“Doesn’t hurt as much as it used to,” I say back, surprised to find I mean it.
* * *
After a while we walk around the park, a few of the leaves on the trees already turning orange and red and yellow. Some drift off their branches and fall in front of us, and our feet crunch noisily over them.
Marley pulls a half-finished red-and-white box of popcorn out of her bag, leftovers from an earlier pond expedition with the ducks. She holds it out to me. I take a handful, popping a few kernels into my mouth.
“Do you have any dreams outside of all of that? Outside of football? UCLA?” she asks. Our shoulders are almost touching as we walk, like some invisible barrier between us has disappeared.
I swallow, looking away at the pond peeking through the trees. It’s what my mom’s been trying to ask me. The question I haven’t had an answer to.
“I don’t know. Football was always my first choice. But since that’s out, and since my plans with Kim are out…，” I say, shrugging. “I don’t really know where to start.”
“What do you want?” she asks. “Not Kim. Not Sam. Not your mom. You.”
I take a deep breath, saying the first thing that comes into my head, completely unfiltered. “I think right now I just want to be. I don’t want to go to UCLA and pretend I have it figured out. But I don’t really want to go anywhere else, either.”
“I get that, but you don’t have to leave to start thinking about what you want. Just because you can’t play anymore doesn’t mean you can’t do something football related,” she says, a few popcorn kernels disappearing into her mouth.
“Like what?”
She chews thoughtfully. “Coaching?”
I consider it for a minute, but the idea of being on the bench still feels kind of raw. “I don’t know about coaching. But… I mean, they did ask me to write a couple of football articles for my school paper since I was stuck going to the games anyway. I liked doing that, and I think they were pretty good. But I don’t think anyone actually read them.”
“You should try,” Marley says eagerly. “Be a writer. Or a journalist. Then we’ll both be storytellers.”
I smile, her enthusiasm infectious. I try to picture it. My name in print, in something more than just the Ambrose school paper. Giving teams the coverage they actually deserve instead of some shitty clickbait.
“They’re never really gone, you know,” she says unexpectedly, stopping dead in her tracks. I look back to see her face has grown serious again. “We keep them with us, just like you and football. They’re still part of our lives.”
Still part of our lives. That’s all I’ve wanted since the accident. To find a way to live without leaving Kim behind.
My fingers unexpectedly brush against Marley’s hand, and I pull back instantly, the feeling strange and familiar all at once.
I stuff my hands in my pockets, and we walk silently for a while, but not in the painfully awkward way where you’re desperately trying to think of something to fill the silence. This is actually nice. Comfortable.
“Thanks, Marley,” I say as we round a corner of the park, tall oak trees reaching for the sky.
“For what?”
I shrug, not knowing how to put my gratitude into words. For being easy to talk to? For understanding? “It hasn’t been easy for me to really talk to anyone… since…”
She nods, already knowing. Of course she does.
“You think you’ll be back here tomorrow?” Marley asks.
“Actually, um…” My voice trails off, my brain trying to pull itself together and form a coherent sentence. “I was thinking maybe we could get out of the park for a night? Dinner at my house on Friday? As a thank-you.” I give her a big smile as I try to butter up the experience. “I’ll cook.”
Marley shoots me a side-eye. “I didn’t know you cook.”
“Of course I cook,” I say, looking offended. “I’m a pizza rolls aficionado.”
14
“All right,” my mom says, grabbing a grocery cart, a look of determination on her face. “Divide and conquer. You get the rib eye and some turkey from the deli, I’ll get the veggies, and we’ll meet at the checkout counter in ten. Good?”
I nod, eyeing the cart. “You’re using a whole cart just for a small bag of potatoes?”
She glares at me. “I may grab a few other things. See where the wind takes me.”
“See where the wind takes me,” I repeat, laughing and shaking my head. Classic. “Maybe the wind will take me to the dessert aisle!” I call over my shoulder to her, her sarcastic laugh trailing behind me.