“Thanks,” she says, breathing heavy. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah,” I say, self-conscious about how cold I’ve been to her today.
“Why are you here? I mean, I thought you had to ‘catch your ride.’?”
“Plans changed,” I admit. “I know I’m not in any position to ask for favors. And I’m sorry that I’ve been unnecessarily rude to you since… you know. But… would you be willing to give me a ride home?”
She uses the hem of her jersey to wipe some sweat off her forehead. “Oh,” she says, pushing some loose tendrils back fromher face. “Well, I do have this team dinner to get to.” She gestures behind her to where I can see some of her teammates already headed to the student parking lot.
My heart sinks into my stomach. I can’t blame her for not wanting to help me out. Seeing as I’ve been doing my best to push her away, I’d be wary of me by now too.
I bend down to grab my bag, figuring I might as well accept that I’m about to walk five miles. “I understand,” I say, looking down to hide the heat rising to my face.
“Clarity, wait.” Hannah reaches for my bag. “If you come with me to the dinner, I can drive you home after.”
“Oh, but I’m not on the team.”
“That doesn’t matter. Plus, I kind of already told them you’re coming. And it sounds like you don’t have any other options,” she says, smiling coyly. “It’ll also give us a chance to talk.”
As much as I wanted to avoid it, I knew having a chat would most likely be the toll for a ride home. But after not recognizing my best friend this afternoon, the indisputable, comforting familiarity Hannah offers isn’t such a red flag anymore.
As Hannah watches the road, I wonder if us being together in her car reminds her of the nights when we were bold enough to drive away from camp to stargaze through her sunroof and talk for hours about nothing, nothing that made up everything.
“It’s actually at Rowena’s house,” Hannah says, her voice cutting through the familiar images in my mind. Rowena is Hannah’s best friend, her Kristen equivalent.
We turn onto a street that faces the sunset. As we descend the hill, some of Hannah’s teammates trail behind us in their cars, and I watch the houses that we pass. Some people sit in chairs on their porches: reading, resting their eyes, or just watching the view. I can see families sitting down for dinner through bay windows. One mom and dad are playing with their kids, passing a Frisbee around on the front lawn. I wonder what it would be like if both my parents were home more often, if family dinners were normal instead of a stroke of luck. If we could watch movies without being interrupted by a call from the hospital or a beep on the pager.
“Cool,” I say, but my thoughts have taken me back to Kristen’s house.
I’ve always appreciated the way Kristen’s parents welcomed me. Being their daughter’s best friend has always meant more than just playdates. When I was too young to stay at home alone, they’d let me come over for dinner after school, and our classmates thought we were super lucky to have so many sleepovers on school nights (which only happened when both of my parents were scheduled overnight). For the most part, I always belonged. Not like an actual member of the family, but like I had a place in Kristen’s home.
I used to feel like my parents chose their patients over me. Kristen was the friend I could go to when I felt alone, and now she’s chosen Vincent. Not fitting in with my best friend, on the farm that’s felt like my second home, stings.
I’m not ready to think about what my seeking Hannah outmeans, especially in terms of where we stand, but I’m thankful she’s around. Even though I want to hold on to my resolve, staying far away from a relationship and all the ways it could go wrong, I can’t ignore the fact that Hannah made room for me. Before I asked for a ride, before she came across the field and found out something was wrong, she’d already made a place for me…
“It’s cool how we used to talk about you meeting the team, and now it’s finally happening.” Her excitement makes me smile.
Then it hits me. I’m about to meet the entire field hockey team, which is like meeting her second family. And even though she’s not introducing me as her girlfriend, I still feel the pressure.
“What if they don’t like me?” I ask, the residual out of place-ness lingering from before.
“They’ll like you,” Hannah says, parking in front of Rowena’s house.
“How do you know?”
Through the windshield, some of her teammates hobble to the house, sore from the game and covered in dirt from the field.
“You’re my guest,” she says, turning off the car.
I take a deep breath. “You know, I, like, suck at talking to people,” I remind her, thinking back to how I never really meshed with the other counselors at Camp Refuge… and that was before I became thesinner.
Hannah smiles and I look away. Her smile reminds me of the sun, its warmth a magnetic pull that I don’t want to break away from.
“That’s why you have me,” she says. Before I can stall any longer,she throws open her door and adds, “Come on, I’m hungry.”
Rowena lives across from a farm that raises cattle. Outside the car, the smell of dirt and manure is overpowering. The house itself is white, with blue shutters framing the windows and a matching blue door with a silver knocker.
The front door opens, and a boxer bounds down the front walkway, knocking over the solar-powered pathway lights as she excitedly greets teammates. Rowena comes out, having already traded her uniform for an Ohio State T-shirt and a pair of Nike shorts.