Chapter 21
TWENTY-ONE
SUTTON
I swear having a crush is like being stuck on a rollercoaster of emotions. Highs and lows. Belly dropping and heart pounding emotions we are too young to be experiencing or trying to understand. At least that’s what society convinces you.
You can’t possibly love someone at such an immature age. Its fleeting, childish, more infatuation. If it were to work, it most certainly won’t last.
How could you truly know who or what you want when you aren’t even legal?
I’m not afraid to admit that I had a crush on Cooper when I was a kid. I even told him I loved him when I was ten.
But that was just infatuation, displaced feelings because we spent all our time together.
Sophomore year of high school, when Izzy rushed to the cafeteria table, giddy to tell me that Dylan Martin had a crush on me, I gravitated toward the high of knowing someone liked me.
He was cute. Curly blond hair with a crooked smile.
Recently got his braces off, had an ear pierced, and into snowboarding.
We started dating a week later.
It lasted all of seven months—but that was a record among my friends.
No one else had surpassed the five-month mark.
Maybe that’s why we ended, Dylan always thought he was hotter shit than he was.
The school bell hadn’t even rung the morning he strolled up to my locker and announced I’m dumping you way too casually.
When I asked for an explanation, he laughed and sauntered away back to his friends, who were all laughing. The hallway went silent, and all eyes were on me. I was devastated. Colossally embarrassed. I could never show my face in school again.
Spinning on my heels, ready to ditch school, he caught me. Arms on each of my shoulders.
“Hey. Hey, Dave. It’s okay,” he consoled me.
“I’m fine.” I wasn’t. Lips wobbling, tears ready to spill, shoulders curled in. I tugged on a curl, till Cooper took my hand.
I clung to him, and he let me for days. It wasn’t out of the ordinary for us to be glued together. But this was different. Our dynamic had shifted, and that’s when the questioning started: did Cooper finally feel the same way about me?
Spoiler alert: he didn’t, and I learned the hard way.
He hurt me. Shattered my heart, and ruined our friendship along with it.
Through it, I still loved him because I couldn’t figure out how to get off that damn rollercoaster. If I couldn’t get off, then I might as well channel those emotions into something else.
What’s the opposite of love? Hate.
Love to hate, and friends to rivals.
Everything after became a competition. We were already competitive people at our core, but this was different.
Cooper would find every single opportunity to spite me.
Academics, athletics, extracurriculars, college, friends, and even chores.
I couldn’t go anywhere or do anything without him being right there.
It annoyed me.
Cooper became a festering wound.
If I could go back, I wouldn’t. A part of me hates myself for succumbing to all of it so easily…but that reflection can be saved for another rainy day to dissect.
I’m still trying to dissect the fact that he didn’t start the rumor. If he didn’t, who did? And why would he lie about it?
Dr. Manning flips around a tablet with an article about burnout pulled up. “I thought this would be more beneficial for you to read this week. The other reading is outdated in my opinion.”
I change the brightness and tug the tablet into my lap. “Thank you,” I say, diving into the article. When a sentence rings with a new idea to try with Cooper, I pause, hurrying to grab my notebook and pen. I take frivolous notes, layering the page with sticky notes.
It takes me another thirty minutes to work through the article. When I come up for air, Dr. Manning is grinning at me. Soft and gentle.
“Have I ever told you that you remind me of myself when I was your age?” she asks, arms folded on her desk.
“No?” I ask, lit up like a Christmas tree. “Really?”
Deep auburn hair, almost brown, that frames her face and shoulders in loose waves moves when she nods. Dr. Manning relaxes into her desk chair. “I, too, was an eager learner. A sponge for any and all bits of information.”
“My mom calls me that. La mia spugnetta.”
“In Italian?”
“Yeah?” I tilt my head. “You know Italian?”
“Spanish and French, too. Moved around a lot as a kid. Does your mom?”
“No.” I muster a reminiscent laugh. “But one summer we were on a family trip to Lake Como, and I packed an entire backpack of books. Mom unpacked them, only to find I snuck them into a different suitcase and my sister’s bag.
” The memory pulls at me. It was a trip to celebrate our first adoption anniversary and Dad winning the Stanley Cup.
Before I started playing hockey. “Most of my memories from that trip are reading by the lake, reading on a boat, reading in bed. Pretty much reading.”
“Chapter books?” Dr. Manning doesn’t appear to mind my tangent.
“Only one. They were educational children’s books—I was eight. That’s why mom calls me a sponge in Italian.”
“I see.”
“Sorry, you didn’t need to hear all that.”
“That’s okay. I enjoy getting to see another side of you, Sutton.” She leans forward on her desk.
“Do you have time to review the edits on my paper? I still have a few more components to work through with Cooper, but I’d love your feedback right now.”
“Hand it here.” Dr. Manning puts her glasses on, pushing them up her nose when they fall. Eyes shift left to right as she makes her way through my messy first-ish draft.
The original, completed except for a few insert data points here, found a new home in the trash can.
It was a rash decision, I’ll admit that. Following Cooper’s practice I watched, I did two things: called my physical therapist to determine what I needed to do to get cleared to skate (again) and reconfigure my case study.
Operation help Cooper fall back in love with hockey.
It’s why I took him to play MOOSE. Help remind him why he’s playing, of the fun we used to have skating on the ice together. We’ve also tried other forms of movement, and discovering other hobbies for him to channel time and energy into.
I slip my phone out of my bag while I wait for her to finish. It shouldn’t take her long. My research paper has a minimum twenty-page requirement, but it’s only ten so far. Butterflies flutter around my stomach at the notifications on my screen.
Zach
Do you have plans tomorrow night?
Cooper
Coffee after you’re done?
It’s eenie, meenie, miney, moe to pick who to text first. I opt for Zach, something telling me that’s who I should be choosing.
I’m going to my sister’s art show.
I swipe out of our messages and go to Cooper’s.
I don’t drink coffee. A friend would know that.
Cooper
Technically speaking…a dirty chai latte is coffee. It has espresso in it.
I’ve already had caffeine today.
Cooper
Didn’t realize there was a law about how much caffeine you can have.
Have some more so you can tolerate hanging out with me.
Who said we’re hanging out?
Cooper
Pretty sure you did.
Must’ve been a different Sutton.
Cooper
Interesting…there’s only one in my life.
I’ll be outside the building.
This is the second time in the past two hours that I’ve lifted my head and found Dr. Manning smiling at me.
“Someone special?” she asks teasingly.
I swallow. Yeah, someone.
“Just a friend.”
“Same friend as the one in this?” She spins my laptop around, tapping the corner of the screen.
“This is…wonderful, Sutton. Some of your best work. You speak through experience and compassion. There’s a sincerity that I haven’t seen in this line of work in years.
If you read between the lines”—a knowing look pulls on her face—“you can see how much you care for your patient.”
“I’m not supposed to care about him.” It comes out of me with a bite. Defensive as if she can see through the weakening walls I erected as a fortress when it comes to Cooper.
“Is that so?” she challenges.
“Unbiased. I should be unbiased and neutral as a psychologist.”
“Why?” Why? That’s not the response I expected.
“I-I-I.” I lick my lips, a dryness coating my throat. I don’t know if we are talking about school and my future career anymore. “I can’t…I can’t care for him.”
“Caring is at the core of who we are. Caring is different from being unbiased. We work on being non-judgmental and strive for objectivity, but that doesn’t mean we can’t care. Is wanting the best for someone not caring about them?”
“I guess.”
“Do you think having compassion for the athletes you’ll work with is a weakness?”
“No.” It comes out as a whisper.
She asks me several more questions. Each one expanding the guardrails I’ve put up. Not around what I’m doing, but who I’m doing this with.
“Mr. Carmichael is lucky to have you on his team,” she says. “I’m excited to see how this wraps up.”
After we talk through the second half of my case study, I exit her office. Tense. Excited. Relieved. Confused—contradicting emotions mix inside of me.
Spring air rushes my exposed skin when I push open the door. My chin tips up and warm rays of sun heat my cheeks. I close my eyes and take a languid inhale, relishing in my favorite time of year.
I open my eyes, and Cooper is standing there. Plastic cups in each hand.
“Hi, Dave.”
I exhale all of the feelings worming their way through me. Exhale the nerves and hurt I’ve held on to.
“Hi, Carmichael.”
“Ooooh. She’s last naming me.” He smiles, and it’s like an eraser. Erasing the years I’ve kept him at arm’s length. Erasing the animosity.
“Seems fitting.”
“Yeah?”
“Coffee if I’m putting up with you, remember?” I turn my hand over and wiggle my fingers in a gimme movement. He hands me the cup, and I take a sip quickly.
So good.
“What else would you like me to call you?”
He shrugs. I poke his stomach.
The hard muscle must be quicksand because I can’t pull my finger away, instead it sinks further into the fabric covering him.
“What?” I ask, gaze grazing up from his abdomen to his face through my lashes.
“Nothing.” I tilt my head. “I’ll tell you another time,” Cooper follows up with. “Let’s go. I have a game tonight.”
“Where are we going?” His pace is quick, and I chase after him.
“I don’t know. Just wanted to spend time with you.” I take a sip of my drink, eyeing him over the hood of his car. “Is that okay?” he adds.
Sirens go off in my head, warning me that this is also a mistake. My heart shuts it off, tries to unplug the alarm and toss it out.
“Yeah, it is.”