Chapter 20 Jaden #2
“It’s okay. We’re ready for it. Business has been tough the last several months, and we decided that, as a family, it would be a good time for us to try something else.” Her tight smile seems forced, and I linger on her features for a moment in search of other tells.
“But that’s your dream!” I proclaim.
My mom sighs, and my father’s hand brushes my shoulder blade. I stand up and pace a few steps away from them before marching back and holding my hands on my hips.
“It was, Jaden. And we did it! Dad and I got to tackle our dream. And we fought for it when it was tough. And now, it’s time for a new dream.
” She shrugs, and it strikes me as so defeated.
I shake my head. I know the “tough times” she means are the months and years of my father’s recovery after the accident.
I know they took a financial hit, even closing for a while when he finally got help getting off opioids.
Now, it’s my fault they have extra expenses.
“No. You can’t quit. Is it the finances?
Is it my schooling? I’m getting NIL money now.
I can cover the rest of the year. And then I’m going to make it on tour.
I’ll get benefits through the league, and I can give lessons and be a pro if I don’t make majors right away. You don’t have to worry about me.”
“Jaden,” my dad utters, reaching for my hand. I let him have it, and the warm embrace of his giant fingers around mine calms the racing in my chest. I sit on the back of the bleacher seat in front of us so I can face them both, and to keep this conversation from hitting my brother’s ears.
“Is that why Beck isn’t playing this season? Is money tight?” I ask in a hushed tone.
My father chuckles.
“Jaden, money is always tight. But it’s been a hard year.
And the outlook just didn’t leave your mom and I believing conditions would get better.
We see the restaurant scene at home getting tougher.
And your brother understands. It’s only one season, and it’s not like he’s bored.
He’s at the skate park every day or playing games with his friends online.
He’s social. And his grades are . . . well his grades are always an issue, but football didn’t have a damn thing to do with that.
” My father has an ongoing beef with Beck over grades.
Studying is not in either of our skill sets.
I’ve worked hard to prioritize it because it lets me play tennis.
Without football, I’m not sure Beck will have the motivation.
“You have to get him back in the league, Dad,” I sigh.
My gaze lingers on my father’s for a few quiet seconds, and I can tell by the few blinks of his lashes and the way his focus drops along with the corners of his mouth that he knows he’s bullshitting me and himself.
“You guys can’t sell,” I plead, my voice cracking. My mom sniffles and reaches for my hand, taking it from my father’s grasp. I turn my attention to her.
“We already have,” she says.
I know right then, all at once, that this turnaround trip wasn’t to watch me play.
It was to break the news to me in person.
It was out of respect, and for love of family.
But also, my parents need to know I’m all right with all of it.
They live for Beck and me, and as long as we’re all right, so are they.
So, despite how fucking sad I am about it all, I suck it up and put on a soft smile before covering the back of my mom’s hand and squeezing her softly.
“Well then, I guess . . . what’s next?” I tilt my head a bit, keeping my eyes locked on hers. She’s fighting tears, so I hold my own at bay. If one of us goes, we both will. We’ve always worked in concert that way.
“We’re not entirely sure,” she says after taking a deep breath. “It’s kind of exciting. Like our second act.”
Her gaze flits to my dad, and I look his way too.
“I’ve been thinking about teaching. There’s a program that would certify me in six months, and the high schools need trade instructors. I’d love to create the next generation of line cooks and chefs.”
My mom nods as we both take in my dad’s fantasy. I doubt a culinary teacher in Arizona public schools makes much, but they’ve always been good at living lean. Maybe if they both teach, and if they’re at the same school, or close enough to share a car. I guess it could work.
“Lots to think about, huh?” I wish I could muster a more excited reaction, but I’ve never been great at faking it. It’s a miracle I’ve gotten this far, no longer pacing or lamenting what went wrong.
“That’s right,” my dad agrees. “The world is our oyster.”
I roll my eyes at his corny expression as my mom does the same. So that’s where I get it from.
“I should get loose. My singles match starts in forty,” I say before getting to my feet and hugging each of them.
“Don’t forget about Slices!” Beck shouts as I make my way down the bleachers and back to the locker room.
I pull my gear out of my locker, the grip still warm from my volleying this morning.
I worked up a good sweat, and sitting in the sun kept me loose.
I don’t want to pull anything, though, so I’d better go through the motions and prep for my match the right way.
Besides, Taryn will put me in my place if I skip a step.
The match before mine wraps early, and I take my opponent in two straight sets.
I’m glad I won, but the competition wasn’t much.
I could feel the weight of my parents’ news dragging me down while I played.
My mind kept drifting to the look on my mom’s face and the false bravado my dad tried to show.
I started this year feeling hopeful—an epic season waiting to be played, an NIL deal filling my bank, Bryson Moss becoming my .
. . something . . . surprising me most of all.
Now, though, it feels like everything’s falling apart.
My head doesn’t feel right. I think it’s the stress of dropping in rank, and now my parents.
But it’s hard to tell if that’s what’s making me play sluggish or if I’ve really lost my swing.
I need someone to challenge my game, to get me ready for the week ahead.
Adrianne’s match zips by just as quickly, though her opponent was a bit tougher than mine as a one seed.
I’m so wound with pent-up energy, and perhaps some frustration, that I serve up aces for our first doubles game when it rolls around.
Despite a few bad swings, I manage to finish the tournament leading in aces and returns.
Part of that is thanks to our run to the championship match for doubles.
Taryn and I dropped one game but won out the rest. The one good takeaway for the day for me is seeing my friend’s face light up the moment they hand her the black-and-gold trophy.
My normal fire, however, is incredibly dulled.
I watch Adrianne stand on top of the award podium and bend forward as the chairman awards her a medal for first place.
We get one as a team, as well, but those come in boxes that Coach divvies up later.
The moment to shine is right now, and I’m nowhere near the spotlight.
I’m number two.