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I double down on my argument. “You’ve always taught me to stand on our own.”
“I think I taught you too well. Yes, it’s good to work toward a goal, but it doesn’t hurt to feed someone’s ego now and then. If it makes the boy feel good about himself to help an old lady…” She shrugs. “So be it. Who am I to argue?”
“Who even are you?” This is not the same woman who told me never to take a rich man’s handout. She drilled into my head that it comes with strings, and they will always expect something in return.
She laughs. “What can I say? The boy charmed his way into my heart.”
“Yeah, I get that.”He did the same for me.
“Does it feel good to be back?” she asks. The yes is on the tip of my tongue, but I don’t like to lie to Grandma. I never could.
“It feels good to be with you,” I say honestly.
“What happened to that happy girl I saw at Thanksgiving?”
She got bitchslapped with a dose of reality.
I force a smile. “Don’t worry. She’ll return.”
“Tell me, dear. Why’d you come back home?”
“It’s Christmas.”
She shoots me a “you-know-what-I-mean” look, which leaves me sighing.
“You know why, Grandma. I couldn’t turn down the internship. It was too good to pass up.”
“But if it won’t make you happy, why do it?”
I stare at my grandma in disbelief. How can she be asking these things? Isn’t it obvious?
“You know how hard I’ve worked to get to this point. All the studying. All the sacrifices. This is where I’m supposed to do it. This was always the plan.” I shrug. “It’s just happening a little sooner than expected.”
“You work too hard. Don’t get me wrong; it’s good to have goals. But life is also about balance. You need to find yourself between self-sacrifice and personal happiness. Working toward goals is okay, but you have to take time for yourself.”
“I’m fine, Grandma.”
“But you don’t look happy.” She turns off our exit. “Tell me what happened with Blake.”
I inhale sharply. I thought I was ready to face this question, but the breakup was too raw. My voice comes out shaky. “We ended things.”
“Ah, honey. I’m sorry.”
Tears spring to life. I’ve cried so much after he left the other night I wouldn’t think I had any tears left.
“Long distance couldn’t work for us. It was going to be now or later.” I explained his family situation and how he had to give up his hockey career before it started. Tears are streaming down my face by the time I’m through, but it feels good to finally share his story with someone.
“He’s very honorable. I could see that when he was here, and the same honor will be his demise.” She pulls into our driveway. “But, honey, I could also see how much that boy loves you.”
That makes me cry harder. Even though what Grandma says is true, it doesn’t matter in the end. I’m here now. There’s no going back.
Later that night, I picked up my phone to thank him for helping Grandma. I go to unblock his number but pause. Thanking him would be the polite thing to do. It’s what I want to do. Every fiber in my body screams for me to make the call. But what good can come from it? We’re still in the same situation as when I left. I can’t afford the financial hit if I return to Cessna U.
But financials aside, the real reason I won’t call is because I’m so fucking miserable; hearing his voice would be my undoing.
That doesn’t stop me from wanting to cling to something from him, but all I have is a useless dress and a jersey he inadvertently gave me. But I find myself rifling through my suitcase, searching for it anyway. As my fingers brush across the nylon material, I slip it on over my head as the ache in my chest tightens. Everything has changed. I wrap my arms around myself and picture his smile after he sank the puck into the net. He was supposed to have his shot at the pros. We were supposed to have more time together.
“For our future.” Those were the words uttered as he gave me the winning hockey puck.
