Chapter Fifteen Jamie
(I Reminded Myself Who I Am)
Sorry. I was camping. My phone was off.
Camping's new. They must've missed you at the carnival
The break was good for me.
Did you go with Sophie? Your family?
Logan.
Oh. Well. I'm glad the break was good for you
Good luck next week.
Thanks
I press the heels of my hands against my eyes like they'll help erase a conversation I memorized almost immediately after I walked away from it.
Next week was seven days ago, and the playoffs start tonight.
I can't keep worrying about whether Mateo will watch the game with Logan.
In the past, he's gone to the bar to be near Kai.
He's spent plenty of game nights with Sophie.
Once, Harper was at his side. Groaning, I remind myself not to text him now, and then I decide I don't care who he'll be with.
The only thing that will wreck me is the idea of him not watching at all.
I need to believe he still looks for me when he's sitting next to someone else.
My phone remains face down on my desk when two players stop by to talk.
However much the public was fed stories of my arrogance—stories about how my place at the top of the league kept me from being within reach of anyone who needed my support—I was always a great teammate.
If the media cared to ask me about it now, I'd tell them I'm an even better coach.
Over the past two seasons, I've especially connected with younger players.
They're professionals thrust into the spotlight for this chance to make lifelong dreams come true.
They're also overwhelmed in ways they're not encouraged to admit.
The guys sitting in front of me today are nervous about the game, and I've given them the space to be honest about that.
The closed door in our organization belongs to Taylor, and nobody is surprised.
Anyone could knock and be let in, but I've made it easier for our players to come to me. I'm glad these two have.
Several hours later, they both play great, two goals and two assists between them. We win the game, and I feel good. It's fine that this time, it's my phone that's turned off.
I turn it off again four games later, when we're unexpectedly knocked out of the playoffs.
I don't need pity from Kai or Harper or Mateo.
It doesn't matter that none of them would dare offer it.
Over the next several days, we wrap up the season and say goodbye to the team until September.
I go out with a bunch of the staff to get wasted as inconspicuously as possible in a city where at least a couple of us are pretty fucking conspicuous.
There's a headline about it halfway down a few different sites the next day.
We're forgiven by people who have also gotten drunk to forget about our loss, and by most of management.
The hangover lasts longer than anything having to do with alcohol.
I want to rehab in my pool, but I'm not in my real house with my real backyard, and laps would require a trip to the gym.
There are always old tv shows to watch or greasy food to eat.
I'm mad both remind me of the night I was halfway through a beer and a conversation when a bar brawl broke out.
Caught in the middle of a bunch of options I don't like, I'm grateful when Harper calls to interrupt. As usual, she's walking across campus. I hear the chatter of university students who'd prefer to procrastinate than prepare for finals.
"Hey, dad."
"Hello, Harper. Hello, Simon."
She giggles. "He's not here right now. I'm going over to his place after class, but I figured I'd talk to you first because I know we've sorta mentioned doing something this summer, and I wanted to know whether that's still a go or—"
"His place, huh?"
"Really? You wanna talk about that?" she shrieks. "I'm 20. He's 22. You barely freaked out about anything when I was a teenager, but you're worried about me going to my boyfriend's house now?"
"Not worried at all. Just being a father for a minute. Do you go over to his place a lot? Do you stay over at his place a lot?"
"You know, you weren't much older than Simon when you had me."
I snort at that and pour myself a glass of water. "Fine, don't tell me. Are you still bringing him with you on the trip? Are you still coming on the trip, or was this call a way to bail on it?"
My tone is still light because I know Harper's busier than ever.
I'm not counting on another 20 years of dragging her with me on summer vacations.
But while soccer and school and Simon keep her schedule full, she's got a break from one of them now, she'll have a break from another soon, and I've encouraged her to bring the third along.
She and I have tossed out ideas about where we'd like to go when the semester is over.
Because I'm not actually unreasonable about where she spends the night, I chuckle at what she says next.
"You're not gonna make us sleep in separate rooms, are you?"
I promise her I won't, and then we go back to narrowing down our choices to a top three she can discuss with Simon later.
After trading my water for a slice of cold pizza, I leave the kitchen behind and shuffle from room to room.
We talk about the pros and cons of New Orleans and the Caribbean and the Mexican Riviera.
I'll be happy with anything, and I let my mind wander as Harper continues to talk, only a little concerned about whether she's running late for wherever she needs to be.
It's just a coincidence that I'm standing in front of a framed picture of a bench when she clears her throat and stuns me into silence.
"Is there someone special you could invite to join us?" she asks. "Anyone who will have some time off when we do? You know, just to keep it even?"
"What, like Taylor?"
"I said special, dad."
She did, and I heard her. Not only was I fortunate enough to be blessed with exceptional looks and exceptional athletic ability, but I also have half a brain, so the point she's trying to make is perfectly clear.
I'm only struggling to figure out why she's asking now.
She's spent her first two decades on this planet being curious about everything except my love life.
I want to know why she's—only barely vaguely—suggesting I bring Mateo as my vacation date.
I don't ask because it's not a conversation I can have without lying several times, either to Harper or myself. At least for today, both of us deserve better.
"I'm not inviting anyone, but I'll make sure I'm not in your way too often. You and Simon can have a very nice time without your father looking over your shoulder."
"And I—it's not that I don't appreciate that, but—" She huffs and clears her throat again. I'm entirely reinvested in this conversation because she's never had this much trouble speaking. "Can I ask you a question?"
I laugh just loud enough for her to hear me through the phone. "A lack of permission hasn't slowed you down yet. I'm not sure why you think you need it now."
"Because this isn't—" She stops there, and I play with ways to finish her sentence.
This isn't any of my business. This isn't the kind of thing we talk about.
This isn't a question I think you'll answer.
As it turns out, she gives up on whatever she'd started to say, and takes my breath away instead.
"Are you not inviting him because you think I'd have a problem with it?"
Fuck.
"No, pixie," I say softly. "It's because I think he would."
The thing is, Mateo and I still talk. We exchange texts and a short voice note or two.
We're friends, so everything feels almost right, even on the nights the sharp edges sting.
I listen to him until his voice is absorbed into my marrow, and I think there's a chance he can heal the most broken things between here and there.
When it's been a couple of weeks since my team's abrupt playoff ousting, and the pain of it isn't so fresh, I give Mateo a call.
He sounds relieved to hear from me, and we stay on the phone for almost an hour, just catching up.
We're consciously careful about it, because he doesn't tell me about Logan.
I don't tell him nobody's held me since he and I shared a bed at the lake house.
But I hear about all the work he has ahead before another class of seniors graduates—he has freshmen finishing their first year, too—and about a soccer clinic he's going to run for the district in early July.
He mentions the idea of asking Harper to help if she'll be home.
I encourage him to reach out to her. It's easy then to tell him about our upcoming vacation and warn him that Simon may come as part of a package deal.
Mateo laughs, and just like his voice, it's a hell of a balm.
By the time I confirm that I'll be staying where I am throughout another summer, we're both as ready for it as we can be.
"Do you think that'll ever change?" he asks. "Or is that home now?"
"Does it matter?"
There's something ugly I've left unsaid, and it sounds a lot like If you're fucking your grandparents' neighbor, why do you care where I live? It's loud enough that I'm sure he heard it, too. Maybe his answer takes care of both.
"Whatever else has happened, I've never stopped missing you. I'd always rather have you here with me."
More balm, but my leg aches and I couldn't say why. "So, maybe we should make plans for you to visit again. Maybe you can see where I live."
"Maybe we should, and maybe I can."
But then we don't. And so he can't.