Page 63 of The Sacrifice
“No babies to report, but uh...” They run a hand over their freshly shaved head. “I’m going on a second date with that girl I met at Mario’s. The volleyball player. I know you guys are going to make fun of me, but I like her. A lot.”
To no one’s surprise, our pizza dinner to celebrate the end of training camp resulted in Iz taking yet another UNS athlete out on a romantic date.
“We can stop teasing you if it really bothers you,” Paulina tells them. “We really do support whoever you want to date. You’re just following your heart, you know? There’s nothing wrong with that.”
My own heart twinges at her words. That’s exactly what I’m craving to hear from someone—anyone—but even if I did come clean and somehow gained their approval, there isn’t all that much to approve.
Becca doesn’t want more. Becca can’t want more, and I need to stop daydreaming about alternate realities where we’re some kind of happy couple the whole team is thrilled for.
“Aww, thanks Auntie Lina.” Iz shifts in their chair and opens and closes their mouth a few times like they’re working out what they want to say next. “Speaking of acceptance, I’m kind of, um, worried about the season. This is the first time I’ll be spending a whole season out as non-binary, and it just really sucks to think of all the misgendering that’s going to happen. Having our team renamed to Women’s Plus around campus was amazing, but the league itself hasn’t done anything like that, and maybe I’m just being difficult—”
“Iz,” I cut them off, “you are not being difficult. You have every right to play a sport in a way that acknowledges who you are. Sports really need to catch up in the gender department. We’re really lucky to have you, and I know the whole team feels the same.”
Jane starts clapping. “Hear ye, hear ye!”
“Fuck yeah!” Paulina shouts. “Claws out to tear up the gender binary!”
The three of us start doing a modified version of the lobster claw dance in our seats and don’t stop until Iz has gone from worried to laughing and dancing along.
“Okay, Jane.” I make a claw-snapping motion at her as the dance comes to an end. “What about you?”
“Well...” She nibbles a strawberry on the end of her fork and makes a show of coyly twirling the fingers of her other hand in her hair. “My life hasn’t been much more exciting than endless study sessions and dragging my ass to practice, exceeeept for last night at the boyfriend’s when we may or may not have used a cock ring for the first time.”
Everyone’s jaws drop. Jane usually describes herself as vanilla, but every once in a while she’ll come out with some crazy declaration and then refuse to give us any actual details about it.
“I won’t confirm or deny details, but I’ll say one thing.” She drops her voice to a whisper. “Game. Changer.”
“Oh my god, Jane! You can’t just leave us hanging,” Iz whines. “This is like that story about the butt plug.”
“You mean the story about that time the smoke detector went off and we all had to run out of the house in the middle of the night because Jane and her boyfriend set her curtains on fire, and Jane wouldn’t give us any details besides blaming it on a butt plug?” I deadpan.
“I blamed it on a butt plug and my Cherry Nights scented candle.”
Jane glares while the three of us scream with laughter. I forgot about the candle part.
“I c-can’t believe you have a-a-a candle called c-cherry nights,” Iz stammers. They’re laughing so hard they’re wiping tears off their face.
“It sounds like a-a-like a...” I clutch my stomach and fight to get the words out. “Like a weird v-virginity candle or something.”
“For your virgin butt!” Paulina shouts.
We all totally lose it—except for Jane, who sits there shovelling salad into her mouth and pretending to ignore us.
“Do you have a special candle for using the cock ring?” I ask when I can talk again.
Iz splutters and almost spits out the sip of the water they just took.
“I am not talking about my candles with any of you,” Jane answers. “I will not take any more of this friggin’ mockery.”
Friggin’ is one of my favourite Nova Scotia-isms of hers.
“Okay, okay, we’ll stop mocking,” I assure her.
She shakes her head. “Too late. I’m done. Let’s move on to what’s up with you, Hope.”
What’s up with me?
Just the question is enough to sober me up from the memory of Jane’s candle story. I’m not even sure what is up with me. After talking with Becca on Citadel Hill and hearing her go so far as to say I’d make a great captain, I started thinking about how I really want my life to look this year—not just with her, but with everything.
