“I’ve taken my medication as instructed every single day. I might not always sleep at the same time each night, but I’m close. And when I don’t sleep enough, I nap. I’m an expert napper now, thanks to Zach. He's helped me understand the importance of taking the time to relax. Having fun is as important as working hard."
I go on, “There’s nothing else in my life that brings me as much joy as gymnastics”—well, except Zach, but I know better than to say that and send this conversation in a different direction—“and I want to keep doing it in a balanced, measured,safeway. I want your support, but I’m prepared to do it on my own. Because it’s my life. I’m the one who has to live with my choices.”
This is the lightest I’ve felt in years, with the full truth laid out before us.
“We wanted to keep you safe, Fi,” my mom says.
“I know. And I needed your protection at one time, but I don’t anymore. I need your support now. The same as you give the boys. Can you do that?”
My mom’s hand clasps mine. “Oh, hun, of course I can. But go easy on me as I adjust, okay? It’s instinct to protect you.”
“I can do that,” I tell her with a nod. “Dad?”
He shakes his head, which brings Dr. Warren into the conversation. “Matthew, what would make you more comfortable? Not entirely comfortable, butmorecomfortable than you are right now.”
Dad lets out a rough chuckle. “Which is zero, for the record.”
“Noted. We’re working with baby steps here.”
He considers the question while holding eye contact with my mom. A silent conversation passes between them as I wait on pins and needles for his answer.
“Weekly family therapy sessions,” Dad says at long last.
“I can do that,” I say, nodding profusely.
He points at me. “And I want to talk to your coach.”
“Veronica would love that. And you’ll like her. She’s the healthiest coach I’ve ever had.”
I look at Dr. Warren, who continues to effectively use her silence technique to force us to speak to each other. I’m too afraid to say anything, though, because it sounds like he agreed I can return to school with reasonable conditions.
“Oh, and I’ll need to talk to thatboytoo,” he adds.
I roll my eyes. “Sure, Dad, you can talk toZach,Matty’s teammate, who you’ve already met a dozen times.”
Dad holds out his palm, and I place my hand in it. “I completely approve of him as Matt’s teammate, but as your boyfriend… that’s still to be determined. I love you, Fi. It takes a special person to deserve you.” He squeezes my hand. “There’s nothing more important to me in this world than your happiness, your brothers’ happiness.”
My hand tightens around his for a beat before releasing it. “Thank you for your support.” I place my hand on my mom’s shoulder. “My life is good because I’ve had it. I never want to lose you.”
“You won’t,” my mom says, her voice saturated with emotion.
“Kiddo, that will never happen,” Dad confirms.
The pit in my stomach that formed when my parents learned I returned to gymnastics and fell in love with Zach finally dissolves, along with the thick tension that surrounded us for years. The tension that kept us distant from each other.
After hours in therapy, I’d like to think we've mastered how to communicate, but it’s not so simple. We’ll always have to work to keep our relationship healthy.
Just like every other relationship in my life, including the one I have with myself. To find the happiness I’ve dreamed of for so long, I had to open myself up to hurt, to say what I think, what I need.
And for the first time in a long time, I’m ready to do it.
35
Zach
My knuckles rap againstmy coach’s closed door after practice.
He walked in the direction of his office thirty minutes ago; that’s how long it took me to gather my nerve to approach. Erik Pomroy has the respect of everyone in the league, but no one would describe him as warm. He has the textbook definition of a withering stare—unblinking, tense, unnerving as fuck. I’ve been on the receiving end of that stare many times, and I still can’t adjust to it.
