Chapter Ten #2
“She is. She’s good people.” A thought occurs to me. “We could all hang out, maybe? Next time she’s here. A girls’ night?”
“Oh, you don’t have to invite me to tag along—”
“Too late,” I interrupt. “Besides, I think I’m going to have to steal your resolution. More time for friends. I could use a few more.”
More, like as many more friends as I can get.
Playing soccer was like having built-in immediate friends, and I hadn’t thought about how much I took that for granted until…well, now. We did everything together, from partying to practice to playoffs, and then I got hurt and that changed.
Then I graduated, and the friends I made on my soccer team turned into acquaintances, and I threw myself into work. I think Tristan would be extremely pleased to hear about my new resolution, and the thought makes my chest squeeze a little.
Lauren gasps dramatically, placing a palm on her chest. “Are you saying I’ve made the friend cut?”
I nod, holding out my bowl. “Cheers,” I tell her, and we tap our cardboard containers together.
“Friends that acai together, stay together,” she says gleefully. “Better than evacuating together.” She levels a knowing look at the bathroom door.
“You know, I can’t say I’ve ever heard anyone call it that,” I say through my laugh.
“I used to be a professional dancer. Nothing big, you know—I was never good enough to make it past the corps—but we had this instructor who refused to say anything ‘crude.’ ” She puts quotation marks around the word.
“ ‘Evacuation’ was her favorite word, and she always reminded us to try to ‘evacuate’ ”—more air quotes—“before each performance.”
My jaw drops. “I honestly don’t know what to say.”
She shrugs, watching a big goofy dog walk by on a leash outside the window.
“You know, it makes a lot of sense, actually,” I say slowly.
A thin-lipped grin stretches on her face. “Yeah, all the anatomical talk my clients think is so over-the-top was one hundred percent started as a reaction to her.” Her nose crinkles as she stirs her bowl. “The more we made fun of her, the easier it was to deal with her expectations.”
She shakes her spoon at me before taking another bite.
“Good for you,” I tell her. “I had a soccer coach like that. Pushed us really hard—too hard, looking back. I played in college. I wanted to go pro, but I was injured, badly.”
It still hurts to talk about, even after all this time. The pain is dulled, sure, but it’s there, reminding me that I’m not doing what I wanted. I wanted soccer to be my life. The sport, not the administration of it.
I pinch my brow.
“I get it.” Lauren’s affirmation fills my pause. “Our director was just like that.” She affects a thick French accent. “You dance through the pain! You do not let a little blood stop you, and you smile while you do it!”
She settles back in her chair, her brows knit together, playing with the coconut in the bowl in front of her.
“Yikes,” I tell her. “Yeah, that sounds about right. They didn’t care if we smiled, though.”
“Do you miss it?” she asks. “Playing soccer?”
“I do.” It’s a simple answer.
Two words.
Two words I haven’t really let myself admit, not for a very long time. I don’t know why talking about this with Lauren feels easier than confessing the same thought to Tristan—maybe because she knows what it’s like to be an athlete at a high level and then just…not be able to do that anymore.
A tiny part of me wonders if I’m afraid that admitting it to Tristan would mean letting him see me differently—vulnerably.
I swallow hard and try to focus.
“Working in soccer is great…” I trail off, feeling heretical. Like if I say the words that are right there, if I even think them, I won’t be worthy of my job anymore.
Like I’m ungrateful for even thinking I’d rather be doing something else.
I swallow at the realization that I would. I would rather be doing something else.
“You don’t like your job?” she asks.
I sigh, trying to reel back my epiphany, trying to talk myself out of it.
“It’s complicated. I do like it, but…” I let the sentence drift off, the buts piling on top of each other like a car wreck on the 405.
“But it’s not the same,” Lauren provides. “I know how you feel. I miss performing. Teaching is great, don’t get me wrong, and it’s like a performance in some ways, but—”
“It’s not the same,” I finish for her. “I hear you.”
Silence falls between us for a beat, the whine of the blenders decimating fruit killing the conversation as we both eat.
Lauren swallows, then points her spoon at me as the sound finally dies. “You should coach. Or something.”
I brush a loose, sticky lock of hair from my forehead. “I don’t know.”
“You don’t have to know right now. Sorry, I don’t mean to be pushy. I just…I don’t know. I’m probably projecting my own crap onto you.” She huffs a laugh, scooping the remainder of her food around in her bowl. “I’m sure you love your job, even if it’s not always or not right now.”
“No, you’re not pushy. About anuses? Yes. About this? Not so much.”
I run my hands down my workout leggings, distinctly uncomfortable. Not with Lauren—she’s fine, fun, in fact—but with the question that’s now at the forefront of my mind.
Have I ever loved my job?
She picks up her phone off the table, then makes an aggravated sound. “Crap, I’m running late. I forgot I booked physical therapy today.”
“You’re a physical therapist, too?” I ask, totally bewildered.
“No, I mean I go to physical therapy for myself. Crap.” She tugs at the end of her ponytail, then pushes her phone into my hand. “Put your number in?”
“Yeah, sure,” I say, adding myself as a contact and sending myself a text from her phone so I have her number, too. “I’ll text you about girls’ night?”
“Please. I am begging.” She clasps her hands in front of her chest and makes puppy dog eyes at me.
Laughing, I hand her back her phone. “I haven’t done a girls’ night out in ages.”
Since college, my brain tells me.
She brightens. “I’m so excited, but I’m so sorry to eat and run. I’ll see you next week in class?”
“Sounds good,” I tell her, and she waves again as she rushes out the door.
The smoothie bowl place is full of people I don’t know, and I take a half-hearted bite alone at my table.
Alone.
When did I go from having a team’s worth of friends, and a normal social life, to having absolutely nothing but work?
The strawberry and coconut turn to ash on my tongue, and I have to make myself swallow. I stand slowly, putting the lid on the huge amount of smoothie bowl left, and make my way back to my car.
How have I been this lonely for so long and not realized it?
How long have I been filling my need for friends and a life with work?
Lauren might be a little bit quirky, but she’s not wrong about me, or about my job.
I bite my lip and push open the door, the chilly air ruffling my hair as I step onto the sidewalk.
I haven’t loved my job in a long time, either.
I’m not sure I even like it anymore.