Page 47 of The Brooklyn Way

Everybody in the room stood there in shocked silence for a few seconds. Finally, Carrington spoke again. “Tiara, you need to go. I don’t want you here right now. I don’t know what your problem is, but I’m over you. We’ll see you at the next class.”

Tiara looked up at Carrington who stood at least ten inches taller than her. “You’ve chosen your side, Carri. I won’t be back. I’m dropping out of your wedding.”

Carrington’s shoulders hunched at her sides. “You have to do what you have to do.”

“Yeah, I do!”

We all watched Tiara gather her things and storm out of the room.

I glanced over at my sister. “Class is canceled. I need to find Brooklyn.”

She nodded solemnly. “I’ll call you later.”

I could see that Brooklyn was already on the deck when I arrived home.

I made my way to the door, stepped out onto the deck, and closed the door behind myself. “Hey, Brooklyn.”

When she heard my voice, she slapped her hands over her face. “Please don’t look at me, Cameron. I’m so embarrassed. I can’t believe the way I behaved at Carrington’s bridal boot camp today.” Her voice quivered. “Getting into with Tiara like that. She’s been picking me with me since I’ve been here, but pushing her hand outta my face and knocking her down? That’s not me. You must think I’m so ghetto.”

I chuckled humorlessly. “Nah, what was ghetto was her shoulder checking you. You didn’t come off as ghetto, baby. You were defending yourself.”

“I don’t understand what’s going on with our exes. First Vince drives over two hours and shows up at my grandparents’ house. Then Tiara tries to start a fight with me? I don’t know.” She pulled her hands down from her face, keeping her eyes on the water.

I slid into the seat next to her-- just like I did almost every day. The two of us sat in silence watching the water until she spoke.

“Cameron, tell me about basketball.”

“What do you want to know?”

“My daddy was a huge basketball fan. He loved any kind of basketball, even if it was high school kids. He loved Michael Jordan, loved The Bison-- loved Christian Upton. When I was little, he would take me to the games sometimes.” Her grin could have lit up the night sky. “It was… amazing. And overwhelming and exciting all at the same time. What is it like when the music starts and the lights drop? When the spotlights are bouncing all over the stadium, the fans are cheering and the announcer calls out your name? Does it ever get old-- running through the Soul Train line and slapping hands with all of your teammates?”

I laughed aloud. “Not the Soul Train line. It’s not a Soul Train line, baby.”

“You know what I mean. Do you ever get… used to it?”

“It’s… shit, how can I explain it? It’s exhilarating. Your heart starts pounding, the blood rushes through you. For me, I get antsy. My feet want to move. I can’t say that it gets old or that I’m used to it… but I will say that there have been games where I’ve been distracted. Games where I’ve been in my head, focused on something else.”

“Is it like a regular job? Like where some days you don’t feel like being bothered?”

“Definitely,” I admitted. “It can be like a regular job. Some days, I get to the gym and I’m tired as fuck. My first couple of years when I was still wilding, I would show up to the gym hungover and off a few hours of sleep. That shit was the worst! Team meetings can seem redundant as hell. Your teammates doing stupid shit… on and off the court can suck. People who don’t know your job, trying to micromanage you makes you want to flip the hell out.” I paused. “Yeah. It can definitely be like a regular job. But there are moments when it’s magical. Moments where you’re bullshitting around with guys you actually like and you think to yourself, ‘I’m getting paid to do this.’ I get to do what I actually love for a living.”

“What would you do if you weren’t a basketball player?”

“Uhm,” I considered the question, “I don’t know. I could see myself being an influencer. I’m tall. I look good in a suit. Maybe I would be a male fashion influencer or maybe sneakers. Yeah, I could see myself doing the newest sneaks, custom sneaks. I can see that. What about you? What would you be doing if sewing wasn’t your passion?”

“I don’t know. I like to travel. Maybe I would be a flight attendant.”

“I can see that.”

She rolled over in her chair so that she was on her side facing me. “Can I tell you something?”

“What’s up?”

“About three years ago, I started talking to a therapist on tele-doc. I wasn’t in the throes of my grief, but I was still in a bad place. I would be going along fine, then the anniversary of the train crash or my parents’ birthdays would come up, and I would go into a pit. I never let anybody know just how low I really was. I laughed at jokes, smiled, grinned, and created beautiful gowns. I only cried in the shower with the water on full blast or in my car. Anyway, the therapist was really helpful. She gave me a shoulder to cry on and to dump all of my feelings on. She told me that I clung to Vince after the accident because of the trauma. She was right. I was so afraid to lose another person. I didn’t have anybody in Londynville but Vince. I felt like I had to hold on to him. Even when he treated me poorly, I convinced myself that his treatment wasn’t that bad. I could deal with it, because it was better than being alone. She told me that I may suffer from what’s known as Complex PTSD.”

“How wouldn’t you, though? What you experienced was extreme. Losing your parents within days of each other while you were off at school? That would give anybody PTSD.”

“I just wanted to let you know, because I don’t know if that’s what’s happening here, Cameron. I’m scared that I traded Vince for you. Now I’m clinging to you.”

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