“Yeah, but it’s not pressure, you know? It’s more like motivation. I want to succeed for them as much as for me.”
“That says good things about your character.”
The simple compliment hit me harder than it should’ve. Coming from him, it felt meaningful in a way I couldn’t quite explain.
By the time we pulled into the Millard parking lot, most of the team were stirring awake, gathering their gear and making noise about getting food or going to parties. But I was reluctant to leave the quiet bubble we’d created in the back of the bus.
“Thanks,” I said as we stood up to collect our bags.
“For what?”
“For the conversation. For treating me like a person instead of a player.”
An expression flickered across his face—surprise, maybe, or another emotion I couldn’t identify.
“Youarea person, Adan. A very impressive one.”
As we filed off the bus with the rest of the team, I was thinking that I’d been looking at this whole coaching relationship wrong. Coach Anders wasn’t some guy who happened to know a lot about hockey. He was someone I liked hanging out with, someone I wanted to get to know better.
The thought should’ve been simple, innocent. But for some reason, it made my chest feel warm in a way I didn’t quite understand.
6
NILS
The first thing I noticed when my alarm blared was that my stomach was staging a rebellion. Throughout the night, I’d been restless, and now I was all kinds of queasy. The way my upper lip started to sweat was a tell-tale signal I had about five minutes before whatever was churning in my stomach would force its way out. Yuck.
The second thing was that I had forty-five minutes before I was supposed to meet Adan for our regular Wednesday-morning session.
Yeah, that wasn’t happening.
I sat up carefully, testing whether the room would spin. It did, enough to confirm that whatever I’d eaten for dinner last night had not agreed with me. Probably that leftover Chinese takeout that had been sitting in my refrigerator for longer than it should’ve been.
I reached for my phone and typed out a text to Adan. Luckily, I had his number through the Campus app Millard used to communicate with students.
Me
This is Coach Anders. I’m afraid I need to cancel our session today. I’m feeling unwell. We’ll resume Friday as scheduled.
His response came back within minutes.
Adan
No problem, Coach. Feel better. Need anything?
The kindness in the simple question made something warm flutter in my chest, which was immediately followed by another wave of nausea.
Me
No, but thank you. Rest and fluids should do the trick.
That, and getting rid of whatever was causing my stomach to be this upset. With a sigh of resignation, I made my way to the bathroom, where it only took two minutes before my prediction came true and my stomach emptied itself. Ew.
Twenty minutes later, the second wave hit, and after that, I felt better. Weak and with the worst taste ever in my mouth, but better. I did a superficial brushing of my teeth, careful not to trigger my gag reflex, then hauled myself back to bed for a nap.
When I woke up, I felt better, so I made some tea, then padded over to my living room, where the BRIMNES cabinet components were still scattered across the floor like Swedish furniture confetti. I’d been putting off that assembly project for weeks now. Maybe today, stuck at home and feeling sorry for myself, would be the perfect time to finally tackle it.
But it became quickly clear that the instructions still didn’t make sense to me. I sat cross-legged on my living-room floor, surrounded by wooden pieces and small plastic bags of screws, feeling like I was failing at the most basic expression of my own cultural heritage. This was Swedish furniture. I was Swedish. By all rights, this should be as natural as breathing.
