Page 47 of The Tomboy and the Captain

“Hi Honey. I was just calling to see how you were doing.”

My brow pinches as I try to work out her angle. It’s never a well-check. It’s an agenda.

“I’m fine. A little tired. I had a hard practice today, and I have some homework to catch up on, so?—”

“Oh, good. You’re fine,” she interrupts.

“Yup. Fine.” I drop my feet to the floor and hold my phone in my hand, pinching the bridge of my nose with the other. I’m not hydrated enough for this phone call.

“Good. Glad to hear that. I was worried since you didn’t play. It seems like maybe the team doesn’t have a place for you this year. And I was thinking, if you made a phone call to the Dean at Chicago, maybe?—”

“I am not going to law school, Mother.” I break her off this time. We aren’t doing this routine again. It’s old.

“Honey, you have to be realistic. I know you wanted to play a game for a living and all, but some of us have to grow up and get big girl jobs.” Now she’s just being outright aggressive. Skipped right over the passive part.

Well, two of us can act that way.

“This an argument you hashed out with Dad already?” Her brief silence is satisfying.

“I don’t talk to your father, Laney. You know that.” Her ability to lie is impressive.

“That’s not what he said.” My response gets more silence, longer silence. And my pulse is picking up with my ire. This isn’t a good state for me. I don’t want to be in this conversation.

I can actually hear her swallow.

“We talk occasionally. Fine. But we’re adults, Laney.”

“I’m an adult too,” I sigh out, reminding her.

In some ways, I think I may be more adult than she is. Although, I doubt my mother would do a keg stand in a half shirt on a Sunday night, so perhaps she’s got me there.

“We’re trying to be cordial. Friendly and professional,” she continues.

“Yeah? In Dad’s professional opinion, then, should I try to be a professional athlete?” I know how she’s going to respond to this. Her laugh comes right on cue.

“Well, we both think you’re losing focus. And what’s this business about you moving in with another man already? So soon after Cam? And he’s a hockey player? Honey, if you miss Cam, I know he wants you back.”

I shoot to my feet and slap my palm on the side of my face.

“Are you still talking to Cam?” I’m incredulous.

“Only in emails. I was worried about you and wanted his take on things. He’s still very hurt, Laney.”

I start to laugh, quiet at first, but it grows into an uncontrollable hysteria that has me leaning my weight on the doorjamb while hot tears form in my eyes. I’m not sad, though I am pretty pissed. And I do find all of this incredibly funny.

“You know what? I need you to stop. I need you to stop emailing Cam because he’s notyourex. And it’s weird. And I need you and dad to stop making me an agenda. I know you think you’re protecting me. I get it, Mom. You’re worried that I am going to make the same mistakes you did somehow and then end up alone. If I end up alone, though, Mom, it’s going to be because that’s what I choose. And I choose not to be with Cam. He’s not for me. We aren’t good together. He made me miserable. I’m too independent. And I want to make my own choices. The fact that I’m not choosing to drop out and open a marijuana bar should make you happy. I could actually fuck up,but instead I’m driven and committed. At some point, you’re going to have to get that. I have to go.”

I end the call before she has a chance to respond, and we’ve done this enough that she knows now is not the time to call back. Even if she were to apologize right now, I’m not in the headspace to believe it. I need to be distracted. Also, I need to fucking eat.

I poke my head out my door and hear the murmur of the television.

“Ivy?”

I’m relieved when she hollers back, “yeah.”

I don’t think I’m in the headspace for Matt either. Maybe I should hand my mom’s phone calls to him. The two of them can make each other dizzy with nonsensical logic.

Reaching back into my room, I snag my phone and wallet from the top of the dresser, then head into the living room to join Ivy on the couch. She had the day off today, from class and work, which is why she cut loose last night. I glance around the house and notice it’s free of cups and trash from the party. It’s basically as if the party never happened.

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