Page 82 of Convincing the Catcher

We throw our crap in the back before racing to get inside. Rubbing her hands together, she presses the button to start the engine.

“Don’t even say it,” she deadpans, already annoyed even though I haven’t even said the words I always do when it’s cold and we bring her car. “I already know I should have started it while we were inside, jerk.”

“Well, okay then,” I mumble, fighting a grin because there’s something about Haven when she’s feisty that’s my favorite.

The girl has more personality than I know what to do with, but it suits her. And truthfully, it’s what drew me to her, I think.

She doesn’t pull out of the parking spot right away, but instead, we sit there, and I wonder what in the world she’s doing. Finally though, she turns her body slightly toward mine.

“What do you need from me?” she blurts out, her eyes almost seeming surprised by her words. “Like, for you to feel better at practice. To get back to you.” She tilts her head to the side, resting it on the seat. “I know you’re still hurting, and I can’t even imagine how hard everything has been for you. But I miss you, Harls.” She sighs, looking down. “I miss playing ball with you.”

My body’s first response is to jerk my head back by pure shock, followed by a chuckle. “Um, hello … we just did play ball together.” I frown. “I may have taken a week off, but aside from that, I’ve been here.”

“It’s not the same,” she whispers. “Your game is different. You don’t even seem like you want to play anymore. You used to be early every day and the last one to leave—and it wasn’t just because of your gear either.”

I’m trying my best to keep calm, but deep down, I’m thinking, How dare she say this to me?

She knows I’m doing my best. I know Haven though, and this is coming from concern and nothing else. I just have to keep reminding myself of that before I respond.

“I’m fine, Haven,” I mutter, looking toward the windshield. “You don’t understand. And I’m glad that you don’t have to understand, but cut me some slack. I’m doing the best that I can.” I shake my head bitterly. “Every day, I show up to practice, and I work my ass off even though I want to just stay in bed.”

“I know I can’t possibly understand what you’re going through,” she says, and from the corner of my eye, I know she’s looking at me. “It’s just hurting me to see you throw away so much hard work to now play mediocre.”

She takes a long pause, but still, I keep my gaze straight ahead.

“I’ve played with some really great players, Harley. I’ve seen some pretty awesome catchers too. Ones that were the top in their league, even their state. But you have this …” She stops, and when I hear the emotion in her voice, I look at her again. “You have this sparkle when you play. It sets you apart from any other player I’ve ever taken the field with because you aren’t just on the field to do a job. You’re out there because it’s what you were born to do.”

She sniffles, the corner of her mouth lifting into a tiny, sad smile. “Just don’t get so consumed in the sadness that you throw all of that away, okay? You can grieve. You should grieve. But you’re allowed to feel other things, too, besides your grief. Don’t get so caught up in how you think you’re supposed to feel that you no longer allow yourself joy. Because I met your dad quite a few times, and if there was one thing that dude loved? It was to watch his baby girl play ball.”

She swipes away a tear before it rolls down her cheek. “And even though I’m sure it’s impossible, and I know playing without him being there is painful, you’ve got to believe that somehow, someway … he’s still with you every time you step onto the field. Because I know he is.”

Her words hit me like a ton of bricks, and my vision blurs. I try my best to keep my tears at bay, just like I have since I got back to campus, but it’s hard. And before I have time to answer, Haven’s arms are wrapped around me, and she hugs me tightly across the center console of her Jeep.

“Coach has been patient, but I’m sure she’s tired of watching me suck too,” I say against her hair, wincing. “And I don’t blame her. I wouldn’t blame her if she let someone else catch for our opening game in February either.”

“She knows you’re just hurting. It’s only been a month,” she murmurs. “Besides, we’re all family. And you know as well as I do, you can’t hate your family for being sad.”

My response takes me longer than I’d like, but inside, I’m fighting back all the emotions that want to flow out like a river. She’s right though. And inside, even though I do miss my dad terribly and am still struggling with losing him, I think I’m also scared that if I allow myself to feel joy again or to love softball the way I did when he and I played on our lawn, I’ll be consumed with guilt because how could someone just be okay when her dad dies? Moving on from this just feels so wrong.

But my dad wouldn’t want me to be sad. And he certainly wouldn’t want me to throw all my hard work away. Especially when his last words to me meant that he died believing my hard work paid off and I had made it.

“You’re right,” I agree, burying my face into her shoulder. “Thank you, Haven. For always telling it like it is. Even when I don’t want to hear it.”

She wraps her arms around me, rubbing my back with her palm. “Always, Meadows. Always.”

For the longest time, we sit in her now warm car in absolute silence. Finally, I lift my head, wipe my eyes, and breathe in a long breath, like it’s the first one since losing my dad. I let it fill my body and somehow remind myself that I have the privilege of being alive.

I have the privilege to play softball at NEU, and I need to seize the opportunity and stop playing sad and scared.

“Wanna go to that ice cream place?” she says, knocking her head slightly against mine.

I nod, so thankful for a friend like Haven. I’ve had loss—that’s true. But I can sit back and see that I’ve also gained a lot in the past few years. From now on, that’s what I’m going to try to focus on.

Not because it’s easy to always see the bright side …

But because that’s what my dad would want for me.

And the first thing I’m going to do to get back to myself is read the letter he gave me. Because for weeks, I’ve been too scared to open it. I owe it to him to read it. And I also think if I’m going to move on with my life, it’s what I have to do.