“They have these things called planes, Claire.”
“What sort of relationship would that be? Especially when we’re already traveling for work?”
“Ask him to move here then.”
“I-I can’t do that.”
“Why not?”
“Because he couldn’t. Because he wouldn’t. He’s a huge deal there. And his whole life outside of football is there too. Asking him to give all that up… It’d be pointless. Not to mention embarrassing. And selfish. He’s here on a forced hiatus—that’s all.”
“Did he know you were in Boston?”
“I’m not sure.”
When Otto apologized for not giving me a heads-up about his arrival, I assumed he’d found out I was on the Siege recently. Once he was already in the city possibly.
“Then how do you know he didn’t come here for you?”
I snort. “Because I know he didn’t stage an injury that could end his career just to spend some time with me. He wouldn’t even?—”
“Wouldn’t even what?”
I sigh. “He suggested I move to Germany when we tried to figure things out…before. Helaughed, talking about playing here. He’s… Kluvberg set up this whole arrangement for him. They’re one of the top clubs in Europe, and he’s one of their top players. He can’t just decide to play somewhere else, even if he wanted to. Which he doesn’t.”
“You could still ask,” Cassidy says quietly.
I nod.
I’m not sure I can though. I think it would hurt Otto to tell me no. No matter what he’s said about wanting me, he’s never once implied, much less said, he could or would consider leaving Germany.
And I can’t picture moving overseas. Starting over in a new league, on a new team, with a new coach. And that’s assuming a German club is interested, which isn’t a guarantee. It would be the end of my career, and I’m not sure I’m ready for that. I’m still in a position on the Siege, where I could win a league championship. There’s a slim possibility that Saylor was right, and I could be selected for the national team again. Soccer aside, moving would mean leaving Mom. Losing out on the time we have left. Missing Tommy getting older, missing planning Cassidy’s wedding, missing any opportunity to improve my relationship with my dad.
No matter how many times I turn it over in my head, nothing shifts. Nothing changes.
Cassidy unmutes the TV, seeming to sense I’m finished discussing the subject.
“There you go, Claire! Great job, honey!”
I keep my gaze on the screen, watching and listening to Dad cheer for me, but I feel Cassidy’s eyes on me.
“Dad asked about coming to your last home game with us. I told him I’d ask you.”
“Dad can do whatever he wants.”
“He wants to know if you want him there, Claire.”
On-screen, my dad cheers as I score another goal. I jump around, celebrating, my pigtails bouncing everywhere, as Cassidy swings in the background.
I reach for the remote, shutting off the television. This isn’t doing anything to inspire my speech, just depressing me. I can feel the outline of the oval coin pressed against my hip from its spot in my pocket. Since Otto recovered it for me, I haven’t let it out of my sight.
My dad has spent years—over a decade—attempting to make amends. When Cassidy was gone and Mom was here, it was easier to brush those attempts away. Mom and I were an unshakable unit, even when I lived in Denver part-time. Brief replies to birthday texts or the occasional check-in were much simpler then.
I’m tired. So tired of the energy that hating and avoiding my father requires. I just don’t know how to let go of the resentment. I’m so accustomed to carrying it around.
I glance at my sister. “How did you forgive him?”
I’ve asked her, “Howcouldyou forgive him?” before.There’s an important distinction between the two questions, one I hope Cassidy hears.
