Page 30 of The Keeper
“Maybe that’s just his style,” Jeremy says with a shrug. “Coach Mitchell used to split off the goalkeepers, but Coach Norman wanted us all together. It’s just a difference in philosophy.”
I think back to Jeremy’s high school and college coaches, nodding my head with his statement.
“I get that. I just wish Mack’s philosophy wasn’t different from what I’m familiar with. It’s just a little much to take in at once and I don’t know how I feel about it.” To be honest, I’m not entirely sure I’m only talking about his coaching style.
“He lets you call him Mack?” His eyebrow lifts again, and I’m instantly aware that I’ve misspoken again. Coach Walker and Coach Johnson were rigid about having us call them by their last names with ‘coach’ attached so as not to breed familiarity. Its unlikely Mack’s approach would diverge from that.
“No, no.” I stutter quickly. “Erin and Kris were all ‘Mack this’and ‘Mack that’during our workout. They were stalking him online or something.”
“Thank you,” Jeremy says to the waitress as a tray of tacos is placed before us. As he’s squeezing lime onto his carnitas, he looks up with a tiny grin. “So they’re already flocking?”
My face scrunches in confusion. “Flocking?”
“The girls on your team,” he replies. “Your new coach can be quite the lady killer. It doesn’t surprise me that they’re already trying to get more information about him. Has Gina tarted herself up yet?”
Even with the uncomfortable turn of conversation, I still can’t help but let out a snort at his comment about Gina.
“You should have seen her today,” I respond between bites of delicious Mexican goodness. “I swear, her shorts were so short, her booty was winking at me.”
At that, Jeremy laughs and coughs through his tacos. “Holy shit. Where do you come up with these descriptors?”
I smile as Jeremy continues to chuckle to himself, but it doesn’t feel completely natural. Twice in the span of a few hours I’ve been confronted with this idea of Mack as some sort of sexual busybody. It makes me want to get out my cell phone and Google the shit out of him with the worddateattached instead ofsoccer. But I know it won’t do me any good.
It won’t change anything either. Yesterday he was a man I was interested in, and in that reality, I could have asked him the million questions racing through my mind. But today, that reality is different.
Still, as I stare out the window at Ricardo’s and listen to Jeremy ramble on, I can’t help but wonder: a lady killer, ladies man, man whore,whatever he is… what the hell was he doing playing mini-golf with a 21-year-old virgin?
* * * * *
One hour, fifteen tacos and four sodas later, and the Jameson siblings are nursing enormous food babies.
“I can’t believe I ate six of those tacos,” I say, leaning back in the booth with my eyes closed, tempted to give into the food coma. “You’re a horrible influence.”
Jeremy lets out a loud belch and rubs his tummy. “Obviously.”
I smile at him and dig through my purse for my phone, switching the sound back on. My face falls when I see the missed call and voicemail.
“Something wrong?” Jeremy asks, leaning forward and searching my face with concern.
“Dad called,” I respond softly.
Jeremy’s face contorts into a hard expression. “Ignore it.”
“He left a voicemail. He never does that. What if something’s wrong?” I say the words quietly, but I know in my heart it isn’t true.
“You know that’s not what it is. No matter why he’s calling, he’s going to play mind games with you, Rach. Don’t give him the satisfaction. If you listen to it, you’ll be letting him suck you in.”
Jeremy has always been incredibly protective of me when it comes to our dad. He knows first-hand what it was like to grow up with Frank Jameson, and he felt incredible amounts of guilt when he moved to Glendale and left me at home for three years by myself. We’ve always been honest with each other about dad’s…difficultbehavior, but there are a few things from those years that I haven’t even told Jeremy about.
Regardless of those things, though, I’ve always felt this sense of obligation. I am constantly at war with myself. I know interactions with him will always be negative and horrible and result in either tears or a few days of self-reflection to get past it. But he’s my father, and as much as I know he will always let me down, I can’t help this niggling desire at the back of my head that he might change. Someday.
I slowly click the screen and lift the phone to my ear. Jeremy lets out a resigned sigh and leans back, draining the rest of his soda and glaring out the window. When I hear my father’s slurred words, my heart constricts, and I know that today is not‘someday’.
Rachel, it’s your father, but I guess that doesn’t mean anything to you. I ran into Colin Lincoln yesterday. Carter’s home from Princeton, visiting his family. Apparently he’s heading to Harvard Law next year. He’s really turned into something. But you were just too much of a dyke to hold onto something good. Anyway, I’ll be at your game on Wednesday.
The voicemail cuts off there, like he couldn’t even waste his time to finish the statement and say goodbye. I stare blankly at Jeremy, feeling all of the blood in my body rush to my face in embarrassment at my father’s words.
Jeremy grabs the phone from me and quickly listens to the voicemail before deleting it and taking my hands in his.
