Slamming his briefcase on the desk, Aiden turns to the class and smiles, a sinister glint shining through his nerd glasses. “Pop quiz!”
15
Willa
Playlist: “Fall,” Lisa Hannigan
I didn’t lie to Ryder, but I didn’t exactly tell him the truth either. It’s just that talking about your sick-with-cancer mom is about as uncomfortable a conversation topic as I can think of, and as I’ve admitted, squidgy dialogues aren’t my speed. So, I told him generally where we “live” for the time being and that I’d be spending Turkey Day with my mom. It wasn’t a lie. The goddamn oncology wing at RRMC is indeed not far from campus. On Thanksgiving, I’ll be snuggling up to Joy Sutter’s bony ass, trying not to dwell on thoughts like if this is the last one and just how thankful I am that I still have a mom to hug.
Since the unfinished soccer conversation, I’ve reasoned that Ryder’s secret relationship with the sport is tied with his hearing loss. Given that, I didn’t feel like rubbing my soccer life in his face. I didn’t mention that I’d be practicing plenty and mentally preparing myself for arguably the most important game of my career thus far, the NCAA Quarterfinals. I didn’t tell him I was sick-to-my-stomach nervous, that I feel like I’m carrying not only my own success and future on my shoulders but everyone else’s on my team. I didn’t tell him that I’m petrified, every time I leave for an away game, that I’ll come back motherless. I didn’t tell him that my fear is a tsunami building in its power, and I’m not sure I’ll stay intact when it finally crashes into my heart.
I didn’t tell him any of that. But I wanted to.
“Sutter!” Coach jogs over and drops her voice, giving me the look. The what-the-hell’s-gotten-into-you look. “Talk to me.”
I meet her eyes and swallow the lump in my throat, rolling my shoulders back and plastering what I hope is a determined smile on my face. “I’m sorry, Coach. Won’t happen again.”
She scowls. “My door’s open, Sutter, and frankly I can’t afford to have you not take advantage of that if it’s going to compromise your play—”
“It won’t.” I step closer, hands up. It’s a plea, a reassurance. “I promise, I’m fine.”
Rooney’s a few yards off, arms folded across her chest. When we meet eyes, she lifts two fingers, pointing them from her face to mine. I’m watching you.
Yeah, I’ve been avoiding Rooney, because she’s my ride or die, and when shit’s hard she makes me face and feel it, which I just don’t want to. The rest of the team, I like plenty. We have fun, but I’m not close with any of them, not a mile-wide, inch-deep friend. Rooney’s basically my person, and I know when I dump all this stuff on her it’s going to be extensive and ugly.
Coach claps my back, snapping me out of my thoughts.
“Come on, then!” Her voice rings in the practice field. “Another half hour of keep-away, then we’re done here. Tomorrow’s the big day. I want everyone well-slept, focused, and energized, got it?”
A resounding chorus of Yes, Coach echoes across the grass. Even though it’s deep into fall, it’s swampy in Florida. Sweat drips down my face, and I’m dying for a cool shower and a long night of sleep.
Another half an hour of tiny spaces jammed with players, forcing my immediate first touch, my constant awareness of the shifting landscape between the ball, my team, and my opponent, as I pass and shoot, then we’re finally done. Drenched in sweat, wiped out, we walk off the field, guzzling Gatorade and stumbling onto the bus that will take us back to the hotel.
I sigh as air-conditioning greets us on the bus. Seated, I press my forehead to the cool window glass and let my eyes slip shut. Rooney drops into the seat next to me. Her gentle nudge draws me back from thoughts of dozing off.
Her hazel eyes are tight with worry as she wraps her arm around my shoulders, then pulls me to her. I don’t say a word, because, with Rooney, I don’t always have to. I just let my mind empty and wander, lulled by the hum of a bus on the highway.
Once we’re back at the hotel, I call Mama. She picks up after the second ring.
“Willa Rose, long time no talk.”
I might have gotten my temper from my grandmother but I got my sass from my mom. “Dang, Mama. Just wanted to check in.”
There’s a wet cough in the background, the rustling of fabric indicating she tried her best to muffle it. “I’m okay, Willa. You need to relax, honey. I’m not going anywhere just yet.”
Just yet. Tears fill my eyes. When I blink, they wet my lashes and spill down my cheeks. “It’s hard playing on the holidays. I just want to be home with you. I want our Chinese takeout and crappy nineties sitcom marathon.”
“I know.” Mama sighs. “But the fact is, life is full of change. You like the idea of doing that, but, Willa, the last few years we did, we were both bored halfway through Clueless and ended up playing Words with Friends, which I won, by the way.”
“The hell you did.”
Mama laughs and it doesn’t end in a horrible cough. It makes me smile.
“Willa, on your first day of preschool, you white-knuckled my shirt and screamed when it was time for me to go, even though countless times before that, I left you with Grandma Rose or with your sitters.”
“I remember,” I whisper.
“At first, I couldn’t figure it out. You were always happy for a new sitter friend to come and play at our house, always glad for Grandma Rose to watch you while I was gone, but this…this was different. Because my leaving meant you had to join that classroom. You had to meet the unfamiliar and try new things. It wasn’t so much me leaving as you going that bothered you. It was what you had to do after goodbye that wigged you out, Willa. It’s always wigged you out. You know what that is?”
I wipe my nose, blinking up at the ceiling. “No.”
“Because then you have face the scary unknown and want something from it. You have to live with arms wide open to new things. You have to risk trying and failing. You have to release the baggage from your past, so you have room to welcome your future.”
Unease bolts through my veins. It makes me shiver. “I already want something from my future, Mama. I want to play professionally and be on the Women’s National Team. I want to win the World Cup and be on the Olympic Team. I want to see the world and learn about it. But…I just don’t want to have to let go of what I know or leave behind anyone that I love.”
Mama coughs again. “You have to. And when the time comes, you will. You’ll pick yourself up and you’ll move on and live that beautiful life.”
We’re talking about it without talking about it. I hate it when we do this. Even though the words aren’t being said, it still feels like knives spearing every gap in my ribs. It feels like my throat is scorched and my heart is dissolving in my chest. A world without my mom isn’t a world I want to be in. I hate when she makes me think about it. I hate what I know she’s about to say to me.
“Promise me, Willa Rose.”
I nod as a tear slips down my cheek. “I promise.”