeding since he left.

Sometimes, I feel like all my time is spent trying to bandage myself up, to staunch the bleeding someone else caused. How many times am I going to have to patch myself up and carry on? And is it even working? My heart still aches; the memories still sting. Are these the cuts that will always bleed? Will it ever stop?

Everyone struggles. I know that, but…why does it feel so goddamn lonely all the time?