“It’s really exciting,” I admit breathlessly. “I can study and work concurrently. I’ve struggled to find my purpose after the divorce. It’s nice to finally have some direction. I never considered coaching, but the bug’s been in my brain since my cricket coach reached out to me. She’s even asked me foranothermeeting with an old teammate to discuss some of the tapes I reviewed for her. For the first time since my accident, I’m not dreading facing someone from my past.”
A few months ago, no one would’ve been able to convince me to sit down and talk about cricket with women I was once close to. Seeing them live the life I badly wanted would’ve drowned me in anguish and envy. I would’ve avoided them, then hated myself for not being strong enough to face their happiness without thinking of my loss.
I’m so glad I’m seeing the end of that dark tunnel and I know Cal’s been—in no small part—the beacon that drew me into the light again.
“Al, that’s so great. I’m so happy for you.”
“Yeah?” I glance past his shoulder at my aunt, who is clutching Maeve’s hand and gliding like she was born on skates. She crosses center ice and my eyes fall to Rohan, busy slapping pucks with Rory as Theo plays goalie. “I hope they feel the same.”
Cal’s gaze follows my line of vision before he turns back to tilt his chin, his question clear.
“Irsia knows I miss cricket. That I’m thinking about coaching kids. She’s been quite supportive, but I wonder how the rest of the family will react. It’s not exactly the career I envisioned I’d have.”
It’s a far cry from what I had wanted to do with the sport, but the more I think about it, the more it feels like the right step forward for me. I can’t sit at home for the rest of my life. My time at the shelter was a temporary distraction. I loved spending my days caring for the animals. The manual labor kept my mind occupied when I desperately needed to stop my anxiety about my future from gaining a chokehold. I could put my marketing degree to use, but I truly don’t see myself at a desk job.
But now, the possibility of coaching children, perhaps even teens showing potential, has me looking forward to a new phase. Excitement thrums through my blood at the idea of playing cricket and honing my experience to turn them into teachable skills to develop new talent.
My knowledge can live on through others. I no longer feel as hopeless as I once did.
“Do you have plants?”
Cal’s question, seemingly unrelated to the topic we’ve been discussing, has me peering at him in confusion.
“No,youhave plants.”
I push off on my left foot and skate forward a little, slowing down immediately. Cal catches up to me in no time, his hand curling about my upper arm as I stumble. I try to lift my right leg to continue gliding but, without sufficient speed to help maintain my momentum, I’m no better than a stiletto-wearing toddler trying to walk up a metal slide. A frustrated grunt escapes me when I almost slip once more.
“So far, I see no reason to pick hockey over cricket,” I complain, making Cal chuckle out loud.
“I thought we respected all sports in this house, Coach,” he teases, nudging me playfully. This of course has the unintended effect of making me lose my balance completely. I go slipping and sliding against the boards, starfishing against the glass in a desperate bid for safety. Cal’s laughter rings behind me as he wheezes at my defensive stance. I would glare at him for mocking my lack of athleticism on ice but I’m too afraid to move.
“Holy fuck, you’re cute, Tots,” he guffaws, still chuckling like he’s downloaded this moment into his memory to replay and laugh at for years to come. He skates in an arc and sprays to a stop beside me.
“C’mon, let me help you.”
I stare at his proffered hand, then him, then to the side to check for Rohan and Chitthi. There is nothing suggestive or telling about holding Cal’s hand to learn to skate but my guilt makes me overly cautious.
“Unless I press you against the glass and kiss that lip you’re so fond of biting, you have nothing to worry about. Everyone’s busy.”
My gaze swings to him at his dry tone. It shouldn’t surprise me that he reads me so easily. It’s always been like this. Without even trying, Cal seems to know what I’m thinking. I’d chalk it up to his observational skills, but we’ve had this connection since we met. Months into our friendship, that connection has grown stronger every day.
I slide my palm into his with a sheepish smile and he immediately grabs tightly, gently guiding me to skate forward.
“You didn’t answer the question, Alia. Do you have plants?” he asks, after a couple seconds.
“Are you asking me for weed?” I whisper, my eyes trained on our feet.
I feel his laugh in the slight tremor that passes down his arms to where we hold hands. “Just regular plants, you little weirdo. A houseplant.”
“I guess, yes?” I reply, pushing off my feet and lifting the opposite one as per Cal’s instructions.
“Do you water them?”
“Occasionally, yes.”
“And do you agree that if you give them too much water, you’ll end up killing them?”
“Everyone knows that.” We’re somewhat cruising now and I’m comfortable enough to raise my head. “Why the sudden interest in teaching me about plant-care? Have I not been following your instructions well enough?”