Page 46 of Winter Break Up

MERCER

It’s strange to be in my hometown, resting, with not much on my plate.

For the last three and a half years, my life has been focused on one goal: making it in the pros. Sure, there have been little side goals along the way: winning national championships with my college teams, getting the interest of scouts, and making a name for myself in the soccer world. Since I was injured, the goal has been to come back at a hundred percent strength.

But never, in all that time, have I had a period where I’ve just been idling. Summers have been spent with special training programs or at exclusive, invite-only soccer camps. Breaks are usually filled with games, team bonding, or making up work I need to graduate on time.

So it’s been weird to have so much downtime, especially in a place I haven’t occupied since college started. The break has given me this false sense of calm, almost as if I’m in the eye of a storm. It’s only in quiet moments, like when I’m out in the far reaches of the farm cutting down trees that I get in my head about all that’s to come.

While my knee has felt good, and Grandpa hasn’t scared me with his health stuff again since coming home for the holidays, I’m weary about gearing up for the most competitive part of a college athlete’s career. There will be so many eyes on me and judgment about my play. I’ve already seen reports that I might not have the wherewithal to compete professionally because of my injury. Having to prove skeptics wrong, along with the owners and coaches who may sign me to a contract, is intimidating and already exhausting.

If I didn’t fucking love this sport so much, I wouldn’t go through with it. But alas, I’ve eaten, slept, and breathed this game for as long as I can remember, and I cannot imagine doing anything else for my life’s work. Being on that field is what drives me. Competing and devising strategies with my teammates is my dream job.

I’ve heard other athletes say in interviews that once the sport becomes a job, once you feel a strain or pressure to do it rather than the joy it normally brings you, you should walk away. Someday, I probably will feel like that. But right now, I’m giddy as hell to make soccer my real-life career.

I’m just a little nervous about all that comes with it.

Or maybe I’m nervous about what I’m leaving behind.

Emily and I are in this limbo where we’re having mind-blowing sex, joking, and talking like we’re back to the old us but avoiding any conversations that lean toward anything serious. I’m not acknowledging that I acted like a caveman at the lights display, she’s not acting like she asked me to be her fuck buddy and nothing more, and we’re both not acknowledging that I outlawed us from telling Charlie.

We’re stuck in a purgatory we’ve created, and one neither of us wants to destroy by talking about. Because if we have to discuss real feelings or futures, that means we can’t continue to fuck each other senseless when the blinders come off.

I’m driving through the farm, contemplating all of this, when I hear a shout from somewhere close by.

“It’s too cold to be out this far!”

Rounding the row, I see a man, a woman, and two daughters standing in front of a mammoth tree. A tree way too big to take home, but I see families try it every day. Every so often, Emily’s mom or dad will get a call blaming them for a tree falling over and destroying half a family’s ornaments, even though we warn that it can happen with these enormous ones.

“Hey, folks, can I help you?” Emily rounds the other side of the row, and my heart rate picks up by the mere sight of her.

I turn off my engine and walk toward the group as well, not able to leave now that she’s here. Even one more second in her proximity fills me with something I know I’ll have to give up soon.

“Hi, uh …” The dad stares at Emily with relieved distraught.

“I’m Emily, my parents have owned this farm my entire life. What’s your name?” Em bends down to the smallest daughter.

“Gia and I’m six!” She twirls around in a puffy pink coat.

Her mother looks on adoringly at the little girl. “It’s our first year picking out a tree as a family. See, we just got married, and we all moved into a new house, and—”

“And my life is ruined. Yeah, yeah, she doesn’t want our life story, Janelle.” The oldest daughter rolls her eyes and directs the dig at the woman.

Okay, clearly, that’s her new stepmother.

“Delia!” her father scolds, but the teenager rolls her eyes again.

She doesn’t look to be a high school aged girl, more like someone in middle school with hormones and teen angst raging.

“Thank you so much for your offer to help.” Janelle, the mother, beams at Emily.

“I can cut it down for you, as well, if that’s easier.” I walk up with a handsaw to demonstrate.

“Would save me from tweaking my back.” The dad chuckles, and Janelle gives him an adoring smirk.

“We just want the most special tree, and we thought getting a big one for our vaulted ceilings would be best, but now I’m not sure. It’s awfully big.”

“Whatever you want, darling.” The dad looks at her like she hung the moon.

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