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Sensing my change of demeanor, Dad says, “I know my child. Willow, Michelle’s name was written all over whatever happened in the girl’s locker room. I’m gonna change. Get dressed. When you’re ready to tell me why you came waltzing home early this morning, I’ll be there.”
* * *
Earlier, my limbs stretched to capacity. My dad rode an old golf cart he bought when my stamina outshined his. I ran hard, ending up on the ground in the middle of the park. My father got down on the ground, holding me to him. Then we went home. I showered while he made pancakes.
At two p.m., I smooth over a black romper dress and open the door to our tiny home. Dressed in black slacks and a blouse, my friend Londyn pulls me into her arms. At the sound of her sobs, tears choke up my throat.
“Lolo, your pops invited me. Is that okay?”
“Sure.” I sniffle. “I’m sorry. I blocked you all out.”
“We kicked Michelle off the team for misconduct.”
My dad leans against the doorframe connected to the kitchen. “No track talk. Londyn, you hungry?”
“I could eat.”
While we head into the kitchen, my cellphone vibrates in my pocket. I’m the last one at the stove to grab a plate. I shield myself from my family and listen to Camdyn’s soothing baritone voicemail.
“I’m sorry in a million ways, Lo . . . I don’t wanna be selfish right now and make this about us. So, while I hope you work things out with your dad, I want you to know I’m here. If you need me.”
I bite back the waves of tears threatening to fall. Camdyn, that savage, who was only meant to be a dark, tantalizing distraction, clawed his way into my heart. Now, it’s time to free myself of my addiction. I mumble, “Thanks for not making this about us,” and delete the message. Now, it was time to take Momma off life-support.
