Chapter Twelve
FINN
My mother learns about Mara from a campus radio clip.
This is unfortunate because the clip is Tessa asking Jace whether goalies are capable of romance.
Jace answers, “Finn is capable of many things. Eye contact is not one of them.”
My mother sends the clip at six twelve Thursday morning with a single question mark.
I call her after practice.
“Who is Mara?” she asks without greeting.
“Radio host.”
“I gathered that.”
“A friend.”
“Your father said your thumb moved when you answered.”
I look at my hand.
They are on video. Dad sits beside her at the kitchen table, pretending to read a hardware catalog.
“He cannot see my thumb,” I say.
“I can see your face,” Mom replies.
My mother, Colleen, has dark hair streaked with silver and the warmest voice in our family. I suddenly recognize why Mara’s midnight broadcasts reached me. Calm has always sounded like a woman speaking into darkness as if she knows someone is listening.
“We are dating,” I say.
Mom smiles.
Dad turns one catalog page with unnecessary force.
“How long?” she asks.
“One week.”
“Does she know about the panic?”
“Yes.”
“Before or after dating?”
“Before.”
“Good.”
“Why?”
“Because hiding becomes harder once someone matters.”
I do not like the direction of this conversation.
“How are you?” I ask her.
The question changes her face.
Dad looks up.
Mom touches the edge of her mug. “Your father told me you know.”
“You should have told me.”
“Yes.”
The clean agreement disarms me.
“I was afraid you would watch me,” she says. “Children should not have to monitor their parents.”
“Mara’s sister said something similar.”
“About you?”
“About Mara.”
Mom smiles faintly. “Then she knows.”
“Knows what?”
“That caring can become a job if you are not careful.”
I look toward the window.
The team house backyard is buried beneath snow. Jace has constructed a small goal from patio chairs and labeled it FINN’S HEART. Theo has not removed it, which means treason is spreading.
“I do not want to make Mara responsible,” I say.
“Then do not.”
“How?”
“Have other people. Have a plan. Tell her when you need space and when you need company. Ask what she needs too.”
The simplicity feels suspicious.
“You sound like Dr. Patel.”
“Dr. Patel sounds intelligent.”
Dad clears his throat. “Does Mara like hockey?”
“She likes stories.”
“That was not the question.”
“She bought a goalie lesson.”
Mom laughs. Dad lowers the catalog.
“Can she skate?” he asks.
“No.”
“Smart girl.”
After the call, I drive to campus for my second appointment.
Dr. Patel asks about the kiss.
“I did not say there was a kiss.”
“You said you are dating someone.”
“People date without kissing.”
“Do you?”
“No.”
She smiles and lets the subject go.
We work on anticipatory anxiety: the panic about panic. I describe checking exits, avoiding elevators, choosing aisle seats, sitting near doors. Some choices are harmless. Others have begun shrinking my life.
“What have you stopped doing?” she asks.
“Concerts. Movies if the theater is crowded. Team flights unless I sit in the back.”
“Anything you want back?”
I think of Mara in the radio booth, music turning beneath a repaired needle.
“Live music,” I say.
“Why?”
“Someone I know likes it.”
Dr. Patel writes something for the first time.
“What?” I ask.
“Exposure goal.”
“I did not agree to a concert.”
“You agreed to wanting something.”
“That feels manipulative.”
“Therapy occasionally uses grammar.”
Mara texts while I am leaving.
MARA: My sister needs help moving a bookshelf Saturday afternoon. Payment is pasta.
ME: How large?
MARA: The pasta? Significant.
ME: Bookshelf.
MARA: Six feet. Solid wood. Sophie refuses to admit it weighs more than she does.
ME: I can help.
MARA: You do not have to.
I stop beside the truck.
The sentence matters.
ME: I know. I want to.
Her reply is a heart.
My alarm system does not activate.
Something else does.
Hope, maybe.
More dangerous. Less familiar.
On Saturday, I move the bookshelf with Theo because Mara said it was heavy and I know my limits even if she does not know furniture.
Rowan Hale arrives at the same time carrying a drill.
Theo stops on the porch.
Rowan looks at him. “Why are you here?”
“Mara asked.”
“She asked me.”
“She asked Finn.”
“I am helping Finn.”
“I am helping Mara.”
They stand in the snow like opposing defensemen waiting for a puck drop.
Mara opens the door behind them. “Wonderful. Forced teamwork.”
Theo says, “I can leave.”
Rowan says, “Please.”
Lucy appears between Mara’s legs. “Are you getting divorced too?”
No one answers.
Interesting.
Inside, Sophie directs four college athletes and one radio host with the efficiency of a military commander. The bookshelf reaches the second-floor landing, becomes lodged against the ceiling, and remains there for nine minutes while Mara laughs hard enough to sit on the stairs.
I look down at her from beneath one end of the shelf.
“You planned this,” I say.
“Your suspicion wounds me.”
Theo and Rowan argue about rotation angles.
Lucy offers Mr. Waddles as a structural consultant.
The house is loud, crowded, and full of movement.
My breathing stays normal.
Mara notices.
She does not say anything.
That night, after pasta, she walks me to the truck.
“You survived family logistics,” she says.
“I survived Rowan and Theo trying to move the same object in opposite directions.”
“They are going to fall in love.”
“That seems inefficient.”
“So are most good things.”
She leans against the passenger door.
I step between her knees.
“Come to the team house,” I say.
Her eyes search mine.
“Tonight?”
“Yes.”
“Because the house is empty?”
“Theo is at a captains’ meeting. Jace is at a party.”
“And because?”
I force the words past the instinct to hide them.
“Because I want you in my room.”
Her breath catches.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“Not because you think the relationship needs to progress on schedule?”
“No schedule.”
“Not because I helped during the outage?”
“No debt.”
Her hand slides beneath my coat and rests over my heart.
“Then take me home, Callahan.”
The drive lasts twelve minutes.
It feels like the longest period of my life.