My mother lowers her gaze, and when she lifts her eyes, sadness flickers there. I guess no mother wants their son to be alone at Christmastime.
“How was your day? Did Dad and you do anything special?”
“Oh, nothing special like being in Chicago and seeing a white Christmas,” she pipes up. “We had the usual here. Seafood and some turkey. It’s hot, love, and we went for a swim at the beach this afternoon.”
“What I’d give to be at the beach today. It’s so freaking cold. I’m jealous.”
“Merry Christmas, Brandon.” I smile at my father as he pops his face in view of the camera. “Just got back from a swim.”
“Merry Christmas, Dad. I just told Mum I’m jealous and wish it was hot enough to swim here.”
His brow pinches. “What do you have to be jealous about?”
A lot, actually. My parents see my achievements and think I’m superhuman. I hurt, cry, and grieve like anyone else.
Feel the loneliness like a widower.
“Yeah, I know. I’m living my dream,” I say flat.
Mom’s face sags. “Come home at the end of the season. You need a break. We all miss you.”
I nod, forcing a smile, hoping my image on the screendoesn’t portray the loneliness I feel inside. “I’m still thinking of making this season my last in the NBA.”
“Then give it everything you have, darling. You have given up so much to be there to play, so give it your all.”
“Yeah. I’m trying.”
“Brandon,” my father’s voice demands attention. “Don’t waste time. Achieve everything you set out to do and come home with no regrets.”
“I will.” Except, I can’t see myself winning a championship with this team.Maybe they are better off without me.
Maybe I was the wrong man for the team.
It was a controversial trade, and everyone expected me to perform magic—to be top scorer every week, but it’s not always enough to get the win.
“I’ll talk later in the week after the game. You guys need to get to bed. I’m glad you had a great Christmas.”
“Oh, I forgot to tell you,” Mum pipes up. “I saw Aubree the other day. She asked about you. Asked if you’re enjoying Chicago. She’s pregnant again.”
I pep up at the sound of her name. “I should call her.” We were best friends once. She even named her oldest son after me.
“Yes, you should. She hasn’t heard from you in over two years.”
My head dips. Changing cell numbers affected more than Charlotte. I have turned into a recluse when I’m not training and barely speak to anyone. I’m here to play basketball, and that’s all I focus on. It’s time I stopped blocking out the world and reactivated my social media accounts. Hiding away for years has not proved a thing, and it sure as heck hasn’t cured the pain. Solitude welcomes loneliness like an old friend—one I need to boot out.
“Love you guys,” I say, sounding upbeat. “Oh, and Mum, I have been visiting the children’s hospital once a week, helping to fundraise for the Children’s Leukemia Foundation.”
Mom raises a hand to rest on her chest. “That is beautiful. Please know I’m proud of whatever you do.”
I smile and touch my lips with two fingers, then touch the screen.
“Love you, too, Brandon. And Merry Christmas.”
Closing the video call, I rub at the pain in my chest. Using the knuckle of my thumb, I move it in a circular motion, but the pain is too deep to relieve.
The last Christmas I had with my parents in Australia was the year before I moved away to go to college. It feels like a lifetime ago. I miss being surrounded by people who care. I have to stop with the self-punishment and believing it’s going to heal my pride.
I switch on the television, ready to watch the Christmas game. I used to torture myself with what-ifs by watching my old team play. It is what it is, and I’m done paying for it.
