I run my fingers through my hair, sinking lower in the chair.
“It doesn’t matter,” I whisper.
My eyes refocus after rubbing them, and I look around my dad’s office. The desk is made of thick cherry oak, and aside from the framed photos of hockey teams on the walls and the trophies behind him, the room feels more suited for a lawyer than a hockey coach. The tall, deep brown leather chairs and dark moss-green carpets are more luxurious than I expected. I spot a photo of Leo and me out on the lake at our childhood home. Both of my fists are pumped in the air, with my stick clenched tightly in my palm. My smile stretches from ear to ear. I remember that day like it was yesterday. It was the first time I ever scored on my brother. I’m only now noticing the proud smile he’s sporting behind me.
Another frame sits angled toward my dad, so only he can see it, but it’s a photo I know well. I can almost smell the salty air through the glass frame. My mom’s hair blows ethereally behind her, while mine blows chaotically in front of my face. Our smiles take up our faces. My nose burns, and my chest tightens at the image of us on the beach.
Rationally, I know that everything my dad does is to help me. To be there for me, ten times over, because he feels like I’ve lost out on having a parent. And while, technically, it is true, but the things I’ve missed over the years have been very specific to her. I miss her scent, her gentle and pure smile. I miss her unconditional love and the safe embrace she provided when I was acting out. I miss her words of encouragement and advice. I miss her voice. I just miss her presence. More than anything. I know if my dad could clone himself—if he could make fifty of himself—he would, just so that I never felt like I was getting any less. But nothing will bring her back, andsheis who I miss.
I close my eyes and lean back into the chair, letting it take some of the load off me. It’s exhausting to carry this uncomfortable weight inside my stomach. “Can we just agree that if I don’t outright ask you for something, there's a reason?”
His long, tan fingers clasp together in front of his face, and he presses his mouth to them. “It’s hard because I’ve felt like a failure for so many years.” He pauses, and I go so still at his words that I can hear him swallow. “There was a long period of time there where I didn’t know how to help you.”
Tears fill my waterline and my throat grows unbearably tight, but I let him continue.
“I’ve watched you grow and heal over the years, but those memories of you and your brother struggling have always stuck with me. You were so small.” His voice cracks. “I couldn’t make sense of it myself, but when I saw my little girl unable to get out of her bed, and worse, blaming herself…I—” He shakes his head, pressing his fingers to his eyes to catch the tears. “I know it’s not always the right reaction, but when I see you struggle now, no matter how big or small, my immediate response is to jump in and help in any way I can.”
I tuck my hands into the sleeves of my sweatshirt and use them to wipe away my tears.
“I’m sorry, Peanut.”
Salty streaks still stream down my face, but I’m on my feet, rounding his desk. I throw my arms around him. “I know, Dad.”
He pats my hair as he pulls me in close. “I love you so much, Savannah.”
“I love you, too.”
I don’t know if it’s because I got to yell, or because I needed this hug, but it feels like a chunk of the uncomfortable feelings in my chest has been hammered off. There’s a block that sits half-buried in there now.
I sniff, wipe my face, and sit back down on the chair across from him.
“How’s Noah doing?”
I fight to not show any kind of reaction, but I am completely taken aback by his question.
“I don’t know. Why would you ask me?”
He twists the black watch around his wrist. Leo and I worked all summer to be able to afford to gift him that watch when he scored the head coaching position. I feel a small smile tug on my lips at the memory, at how proud we felt making that big purchase for the man who gave us everything.
“Well, I might be his coach, but you’re the one who is dating him, right?”
I open my mouth and close it quickly.
“How—”
“I might poke around in your life, Savannah, but your new relationship was glaringly obvious, whether or not you told me yourself.”
“Well, Iwasgoing to tell you the other day at breakfast before I found out you had been meddling” I say, half pointedly, half jokingly.
He nods for me to go on.
My shoulders fall with a deep exhale. “I don’t know. There's nothing really to tell anymore.” I roll my eyes, hating how soft and weak my voice sounds.
“Does it have anything to do with why he came into practice with a Savannah-sized chip on his shoulder?”
“I heard you kicked him out?” I don’t know why I ask, it’s not going to help me forget about him any quicker.
“I considered it when he started screaming at me, frantically asking if I had heard from you, but when he started fighting with his best friends, yeah, I blew the whistle on him.”
