Page 105 of Things We Hide from the Light
Me: Sorry guys. I can’t make it.
Naomi: *frowny face* Lina, you were too busy for lunch and you backed out of bridesmaid dress shopping this week. I’m afraid I have to enforce my bridal reign and insist that you join us…unless you really are doing something more important than discussing wedding party attire and traditional weddingcake versus a pastry table. Then I totally understand and you should forget that I tried to make any demands on you.
Stef: Forgive Witty. She’s been honored with a lifetime achievement award in people-pleasing.
Sloane: Can confirm that Lina did not have plans for Saturday morning as of last night when we picked up our Dino’s to-go orders at the same time.
Naomi: It’s official. Lina’s avoiding us.
Stef: Let’s kidnap her and find out why. Wait. Too soon for kidnapping jokes?
Me: Oh, THIS Saturday. I thought you meant some other Saturday. Who else is going?
Sloane: I second this question. I’m tired of showing up to places and running into Tall Dark and Pissy.
Stef: She means Sinful Suit Daddy.
Naomi: My parents, Liza J, and Knox will all be there. No other family members or friends are on the agenda.
Me: I guess I can make it. As long as you weren’t kidding about the Bloody Marys.
“These leaves,”my dad’s voice boomed through the speakers of my SUV. “Never seen so many colors before. You should fly up for the weekend and check ’em out.”
I made the turn into the gravel parking lot of the soccer fields and inched my way through throngs of players and families.
“Fall is in full swing here too,” I told him. “You’ll never guess what I’m doing right now.”
“Winning an award at work? No, wait. Taking ballroom dance lessons? Oh! I know, eating sushi while booking a plane ticket home to surprise me for my birthday?”
I winced. “Good guesses, but no. I’m going to a kid’s soccer game.”
“No kidding?”
“Bet you don’t miss those early Saturday mornings in the cold,” I said lightly. I watched a family of five, bundled up in layers of clothing, jog toward the fields.
Dad had always loved soccer. He’d lobbied a local sports bar in our neighborhood to air UK football matches long before David Beckham had set one golden boot in America. His love of the game was the reason I’d started playing as a kid. We’d drilled for hours in the backyard. He’d known every one of my teammates by name and was the team dad who made sure everyone got home safely from games and practices.
After the “incident,” we’d all been affected in different ways.
Mom fluttered around me convinced I was one heartbeat away from death.
My return to “normal” had taken long enough I no longer had a place to belong to. So I’d focused all my energy on catching up academically with the aim of starting over someplace new.
As for my dad, I’d never seen him watch another soccer game.
“Apparently social occasions here are often paired with children’s sporting events. My friend Knox asked me to be in his wedding, and I’m meeting with the bride to talk cake on the sidelines.”
“A wedding? How long are you planning to stay there?”
“I’m not sure. This project work has me on is really dragging out.”
“Well, if you can’t come to us, we can always come to you.”
“Everything is up in the air at the moment, but I might be heading home soon. I’ll let you know.”
“You doing okay? You sound a little down.”
“I’m fine,” I told him, unwilling to do a deep dive into why I’d spent the last several days swinging back and forth between mad and sad. “I’ve got to get going. It looks like the game’s about to start.”
