Chapter 33 If You’re Ever Ready
If You’re Ever Ready
Maisie
We’re two hours into our road trip, and Connor hasn’t talked about anything of importance.
I still don’t know why he didn’t talk to me for three weeks, or why even after he agreed to drive me home we haven’t hung out outside of practice.
I don’t know what he thought about me running out of his place of work, or if he has heard anything about my…
outburst to Veronica. We have, however, made it through several Taylor Swift albums with one intermission for some Disney movie song belting.
Connor does a mean Aladdin in “A Whole New World .” I’m definitely storing that knowledge for karaoke later.
I take the leap to make real conversation. “Sooooooo…” I say, “how are classes going?”
He sneaks a peek over at me and purses his lips. “They’re good,” he says. “I’ve refrained from punching Karsen after all of Garth’s classes, so I guess that’s progress.”
Why is he deflecting? He’s making light of a serious thing that happened.
“Are you happy to be back at practice?” I press.
“Sure, although I was definitely out of shape from the time off. My times probably won’t be what they should be at this point in the season, but Coach doesn’t seem too worried.”
“That’s good. Are you excited to compete in your first collegiate meet?” I pick at my leggings and look out my passenger-side window at the large stretch of farmland flying by.
“Mmm, maybe not excited, but ready,” he says simply.
Why does it feel like I’m pulling teeth?
“Why not excited? Are you nervous?”
“No, I don’t really get nervous.”
My head involuntarily swings toward him, my mouth popping open. As an overly anxious girly, I simply cannot comprehend not being at least a little nervous for a meet.
“I might get tense—” he smirks, like he knows exactly what I was thinking, “but not nervous. I think…I don’t always care about the outcome.
I know that makes me kind of a bad teammate, but I just—” He shakes his head.
“I don’t know. I’ve been swimming for so long.
Each race kind of blends into the next. It sometimes feels a little… pointless? Do you know what I mean?”
I do not know what he means. Diving is a part of me.
Lifeblood. Even though it makes me more anxious than anything else sometimes.
It’s something tangible that I work toward and see the results, even if they don’t always go my way.
I care deeply about my teammates, and I would never want to think about a competition the way Connor is describing. I’m worried something might be wrong.
I respond cautiously, “I’ve had some really rough practices where quitting seems like a good option in the moment, but I’ve never not cared about the sport or a competition. I’m sorry, Connor. I’m not sure I can relate. How long have you felt that way?”
He’s quiet for a moment. His gaze doesn’t leave the front windshield. His hands grip the steering wheel tightly.
“First of all,” he starts, a small smile playing at the corner of his lips, “stop saying sorry for things that aren’t your fault.
” He sighs deeply. “And to answer your question, probably shortly after my dad left,” he breathes out in a whisper.
“He’s the one who taught me how to swim.
I was four, and he always said I took to it like a fish to water.
He got me onto a club team a year or two later, and not to brag or anything, but it was like I was made for it.
I won every race. I was winning against nine- and ten-year-olds.
And my dad was there for every one of my races.
He would brag to all his friends and colleagues that his son was the ‘Miracle Swimmer.’ The boy who was born to swim. ”
He laughs, but there is no humor in it. “I don’t think I lost a race until I was twelve.
And let me tell you, it rocked my world.
I didn’t like it one bit. But my dad told me that losing was part of life, even for rock stars like me.
He said there is always someone out there who works harder, who puts in more work, who will achieve more than me.
I think that was the first time I doubted.
Why would I work so hard if it was never going to be good enough? ”
He shrugs, still firmly holding the steering wheel. “But I persevered anyway because I was taught hard work mattered more than anything else. I kept winning most races, and my dad kept supporting me. Until…he didn’t.”
His hands squeeze the wheel tight. I want to reach out and grab one, but I refrain.
“When he left, I was so lost. I didn’t go to practice for weeks. It was like a grieving period, to be honest. And looking back, I guess it was. Although he didn’t die. He was just…gone.”
His hands slacken once more, and my heart breaks hearing his story. I wish I could take away his pain.
“Hunter came to my house at the two-week mark. He said to grab my bike, that we were going to the community pool. We swam for hours. We slid down the slides and played Marco Polo.”
His smile returns, and it makes me so grateful he has a friend like that.
“Afterward, Hunter asked the lifeguards for two applications. He knew I wanted to get a job to help support Mom, and he didn’t want me to do it alone. And they hired us. Worrisome decision, really, but who was I to question a good thing?”
A playful smirk graces his beautiful mouth. I’m relieved his tension has melted away so quickly.
“After I was settled into work, I went back to practice. Went back to competing. Went on to win States all four years in high school, and then came here. But I’m not really sure why I still do it. I just sort of…always have. And the wins stopped meaning as much, and I stopped loving it.”
He takes a deep breath and tries to laugh off everything he just admitted.
Like it isn’t a big deal. It is a big deal, though, and the tears hovering at the edges of my eyes are proof.
I wipe at them, determined not to make Connor comfort me in this situation.
I’m beyond thrilled that he opened up to me again.
It means he trusts me. It means friendship. That is a very, very good sign.
“I’m sorry you’ve lost that spark for your sport, and I’m sorry for the role your dad played in that.
You deserve more than what he did to you, Connor.
A dad who is there for you, regardless of whether you’re a good swimmer.
You deserve to be loved for the beautiful, kind, smart, and funny person you are. ”
A tear hovers under his eye, but it refuses to fall.
“You’re so much more than the Miracle Swimmer.
You like to dance to old-people music, and you volunteered to drive me eight hours without a second thought.
You treat those around you with respect, and you take responsibility for your actions.
You make a delicious herbal tea,” I say with a laugh.
“In fact, you’re always bringing people their favorite food or beverage to make them happy.
“You see people and you give them love, no matter what. You come to others’ defense; you offer to help when you can. You’re a great man, and I’m thankful.” I swallow. “I’m truly thankful to have you as a friend.” I sit on my hands to stop them from shaking. “We are still friends, right?”
This time, his head fully turns away from the road, and his eyes bore into mine.
He quickly realizes his lapse and returns his focus to driving, but he says, “Maize, of course we are still friends. I’m…
I’m sorry I’ve been M.I.A. the past six weeks.
I don’t really have a good excuse. All I have is an apology.
I’m sorry.” He reaches out and gently pulls my hand out from under my thigh to hold it in his.
My heart rate kicks up, and I’m suddenly worried about palm sweat. “Can you forgive me?” he asks.
I let out a shaky exhale, but I squeeze his hand for emphasis as I say, “I forgive you. I still don’t understand what happened, but I don’t want to pry. You can talk about it when you’re ready. If you’re ever ready. And for now, we can move forward. Pretend that little blip never happened.”
A smile curves my lips, and I release a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. We’re going to be okay. I’m not sure what to do with these pesky “I like you” feelings I have toward Connor still, but at least for now, our friendship is back on track.
I add, “And again, I’m sorry you’ve felt so…apathetic toward swimming. I’ll support you no matter what you decide to do. Even if you don’t want to swim anymore.”
His eyebrows scrunch down like that notion is ridiculous, but he doesn’t say anything. I decide to push one more time, even though he has already opened up so much.
“Have you…talked to your therapist about it? I assume you went to your sessions, since you were at practice after our third meet…” I let the question hang as I side-eye him, awaiting his reaction.
He takes a deep breath, his thumb now tracing circles on the back of my hand, which sends sparks flying up the entirety of my arm, and begins to speak.