Chapter 36 Maya
Maya
I hold up my old football shirt in front of me. In the bright light of the sun flooding in from the window, the blue of it looks a little washed out. Or maybe it’s just been through so many wash cycles over the years that it is washed out.
With the summer almost over, I’ve finally decided to close the chapter on my professional football career.
Especially now that I’ve realised that being back home is actually making me happier than I have been in a long time.
Even after retiring from the team, it felt like a part of me was back there.
Longing for everything that came with my career.
But I know that it’s time to officially say goodbye. To make my peace with it.
I turn the shirt around, to the back with my name printed on it.
Alam in stark white letters, which stand out against the blue.
All around it, my teammates have signed their names.
Before, this would have led me down a spiral, but today, looking at their names, I only feel a warm sense of nostalgia.
Like the past is a fond memory that I’m happy to remember but don’t quite want to relive.
Amma suggested that we frame my jersey, and hang it up in the sitting room, so that everybody who comes to the house can see it.
I know her heart is in the right place – she wants to show off the fact that her daughter was a professional footballer.
But the idea of looking at it every day doesn’t feel right.
It would be holding on to the past, glorifying and whitewashing it.
Pretending that it didn’t hurt me. So, I decide to put it away instead.
Not throw it away, but keep it somewhere in my wardrobe, as a reminder of my time playing with the Vikings.
As I’m about to put it into my wardrobe, the bell rings. A sharp, loud trill reverberates through the house.
I put the shirt on my bed and walk down the stairs. Amma and Abba are out for the day so there’s nobody else to answer the door.
The doorbell rings a second time, and I frown, wondering if it’s a door-to-door salesman that I’ll have to find some polite way of turning away quickly.
I’m already trying to come up with an excuse for why I’m extremely busy and can’t entertain whatever they’re trying to sell, when I swing the door open and realise that it’s not a door-to-door salesman on the other side at all. It’s Dina.
‘Dina … you’re here.’
‘Hi.’ she smiles at me hesitantly.
‘Hi,’ I say, not sure of what else to say. ‘Um … do you … did you want to come inside?’
‘Yeah, OK.’
I hold the door open wider, and Dina steps in, past me.
I lead her through the hallway to the sitting room, where Dina perches on the couch, looking around with curious eyes.
I sit down next to her, and for a few minutes silence washes over us.
I’m running through a list of questions that I could ask her to break the silence: ‘How are you?’ and ‘How was the launch of the restaurant?’ all the way to ‘Do you hate me?’
But then Dina takes a deep breath and says, ‘I’m sorry.’
I blink at her. Of all the things I thought she was about to say, it wasn’t this. ‘You’re sorry? For … what?’
She looks at me, holding my gaze, and I can see so much emotion wading in there that I can’t even decipher.
‘For … everything. I’m sorry for how I reacted when you got an opportunity at your dream career.
I’m sorry for how I broke up with you. I’m sorry for never, ever trying to make things better between us.
I’m sorry for how things have been between us since you got back. I’m sorry about all of it.’
‘Dina, you don’t—’
But clearly, Dina isn’t done speaking because she continues.
‘All these years, I thought that I hated you for what you did, but, honestly, I never hated you. I missed you every day that you were gone. I’ve missed you since the second that Jen told me that you were offered the position in America, because I knew you would go.
It was easier to blame you for things that were out of your control, and it was easier to tell myself and everyone around me that I hated you than to admit how much I missed you. ’
There are tears swimming in her eyes now, and she blinks them away.
I feel the pinprick of tears behind my eyes too, because in the past nine years, this conversation is all I’ve ever wanted to have with Dina.
A conversation that explained why she broke my heart in the way that she did.
One where she said that she missed me, and meant it. And I can tell that she means it.
‘I missed you too,’ I say, though my throat feels thick with tears.
‘I missed you every day that I was gone. I wanted to call you so many times. The first time I met my coach, first time I went to practice, first time I played a match, the only person I wanted to talk to was you, but then … I remembered. We weren’t together anymore. ’
Dina reaches her hand out, linking our fingers together. The warmth of her sends a tingle all through me. I’ve missed her touch, her scent, her everything. I don’t always admit that to myself, but now how much I’ve missed her overwhelms me, floods me.
‘You were right, all the things you said about me. I blamed you because it was easier. And I missed out on so much because of that,’ Dina says.
‘You could still … I mean, you could still try for a career in football if you wanted. It’s not too late,’ I say.
But Dina just shakes her head. ‘No, what I mean is, I missed out on us.’
In all the time that I’ve known Dina, I don’t think I’ve ever seen her emanate this kind of sincerity.
I certainly have never seen her put anything over her love of football.
I almost wouldn’t believe it, if she wasn’t looking at me like that; as if I am the only person in her world. And I wish that I was.
‘I know it’s not as easy as saying sorry and pretending that everything that happened didn’t happen.
I know I broke your heart. And if you never forgave me, or trusted me, I would understand that.
But …’ And here Dina takes a deep breath, and I can feel her hands trembling.
I squeeze them, and she cracks a small smile; one that brightens her entire face.
‘Can you give me another chance? Can we reset the score between us?’
For a moment, I flash back to nine years ago.
The last time Dina showed up at my house unprompted.
I still remember the look in her eyes then, the venom in them.
The last words that she said to me. But I look at Dina now, and there’s nothing of that here.
In nine years, the two of us have changed in infinite ways. And I’m ready to know this Dina. Now.
‘Yes,’ I say, my voice coming out breathless. ‘Yes, I can give you another chance. Yes, we can—’
But I don’t even get to finish my sentence before Dina is leaning forward and closing the gap between us.
Her lips are on mine, her fingers in my hair, caressing my cheeks.
I lean into her too, encircling her waist with my hands and pulling her closer.
The scent of her fills me up; the feel of her hands on my skin sends goosebumps up my entire body.
When we pull apart from the kiss, there’s still little space left between us. Dina rests her forehead against me, her skin warm on mine.
‘Please tell me your parents aren’t home,’ she says.
‘They aren’t,’ I say, and Dina kisses me again, her lips quirking up into a smile against my mouth.
I feel like we’re teenagers again, sneaking around behind our parents’ backs.
In those days, we were so scared of how we felt.
Our every touch, every kiss, felt tentative yet filled with possibility.
But here, right now, with Dina and I together, it feels like those possibilities have finally been realised.
Like all our time apart, our heartbreak, everything, has led up to this moment.
I stand up, linking my hands with Dina’s and pulling her up with me. We’re still tangled in each other as I lead her up the stairs, all the way into my bedroom. This time, there will be no interruptions.