CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE | OFF TO THE RACES
expression normally employed when a jammer or jammers breaks out of the pack and takes off at full speed.
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Doctor Nguyen, bless her soul, had an unnerving tendency to drop bombs on me at the most unexpected times.
"I'm sure everyone here has been informed that Jordan and I have been discussing the possibility of him going home for Christmas," she declared, after we all sat down in our usual circle formation, as calmly as one would announce they'd just gone out for groceries. By the lack of a look of surprise on everyone's faces but my own, including Jordan's refusal to look my way, it was safe to assume that had been discussed between all of them without bothering to include me in the conversation, but, if Doctor Nguyen had noticed it, she made no mention of it. "Naturally, this won't be a permanent thing, but Jordan's evolution and positive response to treatment seems to be favorable for a short stay at home with his family so we can see how we'd behave there. There's a lot to unpack here, so I'd like to go over it with all of you."
I sank into my chair, arms firmly crossed against my chest, and hoped for my turn to speak. It was frustrating to be constantly kept in the dark when it came to Jordan, especially when I had been the one to take care of him on his worst moments, the one who had witnessed his happiest highs, and there I was, shoved aside like I didn't matter.
I couldn't even speak up, afraid I'd cause a scene during a therapy session that wasn't even about me and risk making things worse for Jordan, and also because I didn't see how me speaking about my feelings would help. Even when I glanced at him, silently begging to acknowledge me for once, the only person in this world who would always see me, he kept his eyes glued to his hands, folded over his lap.
It was pathetic, I thought, how I constantly sought after approval and validation from people who weren't willing to give me any. Jordan did try, as much as he was able to, at least, but it was exhausting to be second best in the eyes of my parents, the people who were supposed to treat and see us as equals. Now, they were doing the same thing to me they had once done to him, deciding for me what I could and what I couldn't handle.
My parents, in general, were excited about Jordan spending the Christmas at home, albeit a tad bit apprehensive. They had adopted a more realistic approach to Jordan's condition and, if I hadn't been there from the start, I would have sworn someone had replaced my parents with doppelgängers. They were far more understanding now, acknowledging multiple factors had led us here, but still refused to accept they, too, had been somewhat responsible for the way things had unfolded.
And then there was me, fully willing to admit my mistakes, but not being part of any conversations when I knew my input would be valuable. I wasn't keen on imposing my presence, terrified of overstepping—me overstepping was a big part of why things with Jordan had gone as far as they had—and it sounded so bratty of me when I said it out loud, but I was frustrated, to say the least.
"Wren?" Doctor Nguyen called. I sat up straight with a start, uncrossing my arms. They were all looking at me for once, even Jordan. "What about you? How are you processing this news?"
"Oh, I . . ." I swallowed, wiping my sweaty palms on my jean-clad thighs. "Well, I didn't know. This is the first time I'm hearing about it, so you kind of caught me by surprise. I've been busy with school, so maybe I did hear about it and just forgot." My father shot me a warning look from the corner of his eye, a silent plea to try and not screw things up. "I . . . I think it's important to ask Jordan if he feels ready to take such a big step. He's been staying here for four, nearly five months now, and it's going to be a drastic change in environment, even if it's just for a couple of days. I am excited about having him there with us, though. I miss him." Jordan's lips twisted into a tiny smile. "Part of me worries a little bit about what's coming afterward. Once he comes up, who's supposed to adapt to this new reality? Jordan? The three of us? Everyone? Do we completely change the way we live, or do we go back to our normal lives, the ones that brought us here in the first place? How much compromise is too much compromise?" I focused only on Doctor Nguyen, the one person in the room whose face remained neutral. "I don't know if this makes sense, but I, personally, have chosen not to drink alcohol. My parents do. Should they stop having a glass of wine at dinner to prevent a relapse?"
A pregnant pause fell in the room, and I shrank once more, terrified beyond belief I'd ruined Jordan's chances at going home. I couldn't even glance at my parents as we waited in silence for Doctor Nguyen's input—all of us had learned to keep our mouths shut unless she asked us something directly—but each ticking of the clock behind me seemed to pass by so slowly.
"Those are all very valid concerns," she eventually replied. "However, I personally think you're thinking about things too far in advance. It's important to take things slow and focus on where you currently are and what you can do right now instead of worrying about what still is to come. To answer your question, everyone needs to adapt, but, like you said, Jordan's state at the time will have to be taken into consideration. Some recovering alcoholics report feeling triggered to relapse whenever their family or friends drink around them or have drinks in the house, while others don't. It depends on each individual and it's something we'll all work on together when the time comes. Being supportive is vital, but so is communication.
"I'm sure everyone here understands the role communication has had on your family's mental health and your relationship with each other. It's something you'll have to work on moving forward, and there might even be some resistance to changes, but that happens. It's part of the process. Everyone has their comfort zone and families, as a system, want to stay balanced, in stasis. More often than not, that revolves around getting comfortable with using the sick individual as a focus point and a scapegoat because it helps them not confront the underlying issues that led them there in the first place. This illness is a symptom of a bigger issue, not the main problem, but it is something that needs to be treated. That's why Jordan is here, after all, but so are all of you. It's my job to help you overcome constraining, debilitating patterns so you can all move on and properly enjoy your lives and not pass these communication and relationship patterns onto future generations."
And then, once again, I was thinking about Corinne.
It wasn't right nor the right moment for me to be doing so, but it felt like Doctor Nguyen was parroting my own words back to me, albeit a lot more eloquently and with technical terms. Coach Fontaine didn't look like the type of person who would happily adhere to therapy, especially one that put her precious family patterns on blast, but neither had been my parents.
Corinne, in spite of her pessimistic outlook, would be receptive eventually. She had warmed up to me even when I thought she wouldn't, and she had given me a chance instead of believing I'd only made it into the time to spite her. There were so many different types of therapy; surely there'd be one that could help her.
The conversation quickly returned to revolving around Jordan and Christmas, something everyone was excited about, and it seemed to go without a hitch. No one put their foot in their mouth, especially me, the new problem child, and even Doctor Nguyen appeared to be optimistic about the holidays—as long as there was no alcohol consumption around Jordan.
There were alcoholic beverages in the house. That much I knew, as my parents and Corinne drank plenty of wine on Thanksgiving, and I doubted they had gotten rid of everything even while knowing him going home for the holidays was a plausible possibility. I hadn't spent enough time there to know if there was anywhere they could stash all the drinks without Jordan somehow getting access to it, but I wasn't sure I wanted to know. That way, it would be a lot easier to keep my anxiety at bay, one less thing for me to stress over.
It was settled, then. Jordan would come home for the holidays, and it was my personal mission to ensure everything worked out perfectly.
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"Sacramento, we have a problem," Corinne told me, the second she walked through my front door on Christmas Eve. She'd barged into the house like she lived there and, though that didn't bother me, I was still concerned by how she'd done it and how she'd done it by herself. If the problem was Coach Fontaine not wanting to come, that could be solved and Corinne would have a much happier Christmas, no doubt. "So, remember that text you sent me about Jordan coming home for Christmas?"
"Yeah?"
"So, I told my mom just what she absolutely needed to know—no alcohol, no ice hockey discussions, no attempts at trying to pit you and Jordan against each other. I told her, like, so many times. Then, she got into this huge argument with my grandmother over the phone and decided to break open the wine cellar, so I'm guessing you know where I'm going with this." Sweat ran down the nape of my neck. Out of all the days this could be happening, it had to be on Christmas Eve, the decisive day. If Jordan didn't make it through today, his treatment would only get harder. "I tried to get her to stop, and she's not completely wasted by any means, but at least I managed to convince her to get an Uber instead of driving all the way here, which is something. I don't think you can smell it on her breath if you're not standing, like"—she stepped so close to me our noses nearly bumped—"right in her face and she might be okay once she has something to eat, so it could be worse. I know this is the absolute worst and it was my responsibility to keep her in check, so I should have tried harder. I'm sorry. I tried calling you, but I couldn't reach you."
I crossed my arms to try and mask my shaking hands. If anything bad happened to Jordan, especially on my watch, no one in the family would ever forgive me—not even me. "I was in the shower."
"I'm sorry. I know today is an important day for you and your family and I didn't want to ruin it, so I considered not coming at all—"
"Nonsense. It's not your fault."
She sighed. "It's never my fault, is it?"
"If it were, I'd be the first to call you out."
She relaxed ever so slightly and I finally allowed myself to take a proper look at her. For someone who had just driven her motorcycle all the way here, she looked impeccable, and she even wore a red dress over her tights, a color I'd never been able to pull off quite like she did. There wasn't much she couldn't pull off, for that matter, and it was the most dolled up I'd seen her look in weeks. Her hair was down, straight, with a few strands pulled up into a small, thin braid on the crown of her head. She looked angelic, heavenly, even.
"You're staring," she said. "You know that makes me nervous."
"People staring at you?"
"No. You do."
I dropped my arms, sincerely hoping I hadn't turned as red as her dress. "Well. That's a new one."
I was too embarrassed to say anything other than that and I didn't want to put her in an awkward position by projecting my expectations and interpretations of our relationship onto the real thing. Fortunately, I was saved by the door once again, but my brief moment of relief didn't last for too long.
My father entered the house first, not even noticing me and Corinne, dragging Jordan's heavy bags behind him. My mother and Jordan himself followed suit, with him looking around the entrance in awe, like he'd forgotten what a furnished home looked like, and then his eyes landed on me. He was about to greet me, I'm sure, but saw Corinne standing in front of me, so beautiful it could easily bring people to tears, and stopped.
"Oh, great, Corinne's here," my mother said, with genuine enthusiasm. "Corinne, you've heard about Jordan. Jordan, that's Corinne, Wren's girlfriend."
I gasped. "She's not—"
"It's nice to meet you," Corinne chirped. "I mean, it's nice to finally meet you. I've heard a lot about you."
"Must be thanks to my charming personality," Jordan retorted, with a grin. "I'm an absolute delight."
"I'm sure."
"Why don't you give Jordan a tour of the house?" my father suggested, already standing at the bottom of the stairs, probably not looking forward to dragging his bags to the top floor. I wasn't sure why Jordan had brought all his stuff back with him, as he'd only be staying at home during the holidays—and definitely not New Years, with all the alcohol involved. "You can catch up."
"Corinne can help me with the table while you do that," my mother added. "How long until your mother gets here, dear?"
Corinne would rather be caught dead than be called dear, something that always sounded so patronizing, but she barely even grimaced. "She should be here soon."
I left them to it, not wanting to be in the room when my mother inevitably put her foot in her mouth, something I'd ever so kindly inherited from her, and dragged Jordan behind me.
Nothing downstairs warranted much of an introduction, but I was hesitant to show him his room. I couldn't remember whether my parents had bothered to unpack the rest of his belongings or if they'd even had time to do so, as I steered away from his bedroom whenever I was in the house, but I certainly hoped he wouldn't come home to dusty cardboard boxes.
When I pushed open the door, I was pleasantly surprised.
Everything was neatly in its place, bed made, wall decorations hung, and Jordan appeared to be nonchalant about the whole thing, albeit a bit distant. He knew he wouldn't stay there for long, so it was just an extra commodity he wouldn't be able to properly enjoy, but it was still the bare minimum. It didn't look much different from his bedroom back in California, but I could only assume it was the complete opposite to his room at the clinic, where everything needed to be white and bare.
"Is that really your girlfriend?" Jordan asked me, once we were alone in the room.
"No. We're friends. Ever since I told them I'm gay, they think every girl I mention is my girlfriend. Up until then, they thought Theo and I were just really good friends."
Jordan chuckled, with his back turned to me as he examined his old trophies and medals. Had the decoration been up to me, I would have waited for him to come home and decide for himself whether he wanted that memorabilia on display or not. "I figured as much."
I tugged at a loose strand hanging from a curtain. "She was here for Thanksgiving, too, but they weren't nearly as warm as they were just now. I think they tried to whittle her down at dinner, but she wasn't having it." I tried my hardest to prevent a proud smile from stretching my lips. "They like her mostly because she got me back into skating. They're still a bit upset that I stopped."
He sighed, looking back at me over his shoulder, and I stood still, examining his reaction. Wasn't that what I'd been so scared of this whole time—his resentment for skating when he was no longer allowed to?
"You got back into ice skating?"
"Roller derby, actually. Corinne's the captain. Was. Don't ask her about it."
"Noted." He paused, then fully turned to look at me. It was undeniable how much better he looked as opposed to his appearance when we left California, now that there was some color on his cheeks and he no longer looked gaunt, but there was still a long road ahead before he looked like the Jordan I'd once known. "I'm happy you're skating again, though, even if it's not the same. I know how much you love it. I know how much you missed it."
"Yeah. I just wished you'd be able to come see me play."
"Hopefully. If the holidays go well . . ."
I nodded, then risked stepping closer to him, reaching out a hand to squeeze his shoulder. The last time we'd been alone like this, I'd nearly died. "Just focus on getting better. Everything else can wait."
He sadly nodded. "You need to go for it, too, before it's too late." I arched an eyebrow. "With Corinne. It was pretty obvious just by looking at you two."
"It's complicated."
"Still. Things that are worth it are never simple, are they?"
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Throughout the evening, I watched Corinne and Jordan talk to each other like they were lifelong friends, finally reunited after years of separation, and I couldn't help but feel the tiniest pang of jealousy, residing at the pit of my stomach. I wasn't entitled to either of them and the rational part of me knew that, but Jordan was my brother and Corinne was my guest, while I'd been pushed aside.
I might as well have introduced Jordan and Corinne to their new best friend. I was certain even they were shocked to discover they had so much in common besides the unrealistic expectations put on them by their respective families, and, if that helped them both, then great. I wouldn't get involved.
Coach was there, arriving shortly before we sat down at the dining table, and she looked stable enough, like the worst effects of being drunk had subsided. Jordan hadn't noticed a thing, mostly thanks to Corinne as opposed to my family's efforts to keep things cool, but I wasn't willing to ignore her lapse in judgment. She'd spent the entire meal making indirect jabs at Corinne, implying she'd gotten kicked out of the team for a reason that seemed so much bigger and worse than it actually was.
Even though I was absolutely terrified of her, I also held on to grudges like no one else, and she had made one huge mistake after the other. Her treatment of Corinne was none of my business, like everyone—Corinne included—insisted on reminding me of, but she was in my house; regardless of her being my coach, there were lines she wasn't allowed to cross, not here.
"Coach?" I called. "Can I talk to you for a minute?"
"It's Sylvie," she corrected. With her hair up in a bun, the differences between her and Corinne became more apparent. Her eyes were bright and blue, and her face was more angular, while Corinne's angles were softer, rounder, giving her a much more approachable look. "We're not on the track."
"Sylvie. Can we please talk?" She nodded, standing by one of the large windows in the living room and nursing a tall glass of water. I chose not to think about why she was doing that. "I need to talk to you about Corinne, but there's also other stuff that has been bothering me and I can't turn a blind eye anymore. If this ends up being what gets me kicked out of the team, then fine."
She shot me an impressive glare. "Go on."
I took a deep breath, hoping she wouldn't see through my bravado. "Kicking Corinne out of the team for something so small was a mistake and you know it. If you really wanted to protect the integrity of the team, there were other things you could have done; you could have suspended her or given her a stern warning. She had no history of bad behavior. You wouldn't have kicked anyone else if they had been the ones slapping someone. Why is it different with her?"
She scoffed. "She should know better. That's all. The stakes are much higher for her than for anyone else, and she's well aware of that."
"Because of some stupid, arbitrary family legacy that's ruining her life?" Her eyes blazed with cold fury. Roller derby was important to her, but so was family and what her last name represented; having me call it arbitrary wasn't doing much for me. "On the track, she's just like everyone else. We're all equal. You said it so yourself. You know, you went off on her for betraying the team and its ideals, when you're the one being a hypocrite by holding her to a higher standard than the rest of us. She's your daughter and all she's ever done has been to make you proud. That should count for something."
She set her now empty glass of water aside. "You shouldn't get involved in matters that don't concern you. I'm sure Corinne didn't put you up for this—"
It was my turn to scoff, unable to stop my motor mouth from going rampant. "If you want me to talk about what does, in fact, concern me, we can talk about you ignoring one of the few things I asked of you when you decided to get drunk before coming here. You showing up drunk to Christmas dinner with my brother, who just so happens to be a recovering alcoholic, is unacceptable."
"I don't expect you to understand—"
"I think I understood it just fine." I took her empty glass then slid a coaster under it. "Don't ruin my mother's furniture. Merry Christmas, Coach."