Page 12 of Behind the Net

“Well, it won’t matter soon enough. Emma set a mat-leave date, so they’re putting the paperwork together for the internal job posting.”

Right, the marketing job. My stomach twinges with nerves and I nod eagerly. It feels a bit forced. “Great.”

“They’ll probably start interviewing in December or the new year.”

“That’s good. That gives me enough time with the team to prove myself.”

“Yep.” Hazel raises her eyebrow. “And then we can both work stable, responsible jobs for the rest of our lives, forever and ever.” Her voice takes on an airy, sarcastic tone.

I give her a flat look. Hazel’s dream is to open her own yoga and physio studio, a place where people of all body types and sizes feel comfortable, but our parents would choke if they heard that.

Risky, they’d say.

I stare at my shoes as we walk. “I mean, they’re not wrong. Having a stable job does make life easier.”

She breathes out something that sounds likefuck. “Yeah, but they’re, like,obsessedwith it.”

“They want the best for us.”

Our parents didn’t grow uppoor,but they were both from low-income families. Our dad was a mechanic, and our mom was a ballet dancer until she didn’t make it into a ballet company. Then she started her own dance studio. She taught ballet until they retired to a small town in the interior of British Columbia a few years ago. Although she was an amazing teacher, I think it served as a reminder of what she hadn’t accomplished. Growing up, when I’d make comments about pursuing music, she’d use herself as an example of why I shouldn’t.

Failure is really hard, she always says.Set yourself up for success instead.

They want us to live comfortable, happy lives, and to my dad, that means having a job with a biweekly paycheck and benefits. To my mom, that means something that won’t be too disappointing if it doesn’t go well. Like Hazel’s physio job. Like this marketing gig.

Notanything in the music industry. That’s why I studied marketing in university with a music minor. I wanted to major in music, but they talked me out of it.

They were right, it turned out. The music industry is brutal. I remember playing a song I wrote for Zach, and how he and his manager laughed after. Zach said it wascute.

My stomach clenches with shame. I think about that moment and my heart hurts. I’m not tough enough to withstand that.

Hazel turns to me. “Does Dad keep asking you about Streicher?”

On top of our parents wanting us to have solid jobs, our dadloveshockey, and he’s a lifelong Vancouver Storm fan. He’s thrilled that we both now work for the team. When he found out a guy from our high school was traded to Vancouver, he lost his mind with excitement.

I groan. “Yes.”

We laugh, and Daisy sprints ahead to greet a yellow Lab coming down the path.

“She’s such a good dog,” Hazel says, linking her arm through mine.

I smile at Daisy. “Yeah, she is. I love that part of my job.”

We walk, watching the dogs, saying hello to the owners as we pass them, and enjoying the time in the forest. A river flows through the trees, rushing over the rocks. There are clearings along the path with shoreline, and Daisy darts in and out of the water before returning to the path.

“You haven’t touched your guitar since you got home.”

My throat constricts, and I swallow with difficulty. “I’ve been busy.”

That’s a lie, and she knows it. My entire life, songs would float into my head. Zach and I would hang out, and I’d goof around on the guitar, and when I hit a certain combo of chords, the song would show up in my head. It was like opening a door. Like, oh, there you are.

Since Zach dumped me, nothing. Dead silence.

Our boots crunch along the path and I picture my guitar sitting alone in Hazel’s apartment, waiting for me. A weird guilt moves through me, like I’m neglecting it. I bought that guitar back in high school. It’s not the nicest or most expensive guitar—far from it—but I love it, nonetheless.

And now I’m avoiding it.

Every time I think about playing my guitar, I think about Zach arranging to have me sent to the airport. I think about all the times I played guitar while Zach and I worked on lyrics. I think about him laughing at the song I wrote.

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