Olivia
Chapter thirty-seven
Itake a fortifying breath as Gage and I walk into the waiting room for our first couple’s therapy session with Dr. Francine. I know we’re going to have a lot to sort through.
Gage and I have talked since we got back together, of course, but so far, we’ve avoided any of the more loaded topics. It feels like it might be easier to tackle those with a professional to help us along.
We stand and follow her into a small room with a sofa against one wall across from a wingback chair, and a coffee table in the middle.
She gestures for us to sit on the sofa, while she makes herself comfortable on the chair.
“It’s nice to meet you, Olivia. I’m Dr. Francine. Now, if you both could tell me why you’re here,” she says. “You’re a young couple, recently started dating. Why do you feel the need for couple’s counseling?”
Gage glances at me, and I nod for him to answer.
“Olivia and I are in love, and while we’ve recently started dating, we’ve known each other a long time.
The thing is, we both have some … I don’t know, coping mechanisms from our past traumas that have made it really difficult for us to be there for each other.
We want to learn to break those patterns so we can have a long, healthy relationship. ”
Dr. Francine nods. “That’s admirable.”
Between the two of us, we explain our history to Dr. Francine. She jots down some notes, and I wonder what she’s writing.
If they’re already in counseling, these two are really in trouble?
Too messed up for me to help?
Abandon all hope, ye who enter here?
Okay, she’s probably writing notes about some of the details we’re telling her so that she can remember them, but opening up like this is so hard for me, I can’t help but feel judged.
“Thank you,” Dr. Francine says when we finish. “That helps me understand the context. What part of your relationship would you like to discuss first?”
Gage glances at me almost guiltily, then swallows. “There’s one huge question I have.”
Dr. Francine nods. “Okay, let’s talk about it.”
Gage turns to me. “What happened at high school graduation? I mean we were kissing, and you seemed into the idea of dating me. Then when you got back from the bathroom, it was like a switch flipped.”
It takes most of my willpower to look Gage in the eye as I share these feelings with him.
“Yeah,” I say softly, "I’m really sorry about that.
You’re right that before I went to the bathroom, I was all in.
But I overheard a couple of girls that were supposed to be my friends talking about how surprised they were that a smart guy like you would go for a dummy like me.
I felt like I was missing something that was obvious to everyone else—that you were too good for me. I didn’t want to drag you down.”
Gage’s eyes are fiery when he responds. “They said that?”
I nod. “They suggested it would only make sense if you were looking for a trophy wife.”
Gage’s face registers shock and anger.
“Gage, I can see you reacting to what Olivia shared. How are you feeling?”
Gage inhales a deep breath. “Furious,” he answers. “How could anyone say that? Especially when they’re supposed to be her fr—”
He breaks off, frustrated, and turns to me. “You’re one of the smartest people I know.”
My cheeks heat. “That’s nice, Gage, but come on, you know that’s not true.”
“Like hell I do! That’s one hundred percent fact, babe.”
Dr. Francine interjects. “Olivia, why are you doubting what he’s telling you?”
“I know I’m not smart. I was lucky to get Cs through school. I wouldn’t have gone to college if it wasn’t for soccer. I couldn’t even read until fourth grade, not really.”
“And that made you feel stupid?” Dr. Francine asks.
“It’s evidence that I am stupid.”
“She’s not stupid,” Gage cuts in, his voice tight. “She has dyslexia.”
“Aha. I see,” says Dr. Francine. “When were you diagnosed?”
“Eighth grade,” I answer.
Her eyes widen. “That’s pretty late. No one caught it before then?”
Again, Gage speaks up. “Her auditory recall is amazing. She was able to get through school up to that point by remembering what the teacher said.” He turns to me. “That’s not something a ‘dummy’ would be able to do.”
I stare at him. I didn’t realize he knew that about me, or that he had given it so much thought.
“Olivia, I’m going to send you some links to videos about dyslexia. Dyslexia is defined as an unexpected difficulty learning to read despite high intelligence. Part of how it’s diagnosed is comparing reading ability to overall IQ. I’m sorry if no one ever explained that to you.”
I nod, my head spinning. I know it should have been a big relief when I finally got my dyslexia diagnosis.
At last! An explanation! But by then, I’d been called stupid by so many classmates and had so many teachers exasperated with me for not “applying” myself, even when I knew I was trying my best, I think it was hard to internalize anything else.
“Now,” says Dr. Francine, “I’d like to steer us back to the conversation around what happened at graduation.
Gage, you were surprised when Olivia came back from the bathroom with what seemed like different feelings for you.
And Olivia, you put up a wall because you felt inadequate after overhearing your friends’ conversation. ”
I dip my head. “I’d liked you for a long time, Gage. It killed me to let you go at graduation. I thought I was doing the right thing.”
“How long?” Gage asks gruffly.
“How long what?”
“How long had you liked me?”
“Since your fourteenth birthday party,” I admit.
Gage chuckles wryly and runs a hand through his hair. “Since sophomore year for me,” he says. “I wish I had known. You never gave any indication.”
“That was on purpose. I didn’t want you to know. What if … what if you didn’t like me back?”
“And at camp? You really wanted a summer fling?”
I shake my head slowly. “Not really.”
He scoffs. “Me neither, but it’s what you said you wanted. It’s what you asked for.”
“And you agreed,” I point out.
Gage groans.
“Okay we’re about out of time for today,” Dr. Francine interrupts.
“But I think it’s become clear that the two of you need to work on communicating your feelings to each other better.
Here’s your homework: every day until we meet again in two weeks, I want you each to tell the other something about what you’re feeling.
I know you’re both busy, and you don’t necessarily see each other every day, so feel free to text, call, email, whatever works.
Texting might actually be easier at first.”
Gage:
What I’m feeling today is that I miss you. Classes are kicking my butt
Olivia:
I’m feeling hungry
Gage:
Hunger isn’t an emotion
Olivia:
Still counts
Gage:
Nope
Olivia:
Okay fine
Olivia:
I’m feeling excited about doing a soccer unit with the kids next week
My third period class of eighth graders is gathered in front of me on the PE field at Brightline as I walk them through the context for the soccer skills lesson I’ve prepared on shooting goals.
“Okay, so the goalie is here.” I set an orange cone in front of the goal to the right of the center. “And if a player kicks the ball from here …” I place another cone in a spot about twelve yards away from the goalie, more to the left.
“... what angles are going to work best for the player to kick the ball into the goal, assuming they kick it in a straight line and the goalie doesn’t move?” I grin. “Which is not going to happen in a real game, by the way.”
The kids laugh.
“Get into groups of two or three and try kicking the ball at different angles. You can measure the angles with these.” I pull out a bucket of plastic protractors I borrowed from the math department and set it on the grass in front of me.
The students peer into the bucket with interest.
“Work on this for the next twenty minutes, and then each group needs to report back to me what you discovered.”
One boy near the front of the group raises his hand. I answer his question before he asks it. “Yes, Marshall, actually kicking the ball is a requirement for this assignment.” Marshall drops his hand with a scowl.
The kids break themselves into groups and start their investigations.
I stay behind them, watching as they kick the ball, adjust the angle, and then try again.
Some of the balls go way off course, and students chase after them.
Many balls go into the net, and the group members high-five each other in celebration.
After the promised twenty minutes, I blow my whistle to call the students back to me. They drop their protractors into the bucket and call out the degrees of angles they found that worked.
Here’s a secret: I don’t care which angles they found that worked. They were running around, practicing soccer skills, and enjoying it, and that’s what matters to me.
My watch beeps to remind me it’s ten minutes before the bell rings to end the period. I dismiss the kids to change back into their school clothes.
“Coach Delaney,” a student named Camila calls as I walk with the class to the locker rooms. I turn toward her. “What happens if the player kicks the ball, so it arcs up, and it’s not rolling flat on top of the grass? Or when the goalie moves? How does that affect the angles?”
I stop walking and consider Camila’s questions. My body knows what to do to compensate for the varying angles while I’m shooting on goal, but I can’t say my brain knows how to explain it.
But maybe I don’t need to know the answers, I only need to empower my students to find the answers for themselves.
“What do you think?” I ask her.
Camila’s forehead crinkles, and she bites her top lip as she thinks. “In my physics intensive, we were learning about projectile motion, but that formula doesn’t take into effect air drag or spin. The Magnus Effect would certainly be in play with an object like a soccer ball.”
I raise my hand. “What’s the Magnus Effect?”
Still distracted by working through the problem in her head, she gives me a brief answer. “The lift force or curvature of the ball’s path.”
“Ah.” I grin. “In my world, we call that bending it like Beckham.”
I wasn’t sure she would even hear me with how intense her thoughts seem to be, but Camila stares at me, confusion written all over her face.
“David Beckham?” I ask. “Arguably one of the best and most handsome footballers to ever play?”
Her eyebrows pull together even more. “Football? I thought we were talking about soccer?”
I pat her shoulder. “Never mind. Tell me more about the calculations.”
She chatters about initial velocity and projection angle the rest of the way to the locker room. When we get inside, she bounds off, calling over her shoulder, “Thanks, Coach Delaney! I think I found my science fair project!”
I stop short. My class inspired her science fair project?
Brightline holds a school-wide science fair at the end of every academic year where students showcase projects they’ve built bit by bit throughout the whole year.
Project plans are due before Thanksgiving break.
With only a couple of months until that initial deadline, everyone’s been talking about their ideas.
The Brightline science fair is a huge deal, and students take it very seriously.
I turn toward my office so I can text Gage, my heart as warm and full as a hot-air balloon. My feet skim across the floor as I float in and retrieve my phone from the desk drawer.
Olivia:
Today I’m feeling thrilled that a student got an idea for her science fair project from my class about angles in shooting soccer balls
Gage:
That’s amazing!! They are so lucky to have you as their teacher
Even though it’s via text, my face warms at his praise. And he’s right. I am kind of rocking this teacher thing.
I smile to myself as the bell rings and I prepare for the next class.
A week later, I’m enjoying some much-needed downtime. Gage and I have been good about sharing at least one feeling with each other every day. I’m excited to report on our progress to Dr. Francine at our appointment next week.
Olivia:
Today I’m feeling safe and cozy cuddling with you on the couch
Gage pulls his buzzing phone from his pocket, looks at it, then turns to me. He raises his eyebrows. “Really, babe? I’m right here.”
I hide my face. “It is kind of easier to text it to you, though.”
He pulls my hands down and cups my face. “However you need to talk to me, I’m here. I’m glad we’re talking. And I’m glad you feel safe with me.”
“And cozy,” I whisper.
“And cozy,” he agrees. He caresses his thumb across my cheek.
Sighing loudly, he pulls away and picks his phone up again. He types, and then my phone pings.
Gage:
Today I’m feeling frustrated by this whole “no-kissing” rule
I smirk and text back.
Olivia:
You wish your lips were on mine right now? We’d start out sweet and slow, then the tension would build …
Gage reads from his phone and groans loudly, his head collapsing onto the back of the couch. “You’re so mean.”
I giggle, but my teasing kind of backfired because now I’m struggling to keep my lips to myself, too. “Seriously, though, focusing on the nonphysical stuff right now will make us stronger for the future.”
He smooths a hand over my hair. “I know. And I’m committed to that. Besides,” he winks, “you’re worth the wait.”