Another Letter
Mick and Jill piled onto Kate’s bed the morning after she left Deer Park. Jill shoved coffee into her hands and Mick wrapped an arm around her as she sat up.
“You okay?”
Kate peered into her mug as it flooded back.
Her parents disavowing her. The slap. The visit from the church, old men laying hands on her head and back, so harrowing that she hoped to one day block it out entirely.
They prayed over her, then commanded Satan to release her.
Instead, headlights cast into the living room like a godsend.
Of course, it was Abby. Abby driving hours to save her.
She did her best not to cry while she recounted it, but the tears came anyway in the safe huddle of her friends’ arms. “Why do I feel like a terrible person?”
“Because you’ve never done anything wrong. Like ever,” Jill said.
“I hurt Blake.”
Mick chuckled. “Don’t worry, he’ll marry the first born-again virgin who flashes him her tits.”
Kate laughed along through snivels. While she shared almost everything with them, she didn’t mention Abby. She didn’t confess that it wasn’t just law school that made her deny Blake’s proposal and cast her out from home.
“Have you talked to her?” she asked.
“Abby? Passed her on the way in.” Mick narrowed her gaze at Kate. “She slept on the couch and sent us up before she left.”
“She ran out so fast yesterday, I was worried she might crash my car,” Jill said. “That’s got to be a record. To Deer Park and back in the snow in twelve hours?”
Mick rubbed Kate’s back. “I wouldn’t expect anything less from Cruz. Especially when it comes to you.”
Kate dragged through the next weeks in a daze.
She went on longer, desperate morning runs, and buried herself in school.
She half expected her parents to call and apologize.
When that didn’t happen, she contemplated calling and apologizing to them instead.
She floated the idea to Mick, who threatened to snap her phone in half.
Collegiate Athletes for Christ offered far less sympathy.
It took less than forty-eight hours for news of her heartless treatment of Blake to reach the church group.
Kate thought she might take refuge among them, might find healing, maybe even understanding if she shared her troubles, but instead she encountered disdain.
There weren’t sides, but if there were—and there most certainly were—everyone was on Blake’s.
She’d always known if they broke up, it would be that way.
Blake was a campus favorite, a near celebrity after the draft, and while no longer at Insley, he was still revered by friends and teammates.
A few peers patted her shoulder, but even they seemed baffled by her choice.
The others glared, murmured, sneered like she’d become less-than overnight.
She skipped the next Bible study and ignored calls from her group leader when she missed the one after that too.
She still attended church on Sundays, but her neck burned at the sermons. She swore the pastor chose readings of damnation for her specifically. When she prayed, she didn’t ask for anything, not even forgiveness; she just repeated, I’m sorry.
And then there was Abby. Or, more accurately, a lack of her.
Kate couldn’t pinpoint who started the avoidance, but just like the other times they ventured too close, a painful distance stretched between.
Abby didn’t stop by the house. No more study sessions either.
Kate didn’t text or call, unsure of how to move forward.
She still loved Abby, but by no fault of her own, she represented the bomb that upturned Kate’s life.
Now, she didn’t know if she was brave enough to build anew in the ruins, to pick up the coals and risk getting burned by what she burned down everything else for.
They only came together on the field, but then that changed too. With Abby playing third base instead of second, they no longer turned two. It was as if the game itself sensed their rift. Kate resigned herself to the changes until Abby started warming up with Jenna Crosby at practice.
“We’re supposed to be partners,” Kate said.
Abby shrugged as she whipped a ball to Jenna. “I don’t think Whit cares anymore. We probably could’ve ended that a while ago.”
“Right.” Kate nodded. “Okay.”
“Okay.”
Her focus drifted to Abby at practice, just like in the early days, overcome by the fierceness with which she played, her passion and raw talent.
Third base required one crash for bunts and slap hits, and Abby charged as if she always played there, never fearing that a batter might pull back and hit a line drive at her, risking an inch closer like she enjoyed the gamble.
While Kate observed her from shortstop, she willed her to look.
To glance over her shoulder. To give her a flash of those dimples. It never came.
“We should study,” Kate said to her in the dugout afterward. “For midterms.”
“I’m good.” Abby zipped up her bat bag and peeled out.
Kate’s mouth dropped. “Hey!” She followed her, ignoring Jill’s and Mick’s confused glances. “Hold on a minute.”
Abby didn’t stop, so Kate ran her down.
“You’re giving me the cold shoulder now?” she asked.
“Just returning the favor.”
“I haven’t been giving you the cold shoulder.” Kate frowned. “I’ve just needed some time after everything.”
“I know.” Abby’s face slackened, her dark gaze lightening to a wave of amber.
“Can we talk?”
They sat in the bleachers and waited for the team to clear out. Wind rippled the tarp that covered the infield. The stadium lights hummed. These were the short days. Waking up and returning home in darkness. It didn’t seem possible that they’d ever make it to spring.
“Is it because of what I said?” Kate asked. Abby didn’t look at her. “Is it because I didn’t jump at being with you? Because I’m still confused and—”
“No.” Abby’s head shot up. “I always knew that was a possibility. I knew that you and me probably weren’t going to get there.”
“You did?” Kate whispered.
“Yeah.”
“Then why can’t we be friends?” She wanted to ask more. Like why Abby even wanted her then. Why did she let it get so far, if it would never pan out? Of course, that turned the question back on her—why did Kate let it get so far? She settled for the consolation prize of friendship.
“You look at me differently now.”
“No, I don’t.”
“Yes, you do.” Abby’s breath materialized in the chill, emphasizing her words. “I don’t want you to look at me like I took something from you. Like I’m the reason you and your parents aren’t talking. Like I’m the reason you stopped going to CAC.”
Kate’s eyes widened. “How do you know that?”
“Because I wait outside that church for you like it’s my own fucked-up religion.” Abby sighed and then laughed, and Kate couldn’t help but chuckle too.
Her heart swelled and simultaneously opened with that desperate hollow. That space she couldn’t get around. “Why do you care if I go? You call it a cult.”
“Because it means something to you. You believe in it.” She shrugged. “I can’t be the reason you stop. I can’t be the reason that you’re unhappy.”
“You’re not.” Kate’s eyes burned with tears. “I just…this isn’t easy. And I can’t…I can’t lose you too.”
“That’s what I’m trying to avoid. We just need some time. Some space for this to pass. And it will.” She stood and canted her head at the diamond. “Plus, we still have this.”
Kate frowned. “Yeah, but no more turning two.”
“I’ll still be next to you.” She lifted the faintest of smiles. “See you tomorrow.”
Kate murmured goodbye as Abby clomped down the bleachers and left.
Out of all the losses that brutal, chilling winter—Blake, her parents, confidence in her faith, confidence in herself—this left her raw.
When she turned away from the rest, at least she still had Abby.
Even if she wouldn’t let herself have all of her, she felt like hers.
It made the rest of the hardship pointless if she wasn’t.
She sniffled and trudged home, spiritually broken, no longer sure what she believed or where to turn. And that’s when it happened. That’s when the clouds parted.
That’s when she got into Berkeley.
Kate checked the mail daily, investing her remaining energy into law school. Her hands trembled when she pulled out the envelope with the school seal in the corner. She whispered a prayer and ripped it open in the driveway, devouring the first lines through tears.
The news couldn’t have come at a better time. Her hope for the present had worn thin, but this restored her hope in the future. In a dream that was hers alone. She didn’t need her parents’ approval. She didn’t need Blake. She didn’t need everyone to understand.
But she needed Abby.
Kate dropped her bag in the driveway and bolted down the street, clutching the letter. She didn’t know if Abby was at her apartment but would start there. She’d go to the field, the library, and check every bar in town if she had to. Because she needed to tell her first.
Before reaching Abby’s complex, footsteps echoed down the road, charging toward her. She made out a shadow in the distance, growing larger with every step.
“Kate?” Abby shouted.
“Abby?”
She sprinted faster until they met in the middle of the street, panting under a single streetlight.
“What are you doing?” Kate breathed into the frost.
“I needed to see you.” Abby coughed, hands on her knees to recover. She straightened up, still winded. “Are you okay? What’s wrong?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay.” Kate chuckled, even though tears rolled. She shoved the letter at Abby, barely able to say the rest. “It’s Berkeley.”
Abby’s eyes stretched wide. “It’s Berkeley?”
“I got in.” Kate swallowed a sob. Saying it aloud for the first time raised the hair on the back of her neck.
“You got in?” Abby repeated.
“Yeah.”
“Holy shit!”
“I know.”
“You got in?”
“I got in!”
“She got in! She’s going to Berkeley!” Abby screamed for the neighborhood before swooping her off her feet. She squeezed her tight, spun in a circle, chanted it over and over. “I knew it. I knew you would do it. I fucking knew it.”
She laughed and cried. The glances, confessions, traces of skin, and whispers of the last year undoubtedly conveyed their attraction, but this shared joy radiated love.
A love that Kate had never experienced. Unconditional.
Abby celebrated not what she wanted, but what Kate wanted.
Just as she had championed her when she took over at shortstop.
Just like she didn’t want her to stop believing in herself or in God or her dreams. No one loved Kate like this.
“I’m so proud of you,” Abby whispered into her ear. “I’m so fucking proud of you.”
When Abby let go, Kate didn’t break away, but slid down her front. Their faces hovered near when her feet hit the ground and Kate didn’t balk. She lost herself in that gaze, the one that was no longer unknowable.
“I wanted to tell you first.” Kate cupped her cheek and brushed her thumb to the spot she longed to kiss.
Abby rested her forehead against hers and sighed. “I love you.”
The hollow born of Abby’s arrival, of her sorrow and smiles, capable of unbearable aching and nourishing warmth, deepened from her chest to her toes.
And Kate finally understood it. She thought that it was a hole, something open and empty because of Abby.
But that wasn’t it at all. The cavity formed because she gained something new in her.
A part of herself. Kate was one before Abby, and when she met her, she became two.
The hollow simply opened to make room for that last piece.
“I love you too,” Kate whispered.
Abby held her cheeks in cold but tender hands. Her eyes darkened, gravity eclipsing her playful sparkle. Kate didn’t recognize such a look, not even on the field, but it didn’t scare her. It too belonged in that wondrous trench.
Their noses brushed first, their heads tilted to the perfect fit, Abby’s hands landed at Kate’s waist, and finally their lips met.
The velvet trace started delicately, then expanded to a wave.
A glide. Arms locked around her. Kate closed her eyes as they melted together.
She already longed for the next kiss, while wanting this one to last forever.
Abby’s plump lips cushioned like a home she already knew, the taste leaving her faint and full.
She committed to longer and closer. To more.
But she left herself here. Free. In Abby. In herself. In the perfect surrender.