Page 103 of Fighting Spirit

I flip between radio channels, trying to find something to distract myself. I’m about to turn it off when my phone lights up with an incoming call. Mom.

I almost just let it ring. I don’t think I have the energy to deal with whatever she has to say right now. But she’ll just call again, send me a flurry of texts, or do whatever it is she needs to do to get my attention. It’s easier to get it over with.

I connect my phone to the speakers and accept the call.

“Honey?”

“Hey, Mom.” I try to summon some enthusiasm.

“I saw your last game! You did so good!”

That surprises me. I thought my mom had stopped watching me play years ago. “You did?”

“Well, I caught parts of it,” she admits a little sheepishly. “Your dad had it playing.”

“Of course,” I sigh.

“That tackle looked bad. Did you hurt yourself?”

I have no idea which one she’s talking about. I take so many hits during a game that I don’t bother keeping track unless it breaks a bone. “No, Mom, they patched me up real good.” I learned to tell her what she wants to hear a while back. She’s never liked the amount I get knocked around. When I was a kid, she wanted to pull me out, but Dad wasn’t having it.

“Oh, that’s good,” she sounds a little distracted. “Listen, there was actually something I wanted to ask you.”

Ah. There it is. She’s never been good at making small talk for long. I hum my assent.

“I need to go over the plans for your dad’s birthday dinner.”

Fuck. I should have known that this was coming, but I guess I’d hoped that denial would work out for me.

She continues, “I’ve booked a table at The Westin for the 14th. It’s gonna be us, your grandparents and some people from Dad’s work. I just need to know what time you’re getting in. You’re welcome to come on Friday night and stay over. We can maybe do something nice in the morning before we go? I’m sure we’ll get the details together, whatever your dad feels like doing.” I can hear the faint scratch of a pen on paper, she must be flipping through her planner, making notes as we talk.

It’s all a foregone conclusion. She’s not asking. She hasn’t even considered the possibility that I wouldn’t be there. In herdefense, I’ve never given her any reason to. I’ve always just floated along, perfectly willing to let her smooth things over, to brush everything under the carpet to avoid causing an issue. Now, though, the thought makes me sick. I don’t know what it is, but something in me has changed in the last few months.

It’s like I’m finally ready to be brave.

Ruth makes me brave.

Having her in my life, having her at my back and by my side, it’s as if she’s given me that final nudge I need to find the thing in myself I’ve always been looking for. Who cares if my parents are pissed at me? I’m pissed atthem.

“I’m not coming,” I say the words before I can think them through, but the relief I feel almost makes me dizzy.

Mom’s quiet, her heavy breathing the only thing I can hear over the line.

“Rowan, don’t be silly-”

“I’m not coming, Mom,” I say with more certainty.

“What are you talking about?”

“I can’t.”

“Are you busy? I didn’t think you had a game that day. I checked the schedule.”

“No, I just can’t.” I struggle through each word, so unused to telling her the truth. “Mom, I can’t do it. I can’t see him, not the way things are, not the way he is. I’ve been taking his crap for my whole life, and you just let him. You let him make me feel like shit about myself every chance he gets. Nothing I ever do is good enough for him, nothing’s right. When I think about spending time with him, I feel sick, like I’m having to psyche myself up for whatever fuckin’ thing he’s gonna spout this time, and I don’t think I can take it anymore.” I pull onto the hard shoulder. “And you never say anything! You just patch up his mess until I’m ready to give him another chance, but he’s never once said he’s sorry. I just, I can’t, I can’t see him, I can’t.”

“Rowan.” Her voice comes out hollow, and I hear that she’s crying.

I clear my throat, trying to compose myself. “I won’t see him, not unless things change. Not unlesshechanges.”

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