40. ALIA #2
It’s a far cry from what I had wanted to do with the sport, but the more I think about it, the more it feels like the right step forward for me.
I can’t sit at home for the rest of my life.
My time at the shelter was a temporary distraction.
I loved spending my days caring for the animals.
The manual labor kept my mind occupied when I desperately needed to stop my anxiety about my future from gaining a chokehold.
I could put my marketing degree to use, but I truly don’t see myself at a desk job.
But now, the possibility of coaching children, perhaps even teens showing potential, has me looking forward to a new phase. Excitement thrums through my blood at the idea of playing cricket and honing my experience to turn them into teachable skills to develop new talent.
My knowledge can live on through others. I no longer feel as hopeless as I once did.
“Do you have plants?”
Cal’s question, seemingly unrelated to the topic we’ve been discussing, has me peering at him in confusion.
“No, you have plants.”
I push off on my left foot and skate forward a little, slowing down immediately.
Cal catches up to me in no time, his hand curling about my upper arm as I stumble.
I try to lift my right leg to continue gliding but, without sufficient speed to help maintain my momentum, I’m no better than a stiletto-wearing toddler trying to walk up a metal slide.
A frustrated grunt escapes me when I almost slip once more.
“So far, I see no reason to pick hockey over cricket,” I complain, making Cal chuckle out loud.
“I thought we respected all sports in this house, Coach,” he teases, nudging me playfully.
This of course has the unintended effect of making me lose my balance completely.
I go slipping and sliding against the boards, starfishing against the glass in a desperate bid for safety.
Cal’s laughter rings behind me as he wheezes at my defensive stance.
I would glare at him for mocking my lack of athleticism on ice but I’m too afraid to move.
“Holy fuck, you’re cute, Tots,” he guffaws, still chuckling like he’s downloaded this moment into his memory to replay and laugh at for years to come. He skates in an arc and sprays to a stop beside me.
“C’mon, let me help you.”
I stare at his proffered hand, then him, then to the side to check for Rohan and Chitthi. There is nothing suggestive or telling about holding Cal’s hand to learn to skate but my guilt makes me overly cautious.
“Unless I press you against the glass and kiss that lip you’re so fond of biting, you have nothing to worry about. Everyone’s busy.”
My gaze swings to him at his dry tone. It shouldn’t surprise me that he reads me so easily.
It’s always been like this. Without even trying, Cal seems to know what I’m thinking.
I’d chalk it up to his observational skills, but we’ve had this connection since we met.
Months into our friendship, that connection has grown stronger every day.
I slide my palm into his with a sheepish smile and he immediately grabs tightly, gently guiding me to skate forward.
“You didn’t answer the question, Alia. Do you have plants?” he asks, after a couple seconds.
“Are you asking me for weed?” I whisper, my eyes trained on our feet.
I feel his laugh in the slight tremor that passes down his arms to where we hold hands. “Just regular plants, you little weirdo. A houseplant.”
“I guess, yes?” I reply, pushing off my feet and lifting the opposite one as per Cal’s instructions.
“Do you water them?”
“Occasionally, yes.”
“And do you agree that if you give them too much water, you’ll end up killing them?”
“Everyone knows that.” We’re somewhat cruising now and I’m comfortable enough to raise my head. “Why the sudden interest in teaching me about plant-care? Have I not been following your instructions well enough?”
His gaze levels with mine, a sense of seriousness undercutting the playful banter.
“Accepting everyone’s opinion and expectation, no matter how well-intentioned they are, is allowing yourself to get over-watered.”
Oh.
“Advocate for yourself. You’re not a fool, Alia. Don’t let anyone discourage you from going for what you want.”
I come to a slow stop but in actuality, my mind is reeling. My chest pumps blood furiously everywhere and my skin prickles as his advice washes over me with a caress that feels as visceral as his touch. His attention on me is pointed and, like a seedling yearning for his warmth, I stand taller.
What is this emotion that always seems to lodge itself in my chest when Cal is around? He looks at me like I can do anything I put my mind to. Like I’m the strongest person he’s ever met and yet the only one he wants to protect.
“You good?” Cal asks, just as Rohan slides over to us, forcing me to look away from the man who’s swept me off my feet.
“What’re you guys talking about?” my cousin asks, glancing between the two of us. Rohan tries to sound relaxed but curiosity, and possibly suspicion, laces his tone. His jaw is tight as he looks at his friend, then me, trying to ascertain if anything inappropriate is taking place.
His attention lands on my hand which is still clasped in Cal’s, and lines mar his forehead. Cal notices it at the same time I do and he releases his grip on me. Slowly.
The tips of his fingers brush against the underside of my palm as we let go of each other, the lingering touch leaving tingles in its wake and a deep sense of loss.
If I could, I’d hold onto him, but I know this is for the best. Time moves differently when I’m with Cal and it’s clear we’ve been lost in our own world for longer than is prudent.
Long enough that Rohan noticed and his overprotective sensors fired up.
“So?” he prods, pointing to my face. “You looked serious.”
“Plants,” I answer. Rohan’s brows draw low, like he’s about to call bullshit.
“He was teaching me how to make plants. . . thrive.“ I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t help flicking a glance at my cousin’s teammate.
Something soft, almost intimate, lights up Cal’s eyes, quicksilver and warm, gone before it can fully take root.
“Plants?” Rohan mutters under his breath. His incredulity is obvious, and I take the opportunity to distract him by reaching for his support.
“C’mon. Help me get across the rink, big bro. I’ve annoyed Cal enough for today and I want to get these death blades off my feet. This is why I like cricket more.”
Cal grins, shaking his head at me and slapping Rohan on the back in that friendly, bro-move most men make. “Rein in your cousin, Moore. All this hating on hockey isn’t good for our morale.”
With a wink, he spins and skates away, joining his family nearby.
“Looks like you guys have gotten pretty friendly,” Rohan says as I shuffle forward, taking baby steps like Cal taught me.
“He’s easy to be friends with.”
Thankfully, Rohan doesn’t ask any more questions.
For the rest of the afternoon, I spend my time surrounded by family and the team, many of whom willingly take turns to help me on the ice.
With a start, I realize my friendships have begun to expand beyond my cousins and Cal, who I catch watching me with pride.
My chest expands with each breath as my mind replays our conversation. His words sink into my bones, displacing every heavy doubt and debilitating anxiety that has infected me to the marrow. Without fanfare, without show, he’s filled me with a buoyancy I’ve been missing for years.
Each step feels like I’m pirouetting on clouds.
You’re not a fool, Alia.
You’re not a fool, Alia.
You’re not a fool, Alia.
His assuredness of me alleviates a pressure I hadn’t even realized was stifling me. I’d gotten so used to worrying about not letting my family down that I never allowed myself the peace of believing in my success.
Cal’s faith in me boosts my own.
So, when Rohan asks me if I want to try skating around the rink just once more or if I’d had enough, I beam at him and say, “I’m not giving up yet.”