Chapter 31 Antonia
Antonia
The small arena where the state championship game was being played was packed shoulder to shoulder with fans, spectators, and family members. My parents, Nova, and I had an in through Weston and were able to have reserved seats.
The mood among us was somber, though. Miri should’ve been here to see her son in the biggest game of his life. Her absence weighed heavily on me and made me feel like I had failed her somehow, even though I knew I hadn’t.
The game came a week after Miri’s passing. I’d kept a watchful eye on Cutter, looking for any signs he wouldn’t be able to compete tonight, but he seemed solid, which also scared me because I was sure he was hurting.
We were all hurting.
Nova wore her heart and pain on her sleeve.
She moped, cried, and barely slept, which meant I’d barely slept.
Her bed was tiny, and taking her to the guest room with me was something my mom had advised against. She didn’t want Nova to get into the habit of sleeping with me.
Each nightmare, I went in, read her a story, and rubbed her back until she fell back asleep.
She now had a night-light, something she hadn’t had before, and slept with her door open, which meant Cutter had to be extra quiet when he came home or moved about in his room.
My dad had made signs for Cutter and passed one to each of us.
We all wore basketball shirts with Cutter’s name on them—anything to show our support.
Thankfully, in the week since Miri’s death, her parents hadn’t called, although I was fully expecting them to be a thorn in my side.
They’d have to understand that their relationship with Cutter and Nova was strictly up to the kids.
I would only intervene when Cutter asked or when I felt lines were being crossed.
Nova and my mom climbed the bleachers to our seats, carrying bags of popcorn and a stack of hot dogs. Nova declared that hot dogs from concession stands were the best; otherwise, she didn’t want to eat them. I took her word for it.
The boys came out to begin warm-ups, and my dad was the first one to stand up and start cheering for them. He clapped, pursed his lips in a loud, ear-splitting whistle, and pointed at Cutter. Other parents followed with their own jubilation.
“Cutter!” Nova yelled each time he came somewhat close to the half-court line.
According to Weston, we were at the end where the boys would shoot in the second half.
All the terminology made me feel a bit out of place.
Weston and Cutter had promised to teach me everything I needed to know by next season, but first, they were going to teach me baseball, since that started next week.
According to Cutter, I needed to know when to cheer, when not to throw my popcorn, and when to pace. I’d seen Miri pace a lot during the games where Cutter pitched, and he said I needed to do the same, or he might not be able to get the ball across the plate.
Something told me I was being bamboozled, but whatever. If he needed me to walk back and forth like his mother had, I’d do it. Anything to make this life easier.
Weston came out after the boys, followed by Jerome, whom I’d learned was his best friend. Weston looked across the court, and despite the number of people in the stands, I told myself he was looking for me.
With that thought, my body warmed. Ever since that night in his garage, whenever he was near, my body reacted in the most pleasurable way. The heat his presence brought out in me was unexpected and now welcomed.
I gave him a little wave, in hopes he was looking for me. He waved back, and my cheeks flushed.
“Auntie, Weston is waving!” Nova’s little arm went back and forth in rapid succession. He waved again, and she grinned widely. “Can Scout come over later?”
Scout had been a godsend for these kids. And, if I was being honest, for me as well. There was something so soothing about him. It was like he’d been trained to be a therapy dog, when in reality, he was just a caring soul who knew when people needed him.
“We’ll see what’s going on after the game,” I told her.
“I believe Lee is hosting the boys for dinner,” my dad said.
“Lee?”
He nodded. “Lee owns the Ridgeview Diner.”
“Yeah, I know who Lee is, Dad. How do you know Lee?”
My father looked at me strangely, as if I had three heads. He then tilted his head to the side and shook it slightly. Clearly, I had missed something during my mourning over Miri.
“I worked with him on catering.”
My mouth formed into an “Oh,” and I looked away, embarrassed. “Yeah, makes sense.”
“Anyway, he’s having the boys and their families there after the game. So, we’re either celebrating a win or taking home second place.”
“Regardless of the outcome, as long as he plays well, that’s all that matters.” I motioned toward Cutter, who was in the middle of the court, stretching. “I really don’t want him to go out there and not have his thoughts on the game. He’s worked very hard for this.”
“He’ll be fine,” Dad said. “Weston’s a good coach. If Cutter isn’t playing to his ability, he’ll give him a rest. You have to trust Cutter and his coach.”
“I know.” Except I truly didn’t. I didn’t know how he was out there, acting like everything was okay. I could barely function or make a decision. Of course, it probably didn’t help that Brendan had been pushing for me to come back into the office, despite me taking a sabbatical.
The buzzer sounded, and both teams jogged to their benches.
The announcer started and said things about the state, the community, and how parents needed to let the coaches coach, players play, and the referees ref.
According to Cutter, most of the refs in the state were blinder than a blind bat, which equated to them missing a lot of calls. I pretended to understand.
The opposing team was announced, and then it was the Timberwolves’ turn.
My heart began racing, and I was suddenly anxious.
Selfishly, I wanted Cutter to have the best game of his career, because I knew Miri was looking down on him, and as soon as I had that thought, I wanted to take it back because then Miri would be here to see her son play in this game.
She would’ve been so damn proud just to hear his name called.
For some reason, I stood as the boys’ names were announced. When the announcer said “Cutter Vaughn,” I screamed as loud as I could while tears streamed down my face. Miri should’ve been here to witness this.
Cutter slapped hands with his teammates, then with the three officials, and when he got to the opposing coach, he pulled Cutter into a hug and patted his back.
Cutter ran to center court, where the other starters were, and pointed to the ceiling, and then he looked in my direction.
I didn’t know what to do, so I placed my hand over my heart.
Everyone stood for the national anthem, and then it was game time.
The next thirty-two minutes of playing time were the most anxious and agonizing minutes of my life. I needed the Timberwolves to win because I needed Cutter to have a glimmer of happiness.
I stood most of the game, and as the clock ticked down, my eyes went from Cutter to Weston to the clock. The bench stood in the last ten seconds, and when the buzzer sounded, the entire student body from Grove Hill cheered.
The Timberwolves were state champions.
Despite everything, Cutter had played his heart out and helped his team win.
The students rushed the players, picking the stars up on their shoulders. The pep band continued to play their fight song while the opposing team stood there, waiting. After minutes of celebration, the students were ushered back to their seats, and the awards ceremony started.
I continued to stand, clapping for each member of the other team, but as soon as the announcer said “And now for your state champions, the Grove Hill Timberwolves,” I started crying. I couldn’t hold the tears back, even if I tried.
The coaches were announced first, and then each of the boys came forward after their names were called and a medal was placed around their necks.
The starters were saved for last. That was one thing I noticed: The five who started the game were the same five who ended the game.
I was certain it meant something and would ask Weston later about the significance.
As Cutter’s family, we all appreciated seeing him on the court when the final buzzer sounded.
Parents and fans began filing out. The Timberwolves’ family members stayed and waited. One by one, the boys emerged from the locker room to be greeted by their families.
I moved to the bottom row and waited, unsure of what I should do. There wasn’t a doubt in my mind he wanted his mom right now, and I knew I’d never fill the void, but I was something to him.
Cutter came through the door, shaking hands with teammates as he passed them. He paused midway and looked at us. I had no idea what he saw, but I hoped he saw a family who loved him, even though we weren’t his blood, except for Nova.
“Why don’t you go get him,” I said to Nova, who took off running. She launched herself into his arms, and like I’d seen him do at the other games, he carried her to the rim and let her hang there.
Slowly, I made my way to him. He held Nova and looked at me.
“You did it.”
He nodded. “But she wasn’t here to see me.”
“I believe she was watching.”
Cutter didn’t say anything. He reached into his bag and handed me a plastic case with a medal inside and a piece of the net the boys had cut down earlier.
“I want to put this on her marker,” he said. “She earned it, too, after all the long hours she put into my career.”
“We can put it inside her box if you want. This way it’ll be with her forever.”
Cutter nodded and then collapsed in my arms, still holding Nova. I wrapped them in the biggest hug I could, praying I could suck all the bad from their lives. I could deal with it. They shouldn’t have to.
“Your mom was so damn proud of you.”
“I know,” he said. “We did this for her.”
I stepped back and cupped his cheek.
“Before the game, in the locker room, Malik said we were going to win for Miriam because she was like a mom to everyone. So, we won for her.”
Tears flowed, and I didn’t bother to wipe them away. There would be a day, somewhere in the future, when I’d think of my best friend and not cry. Until then, I was going to shed every damn tear I could because I was determined to heal.
As soon as Weston came out, he greeted the parents who remained.
He walked over to us, and while I was tempted to hug him, I didn’t.
He’d kept his promise and had shown me he was interested without being pushy, from good-morning texts, to surprising me with coffee and flowers, to telling me I was beautiful while I was doing the dishes.
If nothing ever came of us, I’d at least have a really great friend.
He placed his hand on my lower back and then moved it. “Dinner at the Ridgeview?”
“Yes, I’m starving, Coach,” Cutter said.
“I don’t know. I’m not sure you earned dinner,” Weston said, but he looked at Nova, who cracked a smile. “What do you think? Do you think Cutter should get dinner?”
Nova contemplated Weston’s question and then shook her head.
“What? Why?” Cutter asked her teasingly.
“Because you missed a lot of shots.”
Cutter rolled his eyes. “Oh man, but we won.” He pointed to the now-off scoreboard.
Nova thought about it for a minute and nodded. Everyone laughed as we walked out of the gym, state champions.