Page 63 of Sweeper
Finally, I say, “My niece is named after my sister, Marisa, who passed away about ten years ago now.”
Zander’s eyes snap up to meet mine. “Jesus, really?”
I purse my lips and shrug. “I was sixteen at the time. She was twenty-six. It was a freak accident at my parents’ home. My two brothers and my sister and I were all riding quads on my parents’ property, and Marisa was tossed and died instantly.” I cringe because I’m certain I’m oversharing right now. Then again, he started it.
Zander blinks slowly back at me. “Did you see it happen?”
I shake my head. “No, my brother Theo shielded me from everything. Hayden was right there, though. And while I couldn’t see much, my mother’s screams told me it was really bad.”
“Fuck.” Zander huffs, leaning forward and shaking his head as he processes what I’ve just unloaded on him.
“She was the same age I am now.” I rub my lips together. “It’s kind of sad to think about that. Our family was messed up for years.”
“I can imagine.” Zander looks back at me over his shoulder. “I hope it doesn’t take my mom years to come around. I feel like I’ve dealt with it. Now I want that for her.”
My lips purse together in curiosity. “I’m still not sure I’ve dealt with the loss of Marisa. Grief feels like a forever kind of thing to me. It’s just varying degrees at different stages in your life. I think it’s even harder to cope with when it’s an accident with no sign of it coming.”
Zander nods slowly as he sits up and turns to look out the top of the double-decker bus again. His brow is furrowed, his mind clearly deep in thought. It’s interesting how you can look at someone and have no idea what’s going on in their mind. I had no idea how much my brother Hayden struggled with Marisa’s loss back when I was a teenager. He hid his pain from me, and my parents and Theo never let on how much they were dealing with him and the blame he put on himself.
They were all struggling but felt I was too young to burden with their pain. In many ways, I felt like a voyeur, watching from the outside as everyone grieved the loss of Marisa. It wasn’t until I was older that I truly felt the loss of her. My only sister. It’s been ten years, and I still find myself wishing I could talk to her about boys or my music or my work. Grief isn’t something you “deal with.” It’s something you live with. The fact that it’s only been a year since Zander lost his father makes me doubt that he’s realized that fact. Perhaps Zander needs more than just a neighbor with benefits. Perhaps he needs a proper friend who understands.
I wince when the tour guide blares through the speaker, and we both shift our attention back to the announcer, grateful for the reprieve from a surprisingly serious conversation.
We listen to the guide’s description of the next stop, but my eyes are drawn to Zander. I feel almost kindred to him now, which is never something I expected to feel with Zander Williams.
Zander
“Hey, Mom.” My voice is tense when I find myself calling her out of the blue after training the next day. After talking through the loss of my dad with Daphney yesterday, I knew I needed to put my ego aside and reconnect with her. It was time.
“Zander?” My mom’s voice is hoarse, and I flinch when I realize it’s only six o’clock over there, and I probably woke her up.
“Shit, sorry. I didn’t think about the time difference.”
“No, it’s okay,” she murmurs, and I hear the rustling of her bed and the clicking of her bedside lamp. “I’m so glad you called.”
“Just got done with training,” I offer because I’m not sure what else to say.
“Oh?”
“Yeah, we go to Leicester on Saturday. Coach is going to start me as a sweeper, officially.”
“Oh buddy, that’s so amazing,” my mom coos, and I’m surprised to hear she actually sounds happy for me.
I struggle with what to say next. “One of my teammates told me that Leicester is where Walker’s crisps originated from.”
“What?”
“Crisps means chips here. They call fries chips. It’s hard to get the hang of. The Walker’s brand is like our Lay’s potato chips.”
“Yes, I’m aware. I lived there, remember?” She laughs, but it’s strained.
I bite my lip nervously. “You good?”
“Oh, you know me.” She huffs into the line, but her voice sounds weak.
I rub my lips together, waiting for her to ask me how I am, but she doesn’t.
“Are you still seeing that doctor?”
