Taming the Street Racer ✔️

45 | fall apart

The kids see right through my cheery voice and bright smile. In a group as small as theirs, Gracie's absence forms a painful hole during practice. I feel like I'm just going through the motions. Their scrimmage teams are uneven now, and Liam doesn't play nearly as well as before. I feel like my sadness is rippling outward into every area of my life, and I feel helpless to stop it.

One day, after practice, I explain to the parents that Gracie was injured and will not be at practice for a while. I don't go into detail for the sake of Gray's and Gracie's privacy, but the parents meet me with sympathetic glances, as if I'm the one in the hospital.

The next practice, all the kids come up to me after practice. Liam stands at the forefront, holding a large pink envelope covered in all kinds of stickers. "It's for Gracie," he explains, wringing his small hands. "We all signed it. I put three dollars in there. It's all I had."

I thank and hug them, and they leave. In my car, I break down in sobs, careful not to get tears on Gracie's card. I wonder if this is what I looked like when Gray first noticed me, puffy-eyed and miserable. Falling apart alone in my car.

The girl from that day feels so distant--gone. The girl that put her sadness aside and tried to get better, tried to be happy despite her circumstances. That girl would laugh at me now as I wallow in my own pitiful state.

That girl was so much stronger than I am. What happened to that strength?

It has to be somewhere in me, even if it's buried miles beneath the surface. Right?

More days pass, and the thoughts don't slow. I'm woken from my sleep by my door creaking open slowly. My hands tug my comforter over my head, and I'm prepared to sit through a few minutes of Peyton or Violet trying to lift my spirits. But then a cool hand presses to my forehead, drawing me from my thoughts.

I push the covers from my face and stare into my own eyes. Mom.

She smooths the hair from my forehead, sliding her soft skin over my sweaty face. In her lap, she holds a small bowl of what looks like greek yogurt. I stare at her warily, ready for her to make comment about my ragged state. But she's silent, staring at me with an indistinct emotion in her hazel eyes.

I want to be wary of her, of everything that she's said to me. But I can't remember the last time she's touched me like this--like a mother. I scan her face for her usual cattiness but find none.

"How are you doing, honey?" She asks softly, stopping her caresses. She's not wearing any makeup or jewelry and I'm struck by how much she looks like me. Or, I guess, how much I look like her. Her mouth, the same mouth I have, is pressed together, and she almost looks concerned.

I sniff. "Fine."

"Oh, honey, you can tell me what happened," she soothes, running her fingers through my hair, which is only two or three shades darker than hers. When I don't answer, she continues. "Your father and I hear you crying at night. We can't stand to see you so sad."

"That's a surprise," I bite, snapping back to reality. I'm not a helpless puppy that will lap up any attention she gives me. I move away from her.

Her full lips tilt downward, as if my jab actually hurt her. "Believe it or not, River, we care about you. We only want what's best for you."

"Could have fooled me. It must be so hard to care after your stupid, worthless whore of a daughter. Tell me, why did you guys even want a kid if you were just going to treat her like a dog?"

She puts the yogurt on my nightstand and sits closer to me on the bed. I sit up a bit, eager to hear her try to justify my childhood. "You don't know how badly we wanted you, River. We tried for years just to conceive you. You were our little miracle."