Isn’t it obvious? No one wants me here.
“Did you accept Coach’s offer to go back early?”
“I have to.”
“What does that mean?” She closes the door behind her just as I sit on the bed, leaning forward to place my elbows onmy thighs. I rake my fingers through my mussed-up hair – something I’ve been doing a lot lately, out of frustration – and stare at the carpeted floor. The edge of the mattress dips when she sits next to me, a comforting hand rubbing my upper back. “Did he not give you a choice?”
When I came back from Alara’s two days ago with dried tears on my cheeks and my anger ready to bubble to the surface, Mom didn’t have to ask a single question. She instantly knew it was something that had to do with snowboarding and Coach. I also suspect her of being part of a group chat with Joe and Donna, and they probably told her more than I ever will.
“No, he did,” I answer quietly, rubbing my stubbled jaw with my hand. “I just think it’s the best thing to do.”
“For you or for him?”
I don’t answer because, truthfully, I’m not ready to leave yet.
“He’ll think I’m not serious about reintegrating with the team if I stay here. He’ll think I don’t want to recover.”
“Did he say that?”
“I’m just assuming.”
“Didn’t your dad and I teach you that assumptions are usually wrong? If he never voiced those exact words to you, the chances that he actually thinks that are very low. Besides, wasn’t the plan for you to stay until the end of January? What’s the rush in going back there now?”
I swear, it’s like reliving my argument with Alara all over again, which makes my chest tighten so painfully that I’m nearly gasping for air.
“I don’t know.” My voice breaks, giving Mom a glimpse of my vulnerability. I never break in front of her, let alone my sisters, because I have to be strong for all of them.
I’m lost. Confused. Absolutely devastated not to have the only person who sees me by my side as I’m trying to navigate through all the cobwebs inside my brain.
No matter what happens, I can’t leave without saying goodbye to Alara. I’ll head to her place before going to the airport, but I’m not ready to feel my heart break. I’m not ready to let her go.
I fight the urge to rub my eyes. All I do is blink, repeatedly, to make the burning feeling go away. My head throbs, the lack of sleep catching up in an ache that spreads to the back of my skull.
“Escucha,mi muchachito.” Peering at Mom, I find her tender gaze settled on me. She lifts her hand that had been coaxing me with soft circles on my back in order to brush my hair out of my forehead, the same way she used to do when I was little as she put me to bed. “I wanted to say I’m sorry. Very, very sorry.”
My brows pinch together in confusion. “What for?”
She blows a raspberry, letting her hand fall in her lap to join the other one. “Well, I want to apologize for having depended so much on you, financially speaking. It was never your job to take on that role, but because you’re so selfless, the man of the family and the oldest sibling, you didn’t even bat an eyelash at putting our needs before your own. I’ve never wanted you to feel wholly responsible for looking out for Gaby and Valentina and me. The kid is never supposed to take care of their parents.”
“Mamá.” I straighten up, a lump building in my throat. “So what was I supposed to do? Let you struggle? That was not an option. I don’t mind helping you, and I’d do it again.”
“I know, but this stops now. I’ve cancelled my yoga classes because I can just buy a mat and find YouTube videos to practice at home. I’ll stop going out for drinks with my friends every week and invite them over instead. I’ll stop spending money on things I don’t need, and I’ll take an extra shift at the resort when the situation gets too tight.”
“I’m not asking you to do that.”
“I know. I’m self-imposing this so that my son can stop worrying about me.”
“You know that’s going to be impossible for me to do.”
“You’ll learn to. We’ll figure this out.”
I exhale heavily, nodding just because she’s capable of fighting me until I relent. I don’t tell her this, but I’ll still send her some money every month. The thought of her depriving herself to survive doesn’t sit right with me. Mom and my sisters deserve everything, and, while I can, I’ll financially help them.
“What if I never compete again?” The simple act of voicing the thought makes bile rise in my throat.
“Do you have to be so pessimistic?” Mom taunts.
“Realistic,” I correct. “My body might be healing, and I might be making some progress, but I don’t know when I’ll be able to ride again. It could be in two months; it could be a year from now.”
