“Well,” she says casually, hitching a shoulder. “It’s a good thing you’re about to be her coach, then.”
My stomach pretzels into an iron knot, sinking lower and lower until I’m sure it disappears. How the hell am I supposed to help Peyton when her ego’s too inflated to hear anything I say?
“Yeah,” I mumble. “Good thing.”
Of all the professors at Greenrock University, Professor Palit is by far my favorite. My mom, in her usual meddling fashion, arranged accommodations with the Services for Students with Disabilities board the moment we decided I should move back to Seattle. Most professors only agreed because they had no choice.
Professor Palit? He agreed because he’s a genuinely good person.
I emailed him this morning, asking if it was okay to attend today’s neuroplasticity lecture via video call since I felt like I’d been hit by a truck, and he responded with:
“If you make a snack, turn your camera off. I’ll get jealous.”
He also assigned us a case study analysis—you win some you lose some—but as I read in depth about John Doe’s traumatic brain injury, I try really hard to enjoy it. Which sounds fucked up, now that I think about it, but no sports physical therapistshould hate neuroscience. Not if they want to be good at their job.
And seeing as it’s pretty much my only option at this point, Ihaveto master it.
I pull out my journal, flipping through today’s lecture notes when my phone buzzes on the table. I glance over, Mom’s photo lighting up the screen. Ecstatic at the excuse to procrastinate homework, toss my laptop to the side, and press the cold device to my ear.
“Hey, Mom. What’s up?”
“Hi sweetheart!” My mom coos through the phone like I’m still six. And I don’t mind it one bit. “I was just calling to see how your day was.”Three… two… one…“And to check in about your first day of coaching tomorrow.”
Mom wasthrilledwhen I said yes to the student assistant coach position, not like I had a choice. I knew this call was coming. I’d already mentally prepared my response last night, while I was sprawled on the couch, bawling with Cleo while watchingLord of the Rings: Return of the King.I try to calculate the seconds between the end of her sentence and the beginning of mine, so it can feel natural.
“Oh, I’m good. Just working on some neuroscience homework.” I pause, for effect. “Oh, coaching? Yeah. I’m…super excited.”
“Yeah?” My mom’s voice sounds light, hopeful, and I can’t find it in my heart to crush that hope. To remind her that the only reason I’m accepting the position is because I need the credit to graduate. “If they give you any trouble, you’ll tell me, right?”
I nod, as if she can see me. “Of course, Mom. Always.”
“Alright then.” A soft sigh slips through the receiver. “You’ll be great, Darce. They’re lucky to have you.”
“I get it from you.”
A bright laugh bursts through the speaker, and even though there’s this tightness in my chest, it makes everything else feel a little looser, if only for a second.
“You’re such an ass kisser,” she teases.
I laugh. “That I get from Dad.”
My mom laughs too, but it fades fast. A quiet moment settles between us—one second, two maybe—and then her voice is softer. Hesitant.
“Hey, Darce?”
“Yeah, Mom?”
“I’m—” She stops, like she’s debating what she wants to say. When the words finally come, they’re not what I expect. I don’t think they’re what she expected either. “I’m just really glad you’re back with me. Even if—”
“I’m glad I’m back with you too,” I cut in, swallowing back the dry lump in my throat.
The silence stretches a bit longer, just the hum of the baseboard heater filling the dated apartment. Then, with a soft sigh, Mom shifts gears. “Well, I’ll let you get back to work. Your dad’s about to drag me on a date,” she says, trying to sound upbeat again.
“Okay, have fun.” My lips tug into a small smile despite the weight in my chest.
My parents have that disgusting kind of love. The kind where the honeymoon phase never ends. As a kid, I hated it. But now, it’s kind of nice. It reminds me that relationships like that actually exist outside of fantasy movies and romance novels.
“We will. Love you, Darce.”
