“Hey! I have a head injury.”
“Can you take something seriously foronce?”
This common refrain from my teammates, who tire of my boundless high energy,bothersme. I stand, exhausted by this conversation, intending to retreat to my room.
“Don’t worry, Volky. It’s not like I stand a chance.”
12
Finley
I shake out acramp in my right thigh, the result of a grueling workout this morning.
Veronica ran me through an hour of conditioning before giving me a “break” to complete my beam routine until she liked the execution of each element. My legs burned by the end, and a bath didn’t relieve all the aches and pains, though it did ease some.
“You all right?” Matt asks beside me at the kitchen table, futzing with the computer, trying to launch a video call with the rest of our family.
I shrug. “Fine.”
Always fine. If I’m happy, my family worries I’m veering into hypomania, which would eventually lead to a devastating crash. If anything suggests I’m less than fine, they think I need immediate intervention to prevent further damage.
“Gem?” Matt calls. “Are you almost ready?”
“Coming,” she answers moments before appearing with Elodie in her arms. Their outfits match, floral patterns and same color headbands. “Sorry about that, she had a last-minute accident.”
Gemma settles beside Matt with the baby in her lap, tickling her stomach and sending Elodie into giggles. “It’s a good thing you’re so cute.”
Matt presses a quick kiss to Elodie’s forehead, then Gemma’s lips. “I love the outfits.”
The golden boy found a sunshine girl, and they’ve never once looked like anything but the picture of absolute happiness. I once thought some of it had to be for show, but it’s all real. I’m happy for them, of course, but they set the bar impossibly high.
Matt rubs his hands together. “Here we go.”
He clicks the join meeting button, and my family appears in blocks on the screen—my mom and dad beside each other at their kitchen table, my brother Ryan in his car, Charlie in a hotel room. No one could question we’re all related, at least not based on our appearances.
“Oh, there’s my sweet girl," my mother, Grace, gushes and waves at Elodie. She moves her tortoiseshell glasses from her nose to the top of her head.
Gemma grips Elodie’s chubby little hand and guides her to wave at the screen. “El, say hi to Gma.”
“What’s she been up to?” Mom asks.
“Crawling. All over the place,” Matt replies. “And she’s getting to her feet on her own. Not long before she’swalkingall over the place.”
Charlie laughs. “That’s when the real nightmare starts.”
No one asks how Charlie’s daughter is doing, because they never know the status of his coparenting relationship and don’t want to tread on sensitive ground. His daughter, Maura, turned three last month and splits her time between her parents.During the offseason, he sees her more often but not as much as he’d like.
I wish my family shared their struggles like they do successes, but the Harris clan has never been keen on divulging weakness. It’s partially why I concealed my unpredictable moods for so long. I thought I needed to push through it after a lifetime of watching my brothers shake off terrible ailments at the urging of our parents and each other.
Even after what I went through, we still don’t share. And I can’t change it without opening myself up to scrutiny. I’m not willing to risk the future I’m building for an uphill battle to change my familial culture.
My dad, Matthew, Sr., lifts his black coffee cup with the Palmer City Wolves logo into the air. “No, the nightmares start when you’re raising three boys born two years apart.”
“Oh, hush. I know you miss it,” Mom says, her hand dropping to my dad’s forearm. “It goes by in a blink, so enjoy it while you can.”
Platitude number one of the call.
“Oh, Finley, honey, you look tired.” Mom leans toward the camera as if coming closer will give her a better view of me. “Are you sleeping?”
