Page 86 of Catch and Cradle

I can hear the note of wariness in his voice even though he tries to disguise it. “Oh?”

I take a deep breath as I work up the nerve to speak. Lacrosse wasn’t just my thing growing up; it was our thing. Even when he came home exhausted from his two week stints on the oil fields, he was never too tired to run through some drills with me after school. He had to miss most of my games growing up, but he always called and had me walk him through the entire match while he did terrible impersonations of a sports commentator.

I’m sure he probably had dreams of teaching his kid to play hockey just like him, but he never once tried to change my mind after I got hooked on lacrosse. We turned it into something that bonded us together, something steady we could count on even when our family seemed to be falling apart.

Now I’m taking that away from him. I’m taking that away from me.

“Becky Boo?” he says when all my efforts to keep my emotions in check result in a loud and embarrassing sniffle. “You know you can tell me anything, right? I know I’m far away. I know I’ve been far away for a lot of things in your life, but I’m always your old man. You don’t have to be afraid.”

“I’m so afraid,” I murmur. “Dad, I’m really scared.”

Underneath all the dramatic revelations and drastic changes I’ve been making lately, that’s what I am: terrified. I don’t know what comes next, and it makes me feel like a little girl huddled under my grandma’s quilt in my room back in Alberta, waiting to find out who was coming back and who wasn’t. I could never keep track of which of my parents was supposed to be home. My bed was a tiny boat in a bottomless ocean, and I had no way to steer.

“You’re safe, Becca.” My dad somehow sounds fierce and gentle at the same time. “Whatever it is, you’re safe. I’ll make sure of it.”

I don’t know if he can. I don’t know if anyone can; what I’m really scared of is life, and there’s never a guarantee that will be safe. Maybe that’s all we have, though: our promises to defend one another, to count on each other, to always remember we don’t have to do it alone, even if we’ve been hurt or let down before.

“Dad, I’m not going to be on the lacrosse team next year.”

He starts to say something, but I talk over him. I have to get this all out in one go.

“I’m changing some stuff around with my major, and I’m not going to have time, but that’s not the only reason. It just hit me that I don’t even know what I want to do when I graduate, and I’m already in my fourth year. Lacrosse has been everything to me. Everything. I shaped my whole life around it. Sometimes I think I don’t even know who I am without it, but I want to find out. I have to. I have a whole life to live, and I...I...I’m sorry, Dad. I know it makes you proud of me, but I can’t do it next year.”

The line stays silent for a few seconds, and my whole body tenses up, bracing for his confusion or disappointment or even anger.

“Becca, I will always be proud of you.” His voice is shaking with sincerity, and it makes a lump form in my throat. “I’m proud of how you play lacrosse, sure, but what I’m really proud of is your dedication, your passion, your courage, your leadership. You go after what you want, and you always get it. You have those things whether you’re on the field or not. You always will. I know you feel like you don’t know yourself, kiddo, but I do, and you’re amazing.”

I reach up to rub my eyes and realize my cheeks are already streaked with tears.

“Thank you, Dad,” I say, my voice thick. “Thank you.”

“You’ll always be my girl, Becca. We’ll always be a family, you and me. You don’t have to be on a lacrosse team to be sure of that.”

I nod and then mumble into the phone when I remember he can’t see me. For a few seconds, I’m beyond words. I don’t know how he knew, but he said exactly what I needed to hear.

He’s my dad, and nothing is changing that.

“There’s something else,” I say once I’ve pulled myself back together. “But don’t worry. I have it figured out. I’m just bringing it up so you know I have a plan. I won’t be eligible for my scholarship next year since I’m leaving the team, but I’m going to start working next semester and—”

“We’ll figure it out,” he interrupts. “I’ll talk to your aunt, and we’ll all make a plan together. You won’t be in this alone.”

I might need him to say it a few more times, but I’m starting to believe it. I’m not losing everything and everyone by leaving the team. Even Coach Jamal wanted me to know that.

I’m going to be okay.

“Thank you, Dad,” I say again.

We stay on the phone for almost half an hour after that. My fingers and toes start to go numb from lying on the cold ground for so long, but I don’t care. We talk about life in Alberta, what my aunt is up to, and how my classes are going. By the time we hang up, I’m back to laughing and smiling at the sky.

I lay there for another few minutes after I tuck my phone back in my bag. The muffled shouts and crashes from the football field are still going strong, but they don’t disturb the moment of peace that’s settled over me.

The only thing that keeps me from slipping fully into that peace is how much I miss her. Even with the reassurance that I have people on my side no matter what, I still feel her absence as a constant ache. I started carving out a place for her in my life before I realized what I was doing. Now that space is collapsing in on itself, and it hurts.

I want her back. I want to at least try getting her back, and maybe it’s time to start figuring out how.

20

Hope