Chapter 6
CHAPTER 6
It’s a Friday afternoon and I’m lounging on the back patio sofa, sipping a margarita, and reading a fantasy romance novel. A love story could be a turn-off for someone healing from a break-up, but it’s so far removed from my present reality, I find myself enjoying it. I take a deep breath as I finish a chapter, relishing the warm fresh air scented with a hint of jasmine. I set my book down, look around incredulously, then laugh out loud. How is this my life right now?
My phone starts vibrating on the end table, and once I check the caller ID, I answer with a shout of, “Dad!”
“ ?Mija? ” says Dad. I can hear his smile of surprise that I answered.
“Hey, how’s it going down there?”
“Good! I’m good. Cozumel’s good. Fishing’s good. Hey, guess who’s here?” I hear Dad call for someone and the sound of a cooler thunking shut.
“Hey, Nina.”
My eyes go wide with surprise. “Julio! I didn’t know you were in Mexico. I thought you were still in Florida.”
“Just here for the summer. What’s up? Where are you?” asks Julio. He already sounds suspicious, and I can imagine him and Dad exchanging concerned glances.
“I’m at Aunt Mari’s,” I say, raising my voice like it’s a fun little getaway I’ve been planning for months.
They don’t buy it for a second. They immediately talk over each other. “Nina, why are you there? Are you okay? What about D.C.?”
“Nothing’s like really, seriously wrong,” I immediately reassure them. “Well, my life kind of…unraveled in D.C.”
“What does that mean?” Julio asks.
“Do you remember I was seeing a guy named Bryce?” Ugh, his name makes me nauseous now, but I press on and tell them everything that’s happened, with honesty and transparency.
“Do you want me to come to San Diego? Do you need me there?” Dad asks after I’ve finished sharing.
“No, I’m okay,” I reply with gratitude. “I’m doing fine now.”
“I’m sorry, Nina,” Julio says, closer to the phone now. “That really sucks. You guys were together for a while.”
Eighteen months. Feels significant and yet it meant nothing. It was everything to me and a lie to him. My phone starts vibrating with incoming text messages, but I ignore it as my heart squeezes with emotion.
“It’s going to be okay,” I say. “Really.”
“How long will you be at Aunt Mari’s?” asks Dad. “If you need us, we’ll come as soon as we can, okay?”
“Okay, thanks, Dad,” I whisper, suddenly feeling wrung out and tired from the rollercoaster of emotions I’ve been on the last two weeks. I miss my family, and I wouldn’t say no to a hug from them right now. “How are you guys?”
Dad tells me how many charters he has coming up, and Julio talks about how he’s thinking of going back to school for his master’s degree in business. We catch up every so often like this, telling each other the surface level stuff and, very occasionally, the emotional things we’re going through. Ever since Julio and I went to college, at Dad’s insistence, we’ve all kind of split off into our own separate adult lives. Sometimes it makes me sad, and sometimes I’m simply grateful we all love each other and there’s no drama. It is what it is. We’re not a normal family, and maybe that’s one of the ways it shows.
They both tell me they love me and to say hi to Aunt Mari and we end the call.
I close my eyes and take a deep breath. Yes, today is perfect, but there are still loose ends I haven’t dealt with in D.C. Is it time to check all those notifications on my phone?
Texts from Bryce used to be thoughtful and kind. He’d ask questions like, “Do you like how today is going for you? What could make it better?” Or say things like, “I hope you feel fulfilled in your job today. If not, there’s always tacos and tequila afterwards. #TacoTuesday.” Or even a simple, “Thinking of you,” would make me feel seen and valued.
Faker.
Right now, I have a dozen notifications from Bryce, and when I open my messages there are multiple texts that turn out to be paragraphs long. He is definitely verbose when he wants to be. Part of me is curious to see what he has to say, and another part of me is ready to ignore it all and send him one strongly worded text and be done with it.
Curiosity wins, and I start to read his texts. They’re strangely formal, like they were written by a father chiding his teenage daughter.
Bryce
Tia, I am so disappointed by the way you…
As I start to scroll, my chest tightens with a familiar twinge.
I lock my phone and drop it on the couch. No, I am not reading those, I’m not listening to him. I can’t do this yet. At some point, the time will be right. Just not yet.
The next morning is my first day of soccer and the team is immediately diving in with a scrimmage, not even a practice. Some googling found me a co-ed recreational league that had one spot open, and I registered right away. I arrived in San Diego at the perfect time, right as the season begins, and I am so pumped. I can’t wait to feel the rush of the start of a game.
I’m almost too nervous to eat, but I know if I can’t get something in my stomach, I’m going to be too weak to play. I manage to get a banana and some toast in me before I need to go change.
My soccer kit had priority in my suitcase, and putting it on again has me grinning ear to ear. I throw my hair up in a tight bun, pull on some black shorts, wrestle my way into a black sports bra, and slip into an old white jersey from my college intramural league. By the time I’m putting on my shin guards and socks I’m breathing hard, but I feel like I could run a 5K no problem with the amount of energy zinging through me.
I grab my bag, pre-packed with water, snacks, and cleats, and the key to Aunt Mari’s electric Mustang, which she is graciously letting me borrow. I slip into my slides and head out. The sun is shining as I drive north to Pacific Beach, and the day ahead of me feels light and uncomplicated as I jam to Karol G.
I try to wrap myself up in this moment of me being happy, all on my own. This is how it’s going to be from now on. I’m going to have the freedom to choose what brings me joy. I won’t bend for anyone, I won’t be manipulated by anyone.
With new resolve, I pull into the parking lot of an elementary school with a big field, pretending like I know enough Spanish to lip-synch to Si Antes Te Hubiera Conocido . It’s all about the vibes anyways.
I turn off the car and sit in the silence, noticing people trickling onto the field. My stomach starts flipping in mini cartwheels of nervousness. I don’t know anyone. I hope they like me. I hope I don’t embarrass myself. What if they’re all retired pros or something? What if I can’t hang with them?
“Just go, Tia,” I whisper. With a deep breath, I grab my bag and try to pep myself up as I make my way on to the field.
I’m about to reach the sideline, when my toe dives down into a ground squirrel hole, and suddenly the world is somersaulting under me. My ankle rolls to one side as I flail my arms with a squeal, throwing my bag in one direction while my body ungracefully lurches the other way. I end up on my back, staring up at the sky with a whimper. Ouch.
“Are you okay?” asks a masculine voice from somewhere behind me. “That gopher hole gets everyone the first time.”
“Yeah, totally fine,” I say, heat rushing to my face. Of course I trip in front of someone I’m either playing with or against. Great first impression. I sit up and gingerly twist my foot around, checking the extent of my ankle injury.
“If it’s really bothering you, I could take a look at it. I’m a corpsman, by the way, not trying to hit on you.”
I wince as I flex my foot. “I think I’ll be okay. I’ll walk it off.”
The guy generously goes and gets my bag, dropping it down next to me.
“I promise I’m not that clumsy in real life,” I say.
“You sure? Last time I saw you, you were holding up the door to a liquor store cooler.”
I look up and lock eyes with the guy from the corner store. Cole. My painter’s eye takes him in by color again. Warm brown eyes, short hair so blond it’s nearly white, lightly tanned skin, a pale blue jersey stretched across his shoulders.
“Hey, Tia,” he says with a smile.
“Oh, hey, Cole.” My nerves settle at the fact he remembered my name. It’s a friendly, reassuring sign. Hopefully he’s on my team.
From the parking lot, someone whoops and aggressively chirps on a whistle, and we both turn towards the sound.
“Looks like the rest of the team’s here. Want a hand up?” he asks.
I take his hand, and he easily pulls me to my feet as I test putting weight on my ankle. No permanent damage, just a twinge of soreness.
A tall, lanky guy with honey blond hair and a sunburn comes over. He lets the whistle he was chirping drop to his chest as he reaches out to shake my hand. “You must be the new girl. I’m Aiden, I go by Denny.”
“I’m Tia,” I say, shaking his hand.
“Tia? No way,” he says, his mouth falling open. “Are you the girl Cole met in the liquor store last weekend?”
I glance over at Cole. His neck, then ears turn bright red. Interesting.
“He told us all about that on the drive up the mountain. Not, like, in a weird way, more like a ‘Guess what happened?’ His girlfriend wasn’t happy,” says Denny with a sunrise of a smile. He taps Cole on the arm. “Dude, no way.”
A serious guy with dark brown hair, olive skin, and a thick, solid body comes over to join us. He rolls his eyes at Denny and shakes my hand. “I’m Luko. Good to have you,” he murmurs.
“Hi, Tia. I’m Anisha,” says the next girl in the line-up. She’s as short as me, about five-three, with rich bronze skin and a long black ponytail. “Hey, let me give you the relationship rundown and spare you the effort of trying to figure things out on your own.” She’s peppy and fiery when she talks, pointing to each person as she goes through the list. “Frank is our team captain, and Sarah is his girlfriend. I’m married to Mick, the love of my life. Denny is a lovesick puppy, pining for a girl who will never love him back.” Luko stifles a laugh while Denny rolls his eyes. “Cole is dating a girl we all hate for him, and Luko—ugh, Luko—honestly may be a bachelor forever. He’s holding out for his one true love, but he’s picky.”
They’re not a random hodgepodge of people thrown together by the whims of a recreational league commissioner—they’ve clearly known each other for some time. I’m the infiltrator, the new girl. I bite the inside of my bottom lip, trying to quell my desire to run back to the car and drive straight home.
“Are you single?” Denny asks in a stage whisper.
“Um, newly single.” I offer.
“Bad breakup?” asks Luko.
“The worst.”
He nods in sympathy. Denny chimes in, “Luko is our Russian bear, the strong and silent type. I’m the class clown, and Cole is the cool one.”
I awkwardly laugh. “You guys seem like you’ve played together before.”
Anisha nods. “Denny, Cole, and Luko have been playing together since college, with little breaks here and there. Frank’s usually goalie, Denny and Sarah stay up front, Cole and I play midfield, and Luko and Leslie were usually on defense. Leslie abandoned us to move up to Washington with her new husband, so we’ll throw you back there.”
“But we can switch it up,” Denny offers. “What do you like to play?”
I have great endurance and accurate passing skills, so I usually play midfield, but there’s no way I’m going to be the stranger who comes in and throws this team out of their groove. “Oh, defense is fine,” I reply. “That’s great.”
“Well, we’ll wait for Frank and Sarah to show up, and then we’ll give them a good teasing about why they’re late, as usual.”
“Who are we playing?” Luko asks.
“The Nemesis and his team,” Anisha growls. Everyone groans.
“The Nemesis is this insane goalie,” Cole offers to me. “Do you know who Kelly Slater is? The surfer?” I shake my head. “Oh, well, google Kelly Slater after you meet The Nemesis. They’re practically twins. Bright blue eyes, surfer’s tan, bald. Anyways, he’s a magician in the goal box.”
“Noted,” I say.
We wait around a few more minutes, getting our cleats on, and when Frank and Sarah finally show up Anisha shouts at them to stop having sleepovers on Friday nights.
Frank, a fit, blond guy with a man-bun and a sleeve of thick black tattoos shakes his head and rolls his eyes as he carries over a bag of soccer balls. Sarah is about my build, with fair and freckled skin, muscular quads, and a thick blonde french braid. She runs across the parking lot and nearly tackles Anisha in a hug.
Anisha brings her over to meet me, and she’s so friendly and warm I have no choice but to like her immediately. In fact, I like this whole team, which is a rarity in the world of co-ed leagues. But they’re almost too nice and friendly. I feel like something is going to go wrong—my streak of good luck has gone on far too long already.
The other team arrives and starts their warmup, and I’m getting nerves now, the best kind of nerves. Pregame nerves.
“All right,” says Frank, drawing everyone into a huddle at midfield. “Tia, good to have you. Welcome to our unnamed team, Anisha will have come up with a name by the end of the scrimmage, as per usual.” Everyone chuckles. “Let’s have fun, and if anyone gets hurt, call Cole, not 911.”
With a fair amount of backslapping, we fan out across the field. Frank works his gloves onto his hands as he heads to the goalie box.
“Tia, where you coming from?” he calls out.
“D.C.,” I answer back.
“You here long?” he asks.
“For as long as I can be,” I answer. Feels good to say that.
The referee jogs onto the field and tweets his whistle, and I grin at the thunk sound of the ball being kicked into play.