Page 78 of Tiny Fractures

He nods. “You got it, man.”

***

I pull up to my house fifteen minutes later and see the living-room lights on through the window. I send up a silent prayer that Steve is watching TV, but I’m not that lucky. I walk into the living room and see my mother on the couch, reading and drinking some tea. Her sleep rhythm is even more screwed up than mine. She’s in her pajamas, her legs kicked up on the sofa, her feet covered by a blanket.

She puts her book down when she sees me and observes me while I slide the backyard door open. Onyx immediately rushes past me, tail wagging as usual. “Hey,” she says, her voice soft.

“Hey,” I reply, sliding the door shut.

“How was work?” She moves off the couch and gets to her feet.

“Fine.”

She begins to walk toward me, and I watch her move, internally analyzing the threat level, like I always do. Her movements and expression are soft, almost kind, and I relax my shoulders as she stops a few feet away from me, giving me space.

“How is your back?” I recognize concern in her voice. I never know what to expect with her, whether I’m safe or about to get hurt. It’s a constant mind fuck.

“It’s fine,” I lie, feeling the slight throbbing below my right shoulder blade. It’s just about time for another couple of pain pills.

“Let me see.” She moves around me, pulling up the hem of my shirt without waiting for my consent. I don’t fight her as she exposes my bruise, examining it like the skilled nurse she is. She gingerly touches the injury, her fingers soft and cool against my hot skin. Slowly, she pulls my shirt back down. “Were you able to ice it?” she asks with honest compassion, and it’s pissing me off how concerned she is.

“Yeah, every thirty minutes.”

She nods approvingly. Then it’s quiet for what seems like an eternity.

“I’m sorry, Ran. I don’t want to hurt you. It’s just… you have a way of getting under my skin. I get so angry at you, and then… I just lose it.” Her forehead creases, teeth gritted. “If you would just do as I tell you, we wouldn’t keep having this problem.”

“I’m sorry, Mom.” I know I brought this on myself. I didn’t do what she asked me to do. I fucked up. Yet again. “Is it okay if I go to bed? I’m tired,” I say, my face expressionless.

She considers me, scanning my face with her green eyes that are the exact same color as mine. Finally, she nods.

I turn to head upstairs.

“Your report card came in today,” she announces, and I stop in my tracks. “It’s really good. Straight As, just as I’d expect.”

She picks up a piece of paper from the coffee table and peruses it. It’s obviously my report card. “I just wish you had fewer absences. Thirteen days last semester,” she notes, and looks up at me. She doesn’t realize that all but three of those were because I was too hurt to make it to class and hockey practice. I’m pretty sure that after a particularly mean confrontation in February—during which she slammed my head against the wall, leaving a good-sized dent in the drywall—I had a pretty nasty concussion. I felt nauseated and dizzy for days, and the near-constant headache was soul crushing. But I sucked it up, knowing I couldn’t afford to lose too much time at school or practice without arousing suspicion.

“I’ll do better next semester.”

She seems satisfied and places the report card back on the coffee table before she returns to the couch to continue reading. My mom nods at me, a small smile on her lips. “Okay. Get some sleep.”

I finally drag myself upstairs, the day crashing in on me, and I suddenly feel drained of all energy. In my room I manage to pull off my shirt and kick off my shoes and jeans before collapsing onto my bed. I vaguely register Steve asleep in his bed in the other room before my eyes fall shut.

Wednesday, June 30th

Cat

“Go, go, go, Cat!” I hear my teammates yelling as I sprint toward home plate. It’s the end of the last inning and we’re about to win the game after Vada just hit a fly ball. I take a dive, sliding into home, ending the game with a score of two to one.

We shake hands with the other team and make our way back to the locker room, where I follow Tori and Vada’s lead and plop down on one of the benches.

“Nice work, ladies,” Coach Keaton exclaims. It’s been a great few days filled with some friendly competition and worthwhile practices, but I’m ready to head home tomorrow, ready to sleep in my own bed, and above all, ready to see Ronan—a fact that both Vada and Tori have teased me about on several occasions.

“Oh girl, you’re in deep with him, huh?” Vada smirked at me Monday evening after I hung up with Ronan, my cheeks still heated, a mushy smile on my lips only he can elicit.

“You have no idea,” I sighed before falling back onto my pillow, pulling out my phone, and scrolling through my pictures of Ronan and me together, and those of just Ronan. My favorite picture is one I took of him while he was working. He was standing at the bar at Murphy’s, waiting for a drink order. He was looking down, his face kind of serious like he was thinking about something important, and I got the perfect shot of his perfect profile. I love the way his head dips down in the picture, the light reflecting off the soft skin of his neck. His taut muscles, those strong shoulders—I can’t get enough of looking at this picture.

“Cat,” Coach Keaton redirects my attention to the present and away from my thoughts of Ronan. “That was a risky move there, running two bases on Vada’s fly ball, but good call!”

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