I wasn’t a pretty crier. My face became puffy, and my eyes stayed red for at least a day. Plus, my voice got scratchy, and my throat hurt something fierce. Two weeks post-Michael, I was a mess. He wouldn’t answer my texts and didn’t look back at me once the last two games. I knew I fucked it all up, butwhydid it feel like I couldn’t breathe? My laptop had two percent battery, and my wrists hurt from working at this awkward angle. Given my inability to sleep or be happy, I threw myself into the stats project.
Numbers were therapeutic and didn’t have feelings. Someone knocked on our door, and for a split second, my heart leapt in my throat.
“Want me to get it?” Mona said, reaching out from next to me and running a hand over my shoulder. She’d been watching season five of How to Get Away With Murder. We both had insane crushes on Viola Davis and the guy who played Dean Thomas, and focusing on fake drama was what I needed.
“No, I’ll get up.” I brushed crumbs off my shirt and knew as I walked toward the door that it couldn’t be Michael. It was Saturday. Post-game. He’d be with my dadallday doing hockey business.
I ground my teeth together at thethirdtime my dad blew me off on the project. He dissed me in front of Cami, refused to spend time alone with me, and I was sick of it. Speaking of Cami… I opened the door, and my sister stood there wearing an overly large white cut off sweatshirt.
“You look like shit,” she said, frowning as she walked right into my apartment. “God, your place is great. Smells like cookies.”
“Because I made some,” Mona said, pausing the show and eyeing Cami with a protectiveness that made me almost smile. “We’re still in the moping phase if you’d like to join us.”
“Absolutely. I’m great at moping.” Cami flashed a grin at Mona and situated herself on the single chair to the right of where I was sitting. “You’ve avoided my calls the past two weeks, and I remembered how you got in junior high. Pouty. Recluse. I figured I needed to come over to pull you out of it.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“Yes, it is.” She leaned onto her knees, and a dark, intense stare crossed her face. No trace of the beauty-pageant sister. “Fix your issues with Dad, then talk to Michael.”
“She’s right,” Mona said, wincing as I turned to her.
“Excuse me?” My heart raced, and my face warmed. “Issues with Dad?”
“Look, I love you. Things have been weird with us, and we’re working on it, but I’m sure Mona would agree. Your shit is with dad, not Michael. Not hockey. Dad was a horrible husband and a crap father to two girls. I know you think we have a special bond, but there’s a lot you don’t know.” She pushed her hair out of her face. “Dad is a dick, and I see it more and more since you told me how you felt. Confront him. Demand an explanation. Because girl, you’re not ever gonna be able to open your heart if you got all this drama in there.”
Mona put her arm around my shoulders and squeezed. “You started this internship because of your dad. Has it gotten better?”
I shook my head.
“Worse?”
I nodded.
“And that’s okay with you? The Naomi I know wouldneverlet a middle-aged man make her feel inferior. Who cares if it’s your dad? Stand up to him. Outsmart him. Show him that you know you’re worth loving.” Mona sniffed and hugged me tight. “I think you need to let the idea of you two healing go and instead, work on showing him the real Naomi. Because if he doesn’t want you in his life, then why are you trying so hard to stay in his?”
Fuck. I hung my head as a heavy, deafening silence followed.
They were right. One hundred percent right. My sister and my best friend. Another wave of tears hit me, and the taste of salt rolled into my mouth. Was this heartbreak with Michael because of my issues with Dad? Was I the reason this had fallen apart? The truth hit me in the side of the face, hard.
I’d fucked up.
“So, are we thinking uh, now? I need to talk to my dad today?”
“No.” Cami patted my knee, awkwardly. “When you’re ready. But… the sooner, the better. I’ve seen a really grumpy and sad assistant coach walking around.”
Michael. The guy I loved.
I let him down. The guy who’d been through so fucking much. The guy who told me I was his best friend here.
I squeezed my eyes as pain radiated through me. The thought of confronting my dad scared the shit out of me, but I’d do it for Michael. I owed Michael that—to open up this wound that made me drive him away. Maybe this would be enough for him to forgive me.
“Today. I’ll do it today.”
* * * *
My dad always wore a polo on game days. It was that way growing up and no different now. He muttered something to himself as I stood outside his office a few hours later. I wore my favorite jeans and hoodie along with an orange beanie. It was getting colder outside, and my teeth shook from a horrible combination of chills and adrenaline. I knocked on the doorframe hard, and he looked up.
“Naomi, what are you doing here?” He glanced at his watch. “We didn’t have a meeting, did we?”
