It takes me a couple of seconds to follow her orders, but eventually, I do, and the second our eyes collide, her breath catches.
That’s the thing with Bea: while everyone else might miss what I’m feeling or how much I’m suffering, she doesn’t. She knows. She always knows.
“Talk to me,” she encourages softly.
I clench and unclench my teeth a couple of times as I try to find the words. She deserves all the fucking words and for me to try and open up in a way I never have with anyone.
“I’m scared I won’t be able to be what you both need,” I confess, desperate to look away as the words tumble free, but unable to break our connection.
Her grip on my hand tightens, and when she tugs me closer, I’m powerless but to let her draw me in.
“I have never asked, or expected you to be perfect,” she tells me, steadily and slowly, making sure I hear every word. “All we need is you. For you to show up, for you to try your best. For us to try our best together.”
“B-but I’m going to be away and?—”
“And that’s okay. That’s your job. Is it going to be hard? Of course. But think of the positives. Think about our little one at your home games, wearing your jersey. Think about summers off, spending every day with them. Think about the first time you put skates on them and teach them how not to fall on their ass every five seconds. Think about when you get to?—”
“What about you?” I ask, cutting her off.
“What about me?” she asks with a frown.
“What about you being at home games wearing my jersey? What about spending the summer with you? What about teaching you to skate and not letting you fall on your ass?”
Her mouth opens and closes as she tries and fails to find words.
“I want that,” I tell her.
As if it’s painful to hear, she closes her eyes.
“It’s okay that you don’t, though. I get it.”
Her eyes fly open. “I never said that,” she argues.
“You don’t have to. I can see it in your eyes.”
“They were closed,” she counters.
“Fine. I can read your mind.”
“Then you’re shit at it, because that isn’t what I was thinking at all.”
“So what?—”
“I want all those things, too. But I’m scared.”
“Of me letting you down?” I guess.
“Never. I know that won’t happen.”
Her confidence in me rocks me to my core.
“Then what are you scared of?” I ask, confused.
“Of…everything,” she says with a laugh. “Of being a mom. Of trying to do that and run a business. Of trying to be enough for everyone. Not all that different from how you’re feeling,” she says, her eyes widening to try and nail her point home.
“Yeah,” I mutter.
“But as much as I wish we could make all that go away, we can’t. We’re always going to be scared of something; it’s how we deal with it that makes the difference.”
