38. Cameron
THIRTY-EIGHT
cameron
“It’s so nice to have you home,” Mom says, sliding a glass of iced tea across the marble countertop toward me.
It’s Sunday and even though home is close to campus, it’s the first time I’ve been back since September, when we celebrated my grandparents’ anniversary.
“Good to be here. Nobody does laundry quite like you, Ma,” I tease. I’ve been trying all afternoon to keep things light. When it’s just the two of us like this, Mom’s got a sixth sense for when something’s wrong. “You catch the game yesterday?”
“Of course I did.” She leans against the kitchen island. “Harris and I watched it together.”
“I thought you were done with that fucko.”
“Cameron! Language!”
I shrug.
“I might be done with him. I’m still deciding.” She gives me a coy smile. Suddenly, the new sparkly red gemstone necklace she’s sporting makes sense. “Quite a season you boys are having.” Mom gives me an appraising look. “Think I’ll be permitted to attend another game this season or is the stadium only big enough for one woman that your father?—”
“Mom!” I cut in. I don’t want to know what she was about to say. “We both know the stadium isn’t big enough for both of you. But Serena won’t be there anymore. I told her she better just catch the games on TV from now on.” It wasn’t an easy conversation, but when Serena called a few days back asking about the next game, I told her we’d have to find another way for me to see Liam.
She smiles and reaches across the counter to squeeze my hand.
“Just don’t blow it out of proportion. I’m still going to see Liam, so I have to see Serena. But she’s not family. I’m just here for my brother.”
Mom furrows her brow like she’s trying to decide whether this is good enough for her. “You feel responsible for him?”
“Yeah. And I like him. I love him, actually.”
“You always did want a baby brother.” She sighs, her face relaxing.
“Might not be too late for you and Harris, huh, Ma?”
“Good god, Cameron. I’d sooner die.” She takes a long drink, then looks out the window. “I always knew you were a better man than your father.” She doesn’t want to seem too pleased, because she didn’t get everything she wanted. But I can tell by the smile she keeps trying to push down that she’s happy.“Well, Harris was quite impressed with your game on Saturday. You looked as good out there as you ever have. There’s no reason why you shouldn’t be at the top of any team’s list.” She looks at me directly, making it clear this is a question, not a comment.
“Maybe. There are a lot of good receivers my age.”
She waits for more, but I’ve got nothing. “You don’t seem terribly invested in impressing a future employer. I admire your confidence, doll, but perhaps it’s getting the better of you.”
“I’m working my ass off on the field, I just have other things I need to work on too.”
“Well, of course. Your studies are always important, but you’ve never had to work hard for good grades.”
“I’m not just talking about grades.” I take a swig of iced tea to buy myself a few seconds. I’ve been waiting days—years?—to tell her this, but my conviction is wavering. I push through. “I’ve been talking to a PR firm in Atlanta about an internship next summer.”
Mom blinks at me. “Oh. I didn’t imagine you’d have time for an internship given summer training ahead of your senior season.”
“Coach is cool with it.”
“Hmm. I’m not sure how much value PR experience has for a football star.”
I bite the inside of my cheek. Now I’m not just a presumed professional player, I’m a star. Christ. “A pro career isn’t a sure thing, you know that.” It’s the first time I’ve said these words to her, but I wonder how many hundreds of ways I’ve managed to imply them before.
“Barring a major injury—and that’s a notion I refuse to entertain!” she says dramatically, looking up as though she’s just daring the heavens to mess with her grand plans. “There’s no reason you shouldn’t end up playing pro. That’s always been the plan, and it’s all but done now.”
It would be so easy to just nod like I always do and let her continue riding around on her fantasy cloud, but I’d only be hurting her more. And hurting myself. My world didn’t shatter when I told Lenni my life might not look like everyone expects it to, and it won’t shatter when I tell Minnie, either. At least that’s what I’ve been telling myself all weekend.
“Mom, there’s something I should have told you a while ago.”
She freezes with her glass halfway to her mouth and puts her hand to her heart.
“You can breathe, okay? I’m not coming out of the closet. I just want you to know that pro football might not be the road I want to take, even if I get the chance.”
She stares at me, speechless. I think she would have been less surprised if I had come out as gay.
“I love football, but not like I used to. Being a pro is a lifestyle, not a job, and I don’t know if I want to devote every day of my life to that.”
Mom blows out the breath she was holding and presses her glass to her forehead. “Cameron,” she mutters, closing her eyes.
“It’s not the end of the world,” I say, annoyed. “I can be successful in another field.”
Her eyes open wide. “We’ve spent the last decade preparing you for this! Every weekend, every summer. The people we socialized with and the sacrifices we made; it all revolved around you and your team, Cameron. It’s who we are as a family!”
I knew she’d fight me on this, maybe even faint just to make me feel extra guilty, but I didn’t expect these to be her reasons. She should be telling me I can’t turn my back on football because I love the game. Instead, she’s saying I owe her one.
Meanwhile, she’s still going. “I’m sure you’ll accuse me of being dramatic, but football has always been your destiny! You can’t just walk away from it.” For once, she’s not being dramatic. Football has always been my destiny. But now? I don’t know.
“But I might, Mom.”
She shakes her head rapidly, her lips so thin they’ve disappeared. “And then what? What do I tell everyone who’s just waiting for draft day to see you in the top ten?”
“You tell them you were wrong about me.”
Her nostrils flare and she turns on her heel to walk away.
“Mom.” Normally a Mack truck couldn’t stop Minnie from flouncing out, but this time, she hesitates. “This has been on my mind a long time, and the only reason I didn’t tell you was because I didn’t want to let you down. You did everything for me, and you deserve a lot more out of life than the shitstorm Dad left you. I just don’t know if I can be the one to deliver.”
Mom blinks slowly and then strides out of the kitchen, no doubt headed for her bedroom where she’ll flop theatrically onto her bed. I think I’ve witnessed more of Mom’s dramatic exits than I have her cheering from the sidelines. When I hear her bedroom door slam, that’s my cue to follow her, knock tentatively and then sit on the edge of her bed and console her.
But today I think, Fuck it .
I don’t owe her an apology, and I definitely don’t owe her a pro football career. I remind myself of this preemptively, before the feelings of guilt come rushing over me like always. But surprisingly, they don’t come.
Actually, I feel good.
I head for the laundry room and gather my clean clothes into my duffel bag. I put Mom’s glass and mine into the dishwasher, then take the container of food she saved for Reeve out of the fridge. I don’t like to leave without saying goodbye, but I’m not getting drawn into her web today.
As I head out the side door near the driveway, I’m surprised to find Mom sitting on the steps looking out into the garden.
“I’m heading back,” I tell her. “Thanks for the food, Ma. For all of it.”
“You’re always welcome.” She doesn’t look at me.
“I’ll call you tomorrow.” I head down the steps past her.
“I love you.”
“Love you too.”
As I pull the truck door shut, she comes down the steps. I roll the window down and take a breath, readying myself for either a chewing out or a tear fest.
Mom rests her hands on the window frame and looks at me. “I mean it. I love you, Cameron, no matter what.”
“I know you do.”
“And I’m proud of you, no matter what, football or not.”
I want to tell her I know that too, but I don’t.
Her gaze goes soft, looking past me. “It’s not easy for me to see the dreams I had for you change.”
“For me, either.”
“I suppose not. But it’s important you know that if you do choose a different road, I won’t be any less proud of you.” The smile she offers is weak, a little sad even, but it’s real.
I’ve thought a hundred times about how Mom would react to me changing my plans, but I can’t remember if I ever thought about how she’d feel. “You’ve had your eyes on the title of pro football mom for years now. Maybe I can’t blame you if you’re a little disappointed.”
“That shouldn’t be your concern. Even if someday your choices do disappoint me, I’ll still love you even more than I did the day before.”
I put my hand on hers. “Thanks, Ma.”
As I back out of the driveway and head up the same street I’ve driven a thousand times before, I breathe a little easier. Everything that waits for me at Shafer is still a crushing weight on my chest: Lenni, my mistakes, my team, and the promises I still need to fulfill.
But I told my mom the truth, and the world’s still spinning.
Practice on Monday is a struggle.
My muscles teem with energy and anticipation, but for once there’s something more important than football I need to save it for.
Afterward, I wait until the locker room’s half empty before I stroll past Mason’s locker. “Hey, Connery. Hang out with me for a bit, would you? Maybe we take a walk, grab a beer.”
Mason stares at the smile on my face, trying to figure out what the hell is going on, then looks around like he’s about to be ambushed. It’s just me, though. He gives me a hard look and starts to turn back to his locker. “Yeah, right.”
“Yeah, okay, I guess if you don’t want to talk, I could go chat with Coach instead.”
He hesitates as it sinks in. “Fine,” he says, glaring at me over his shoulder. “Gimme a minute.”
“Nah, now’s good.” I’ve put away the smile, and not without effort. I always thought fighting was stupid as hell, but I’m actually fucking excited. I finally have something worth fighting for.
Mason hasn’t taken his eyes off me, but they’ve turned from cold to wary.
I motion toward the door. “After you,” I say and follow him out of the locker room.