Page 79 of Somewhere Only We Know
“I’m sorry.” I tell her.
“No. Baby don’t do that. We knew this was a possibility.”
I gently wipe the tears that have pooled under her eyes with my thumbs and pull her into me. “I had no idea it was this bad. If I’d have known…”
“You would have what? Given up a dream to be here for your family? While I commend that, you would have ended up resenting them for it.”
“The way my mom resents me?” I spit at Jax and I already feel bad for saying it that way.
“She’s sad, Nate. She will always be sad. And peoplelash out when they’re sad.” Jax says it with such conviction. Like she’s been the one to last out when sad. The realization that I may have been the cause of that is sobering.
I nod. “I’m gonna go see if she’ll talk to me.”
“Okay. I’ll be right here.”
I stand up and wipe my hands off on my jeans. Walking back down the front hallway, I turn right and take the stairs to head to my mom’s room. Pictures line the walls. From every stage of my life, my parents' life together, me and Kayla; it’s all here. I keep walking until I get to my mom’s closed bedroom door and knock lightly.
“Mom?”
Nothing except the sound of the ice maker downstairs dropping ice and the sound of a car with too loud music driving past the house.
“Mom? Will you open the door?” I knock again and wait on my side hoping she’ll let me in. But after standing here for ten minutes with her clearly ignoring me, I give up. “We’ll be here all week.”
I turn around and head back down the stairs. Jax is waiting in the foyer with my coat in her hands. Wordlessly I take it from her and put it on before I’m ushering us out of the house. If my mom is sad, then I’m sad. She’s the only parent I have left and she chooses to behave like this. I help Jax in the car and round to the driver's seat. With one destination in mind, I start the car and peel out of the neighborhood.
When we pull up to the cluster of baseball fields, fields I played and grew to love the game, Jax and I get out and brave the cold. This is the one place I can go and not think. Or think until I figure it out.
I help Jax onto the bleachers and take the spot next toher. The cold metal seeps through my jeans and if I can feel it, I know she can too.
I lean forward, propping my elbows on my knees as I look out over the empty baseball diamond. I blink fast, trying to keep the tears from coming but I fail. The first one falls and I quickly try to wipe it away. But then another falls and I lose the battle completely. Jax takes me into her arms, letting me fall apart as I grieve the man I lost and the mother who refused to acknowledge me mere minutes ago.
35
JAX
Ilie awake in the early morning watching Nate sleep. The sun is just starting to peek over the horizon and the sheer curtains over the windows bathe the room in a soft purple hue. In this light my husband is relaxed. This whole trip he’s been on edge and I’ve done what I can to make this trip relaxing. But yesterday was rough and it was the first time I saw the fracture in my Nate.
We have two days left in Virginia and he’s taken me everywhere except where he needs to go most. Maybe I can barter some things with him? I can’t buy him anything. I mean, I can. But Nate gets mad when I spend my money on him. Doesn’t the man know that gift giving is my love language?
I lightly trace his left hand that’s resting in between us. For a hard man, he’s all smooth lines. The tattoos pop against the white of the sheets and my attention goes there. It seems no matter how many times I look at his body–his tattoos, I continue to find new ones every day. My brows furrow as I look closer at this one that’s on the top of his hand.
“I was wondering when you would notice,” his groggy voice says, breaking me out of the trance.
I look up and see his eyes barely open as sleep is still trying to claim him. My eyes go back to looking at his hand. Nate loves florals. Or maybe because I loved the gardens so much, he needed to permanently ink them on his skin. The letter ‘J’ is outlined in an array of flowers and isn’t noticeable on a quick look but it travels all the way up his arm. I’ve never noticed, because I’ve kept my eyes on him. But this, the ink, looks like it’s been well-loved.
“It was my first piece the fall after I was drafted.”
“That had to have hurt,” I note. I don’t have tattoos because having a needle repeatedly poke into me seemed like a not fun time.
“Hurt like a bitch.”
“And that explains why you got more.” I tease.
“I said it hurt. Didn’t say I didn’t like the pain.”
I lightly snort and sit up, placing my elbow on the pillow and resting my head on my fist. I watch as Nate looks at his tattoos, seemingly going back in time to the place he was at when he first got them.
“Would you ever get more?”
