I park my Jeep so we’re overlooking a small lake, then step up onto the tailgate.
“Are you coming?”
She’s slow moving as she makes her way to the back of my car. Hopping up, our shoulders brush as she sets her hands in her lap, her head turned down.
We sit there, silently, the wind lightly kicking up the water off the lake, sloshing it against the rocky sides. Thankfully it’s not too cold tonight given it’s fall in Michigan—the perfect night, actually.
Unsure how to start this conversation, I stare at the lake, which reminds me of something growing up.
“I used to play on the field behind the lake. It became a pitcher’s embarrassment and a hitter’s dream. Since the fence lined up against the lake, you never wanted to give up a homerun because you would see the plop of the ball in the water. I was solidly the only pitcher who didn’t get the dreaded plop, until Hector Valdez stepped up to the plate in eighth grade. Dude looked like a college kid. I hung a curveball right over the plate, he cocked his bat back, and the ball sailed far into the lake, making for a huge splash. Hell, it was embarrassing. After the game, I went to the lake and fished out the ball, kept it for a really long time to remind me to never hang another curveball again.”
“Have you?” she asks, her voice shaky, weak.
“Of course, but it was a good reminder that I’m never too good, and there is always room for improvement.”
“Yeah, I get that.”
I turn toward her and with my fingers, I move her chin so she’s forced to look at me. Her lip trembles, her eyes water, and then she breaks down.
“Lincoln, I’m sorry,” she cries into her hands. “I’m so sorry.”
I scoot further into the trunk, thankful for the headspace, and pull her onto my lap so she’s straddling me. Her head goes straight to my chest as sobs wrack her body. I rub my hand up and down her back, trying to calm her body. It takes a few minutes, but she finally calms down and only has tears falling from her eyes.
“I don’t know what I was thinking. I was just . . . overwhelmed and being stupid. I never should have insulted you the way I did. It was uncalled for and I was battling my own demons and projected them onto you. I never should have done that. I’m so sorry, Lincoln, please forgive me.”
“Shhh,” I say softly into her ear as she grips my shirt, holding tightly. God, it feels good to have her in my arms again.
“You matter so much to me, Lincoln.” She looks me in the eyes, tears filled in hers. “You’re my person.”
I grip her cheek and wipe away her tears with my thumb. “You’re my person, too, Indie.”
“Please tell me I didn’t fuck this up, that we can still be friends, that we can still hang out and go back to normal where Sundays are our days and Mondays we awkwardly shower together after a hard leg workout. Where you sit next to me in class and share coffee.” She grips me tighter. “I need to know everything is going to be okay.”
“Of course it’s going to be okay.”
What doesn’t make sense is why she’s so . . . desperate for that. What she did really wasn’t that dire. I was just pissed and probably overreacted. So why has it affected her so badly? “Why?” I ask softly. “Why is that so important to you?”
She leans back, her eyes searching mine. “Be-because, I miss you, Lincoln. It’s been so painful . . . not having you.” I shake my head.
“No, I want the real reason.”
“That is the real reason.” She stares at me, confused.
I’m frustrated. I want to ask her about her parents, but I also don’t want to piss her off even more when it comes to her mom. The only reason I’d know something was wrong would be because of the mom grapevine, and I don’t want to succumb to that again.
“Do you not want things to go back to normal?” she asks, her voice shaky, ready to break, the worry in her eyes slicing right through me.
“I do,” I answer, then see her shoulders relax. “But I also want to be real with each other. There’s something that’s bothering you, something that happened after your game and you’re not telling me about it. I think that’s the real reason I got so mad. I mean, yeah, sure, it felt like a slap to the face that you were trying to hook me up with someone, but it was the change in your personality that caught me off guard, and instead of talking to me and telling me what was going on, you pushed me away.” I tip her chin up and ask, “What’s going on, Indie?” When she doesn’t answer, I lean my head back and let out a sigh. “Hell, Mayhem, if you can’t fucking talk to me about the important stuff, then what are we really doing here?”
Her head bends forward, and I watch as she plays with the fabric of my shirt. I don’t think she’s going to say anything, but she quietly says, “I haven’t told anyone. Scarlett doesn’t even know.” She looks up at me, more tears fill her eyes, and she finally says, “I found out that both my parents were cheating on each other during the summer.”
Oh fuck.
“Indie . . .” I grip her hip tightly. “I’m so sorry.”
Tears cascade down her cheeks and onto my shirt, I try to swipe them all away, but they’re too fast.
“I caught my dad with another woman first. Saw them together, holding hands, and kissing in a parking lot. I’ve never wanted to throw up so quickly in my life. It took me five days to gain the courage to tell my mom and when I did, she said she knew and that she was seeing someone herself.”
“What the fuck?”
“Yeah. Apparently, they’re together because my mom needs the health insurance from my dad’s plan. She has a thyroid problem and her medicine is vital. They’ve been seeing other people for a while and just put on a show of being a family when I’m home. But it explains why my dad has checked out.” She shakes her head. “It really fucked with my head. I don’t understand why they wouldn’t work on it, but instead just accept it was over and agree to date other people. It’s embarrassing.”
“Hell, Indie, that is so fucked up. I wish you’d told me sooner.”
She shakes her head. “I think I’ve been in denial.” She swipes at more tears angrily. “I want to ask my dad why when he checked out of life with Mom, he checked out of life with me too. Why I’m held at arm’s length, even though I’m his flesh and blood. I hate that. And sometimes, I think I hate him too.” Shit. I’m not surprised.
“I’m so sorry.”
“It’s just . . . hypocritical, you know? My mom trying to hook me up all summer made me more bitter, which is why I was so angry when I met you. As if all I was worth was a setup. I mean, who is she to insert herself into my love life when she’s completely botched her own? How can she endorse a solid relationship when she’s living with a man she’s married to on paper only?”
“Yeah, it’s fucked. I get why you were so angry now. I’d be the same if my moms did something like that.”
“Talking to her the other night, watching her smug smile about how right she was about us, it made me angry. I wanted to prove her wrong.”
And there it is.
“And it was stupid. Because the one person I should be keeping close, I pushed away.” Her hands travel up my chest. “I’m sorry, Lincoln. Please tell me we’re going to be okay.”