Page 134 of Kickoff

“He doesn’t exist. Dead. Buried with his heart.”

We took seats next to each other at the kitchen island. Mom put a cookie on a napkin on the counter and poured tea into a mug and pushed them in front of me. She was using my chocolate-chips-cookie weakness against me, and she was well aware. She’d been using the same cheer-me-up method on me since I was a little kid. It was like she had a sixth sense and always knew when I needed a home-baked treat to make the sting of something a little less bitter.

“Is it Melinda?” she asked after a full minute.

I broke a piece of cookie but didn’t bring it to my mouth. “How can you tell?”

“Only love—and football—can put you in a sour mood when things don’t go your way.”

“I talked to her today. It didn’t go well.”

She said nothing as if she knew I had more to confide in her. I told her all about our encounter. The way she rejected me, the sadness in her eyes, the connection we shared that she was fighting and trying so hard not to acknowledge. Mom didn’t say a word, listening to me as I poured my heart out.

“Do you recall what I told you on the day you returned to school after the break?”

“Which part?”

“The part about the chemistry you both share that won’t fade because of a bump in your road. And also, if you two are meant to be, maybe your time isn’t now, but you will find your way back to each other again one day.”

I propped my elbows up on the countertop and buried my face in my hands, doing my best to conceal my emotions from my mother. “The thing is…I told her I loved her. And…and she didn’t…she didn’t care.”

“Oh, Mason.” She moved to her feet, and so did I when she wrapped her arms around me. “It’s okay to be sad.” At that moment, I realized how small my mother felt in my arms. I had always pictured her as strong and tall, but right now, even though I towered over her by many inches, her petite frame was the glue keeping me in one piece instead of a million shards. “I saw her…Melinda, I mean. She came knocking earlier.”

I leaned back and wiped under my eyes with the back of my hand. “She did?”

“Your car wasn’t in the driveway, so I believe she thought it was safe to come over. Anyway, she gave me this to give it to you.” She pointed to a white rectangle and a small box on the breakfast nook table.

“I don’t want them. You can give them back to her.”

“No. It’s yours. You can keep them, look what’s inside, throw them away, but if I were you, I’d wanna see what Melinda has to say. Sometimes, expressing ourselves through written words is easier than saying them in front of people. She looked sad when she dropped by.” She went to grab the envelope and the box and handed them to me. “I’m no mind reader, but this may answer some of your questions.” She turned to leave. “I’ll leave you to it. If you need me, I’ll be in the living room.”

I swallowed the mountain of rocks stuck in my throat. “Thanks.”

Showered and changed into a pair of sweatpants and a white T-shirt, I stared at the envelope in the middle of my bed as if it were an explosive device about to blow up.

“What are you doing?” Craig asked as he entered my room a while later and stood next to me, his eyes landing on the white rectangle. “What’s that? You look like it’s about to bite you.”

I sighed and rolled my shoulders back. It did nothing to ease the tension inside me. “Mel. She dropped this earlier.”

“Have you opened it yet?”

“Nope. I’m still trying to decide whether I want to or not.”

“Maybe it’s important.”

“Maybe.”

He placed a hand between my shoulder blades. “Let me know if you want me to read it first in case it destroys that heart of yours.” He left, and after debating the pros and cons in my head for another minute, I finally concluded I would never be able to go to sleep without looking inside.

I sat on the edge of the bed, and with shaky fingers, I opened the tab and unfolded the piece of paper.

Dear Mason

This is not how I imagined our relationship going. All day, our conversation has replayed in my head, and the last thing I ever wanted was to hurt you.

Walking away from you that day when my parents staged the intervention is the hardest thing I’ve ever done, but I was so ashamed. I didn’t want you to see me differently, and I didn’t want to pull you down the rabbit hole with me.

I’m doing better, yes, but for the first time, I really wanna heal for me, not because everyone else is asking me to. It’s hard. I understand now why I relapsed, and it’s not easy to accept. Remember when you told me that dealing with the pressure others put on you is hard and you feel like you’re suffocating? Well, I put that same pressure on myself and paid the price with my mental health.