Page 13 of Collide
My head rears back in surprise, because everyone at Dalton loves hockey. Especially women. Half of our stands are filled with sororities. “Not a fan?”
“You haven’t done anything to make me one.”
“Probably because you haven’t seen me play…or without a shirt on.” The joke doesn’t give me the desired effect. Instead, her glare sharpens. “Fine, is there something else I can do?”
“You’re wasting your time. I’m sure you can talk Kilner out of whatever he’s holding against you.”
“I’m not doing it for him,” I say honestly. This is about creating a balance and standing up for my team regardless of the shit they do. “At least think about it?”
She lifts her chin. “Fine. I’ll think about it.”
Not wanting to give her any reason to rescind her offer, I head to the door. “You won’t regret it.”
“I haven’t said yes yet.”
I smile. “You will.”
5 | SUMMER
AT TWELVE I took up swimming solely to piss off my dad, but by some miracle, I fell in love with it.
My mom would take me to competitions and my dad would try to entice me with a new pair of ice skates. It never worked, but I stared at those skates for hours after. Lately, when that sour taste in my mouth becomes heightened, the cold water takes me far away from the thoughts.
Mehar Chopra, one of the athletes on the Dalton diving team, let me borrow a key to the facility to use after hours. If you aren’t an NCAA athlete, you aren’t allowed to use it, but luckily for me, I helped her pass her statistics final last year, and we’ve been friends ever since.
Finishing my last lap with burning arms and cramping calves, I pull out of the water before the afternoon rush. After changing out of my wet bathing suit, I check my phone.
Dad - Two Missed Calls.
A call from him always sends me into this spiral where I wonder if I’m a shitty daughter who’s holding a dumb grudge, or if my silence is valid. His first call came early this morning and I ignored it until now. Until I see the text from him that reads,Give your dad a call, Sunshine.
I don’t realize I’m holding my breath until I’m lightheaded. Speaking to him would ruin a perfectly good day, so I ignore the text too. I finish drying my hair, and my phone rings so incessantly, I already know who it is. There’s only one person who doesn’t understand what a missed call notification is for.
“Sometimes I think I’m mistaken that I have a daughter in college because I’m sure my kid would at least call me.”
“We talked yesterday, Mom.” Divya Preston has the propensity to exaggerate. I fight the urge to fake a disconnect as I head over to the cafeteria for lunch.
“That’s too long,” she says stubbornly. “Your father said you haven’t returned his calls. He hasn’t heard your voice in months.”
My mother has the propensity to make my ears bleed, too. “He can listen to my voicemail.”
“Your radio silence is not appreciated, beta.”
I let out a heavy sigh. “You can’t blame me for not wanting to talk to him.” I’ve been away from home since I was eighteen, with the occasional travel back for the holidays. However, I stopped going home then too, because seeing my dad pretend we were a happy family left a bitter taste in my mouth.
“I don’t, but he’s making an effort to have a relationship with you. Your sisters have seen that change in him. You can at least try.” It took him ten years to want totry. “He loves you, Summer.”
Her words curdle like milk in my stomach. My father can’t even say the wordlove, let alone feel it in any capacity, at least not for me. He loves my mother in every meaning of the word. I grew up with their love suffocating the room, while I yearned for a morsel. Except I realized that it didn’t belong to me. Not to the baby they had at eighteen who almost derailed my father’s hockey career. Definitely not the oldest daughter who has too much to say and isn’t afraid to want better for her sisters.
“I’m sure,” I mutter as I pay for my food.
“How about dinner? We can swing by Bridgeport. I’ll make your favourite sweets.”
She knows my weakness for her gulab jamun. “It’s my last semester, I can’t just take a break in the middle of it.”
“Fine, then during spring break.”
“Sure,” I say in acquiescence. “I’ll call you later, Mom.”
