Page 16 of Breaking Away

Dad needs you to do this for him. He expects it.

I want to say no and not do it, but I don’t know how to.

Because my dad will keep insisting, saying that his coaching career is on the line and that any game the Blades lose is because I didn’t return at least one of Tyler’s phone calls.

What can I even say to that? I don’t have a career or a reputation that needs protecting like he does. I’ve not earnedanythingclose to that.

Just get this over with,I tell myself.You can do it.It’s not like Tyler is some monologuing villain I should fear.

You plucked an in-grown off his thigh. His salty ball-sack was once in your mouth. And remember when he thought New Zealand wasn’t a real place for the longest time?

Not letting myself overthink this (more than I have), I ring him. My throat goes dry because dehydration hits me all at once. Yes, that’s what happens.

“Babes.” The gruff voice is admonishing. “I can’t believe you haven’t called me back until now.”

That opening makes my mouth pinch. I was expecting him to throw himself at my mercy, especially considering he’s the one caught with another woman, but no. I’m to blame?

“I-I wasn’t ready to hear your apology,” I argue.

“How about the flowers, chocolates, jewelry and that serenading singer? I’vebeenapologizing, but you haven’t let me clear up your assumptions.”

There’s no background noise on his end. That surprises me. His team won tonight. That always means they celebrate together, but he doesn’t seem to be with them. Almost as if he’s learned his lesson?

A vague, nonsensical thread of hope floats through me.

“Nothing happened at that party,” Tyler insists. “That woman washopingto fuck me. You know how pushy these puck bunnies get.”

“W-wait.” My voice trembles so I clear my throat. “No, I heard you tell Dmitri you were in an open relationship!”

“Dmitri? Since when are you andLokhovon first-name terms? And we haven’t even talked about why you were in his hotel suite that night. That makes no sense to me.”

My hand finds this table’s butter knife. With my hand, I push the donut away to keep it safe. “Is that what you’re worried about? My actions? No… Actually, maybe I’m not ready to talk about this with you.”

“Hold on,” Tyler cries out. “We’re supposed to get married. If we can’t talk about our issues, what’s the point? What you aren’t letting me clear up is how I lied to Lokhov because I knew it would get him riled up. Obviously, we’renotin an open relationship.”

Why would that rile up Lokhov…?

Customers walk around my table on the way to the register. While I wait for them to pass, my brain yells:

He cheated! You know he did!

“You are the only one for me,” Tyler continues when it’s quiet again. “Always have been and always will be. We’re soulmates.”

His words are perfect. It’s what every woman wants to hear, but my brain remembers something else.

“You said my lips were fat.”

There’s a pause, as if Tyler knows this one thing could detonate the call. “That was… averywrong choice of words. Sorry.”

“You should know how I feel about that kind of language. It’s always been my hard boundary.”

As a woman in my twenties, I’ve seen very thin bodies in my movies and on red carpets, and I’ve seen the rise of bodies where everything—booty, boobs, and lips—is biggerexcept, of course, the waistline because it’s never the waistline, and I swear it just goes back and forth between the two. Like we’re in some cyclical hell where turns are had. Sometimes you’re in the beautiful shapes group, and sometimes you’re supposed to hate yourself. And for someone who is pear-shaped like me, you're supposed to hate yourself all the time.

No one talks about how we all have stretch marks, hair on our knuckles, dimples, freckles, divots, and bodies not only changing with age, but changing every week because a uterus can hang out lower when you’re on your period.

Young Kavi Basra decided a long time ago that she refuses to play that game. I’ve got no idea where that absolute confidence comes from, but it’s inside me. Opinions that you wish to project onto me about my size or shape are unsolicited and rejected.

My body isn’t open for beauty commentary.

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