Page 90 of Catch and Cradle

I pull Kala along behind me as I weave and dart my way through all the people in the room. Iz, Paulina, and Jane cheer when they spot me. It’s too loud for me to introduce Kala, so I just start dancing, and everyone follows my lead. We’ve only been going for about a minute when Little Mix’s ‘Wasabi’ comes on and the four of us scream while Kala laughs and looks slightly afraid at the same time.

“IT’S OUR JAM!” Paulina shrieks.

We break out our most exuberant dance moves, our turtle shells shaking and sliding around as we drop it low. It’s the first time I’ve felt like myself in weeks. It’s the first time things between the four of us have felt right.

Later tonight, I’ll give them an apology—a better one than I did after Thanksgiving. I don’t want them keeping things from me, but I also believe they were only trying to have a nice Friendsgiving dinner. None of us deserves to have almost two and half years of friendship jeopardized over that.

For now, we dance. We dance until my feet hurt and my cheeks are strained from smiling, and I can’t do anything but believe this will all turn out all right.

21

Becca

“Okay, does everyone know where they’re going?”

I scan the faces of the team where they’re standing in a semi-circle in front of me. Coach is right there with them. We’re all dressed for practice and holding sticks, but we won’t actually be playing today.

The only person missing from the field is Hope.

“Aye aye, Captain!” Jane shouts, raising her stick in the air. Everyone follows suit, and I find myself beaming at them even as my stomach continues to churn like it’s been doing all day.

I spent Halloween night alone in my room drafting up plans for this moment. It took a week to pull it all together—and to work up the nerve—but now everything is ready. There’s no stopping this. Hope will already be getting close to the locker room, where she’ll find a set of instructions.

The team heads out to their designated spots all spaced a couple metres apart along the path between the field and the athletics centre. A few of them are stationed inside too, forming a chain of lacrosse players that leads all the way to the locker room. Even Coach has taken a spot in line.

Each of them has part of a letter I wrote to Hope stored in their pockets. The first section is waiting for her along with a lacrosse ball on one of the locker room benches, and the final section is clutched in my shaking hands.

I’ve been writing a lot of letters lately. I wrote one to the whole team, minus Hope, and sent it out as an email to announce I’d be stepping down as captain and leaving lacrosse at the end of the season. I explained my reasoning, and for the first time, I really let myself open up and explain to everyone just how much it’s meant to have my UNS family. I wanted to respect Hope’s privacy, so I didn’t go into detail about the two of us, but I did apologize for letting my personal life affect everyone’s playing. I said sorry for choosing fear over trust in the people who’ve always had my back.

Then I let them know I had a nomination for our new captain and needed help making the announcement. Part of me expected everyone to say no. Part of me expected a few ‘good riddance’ emails in reply. I would have deserved it, but like always, the Lobsters came through. I’ve even gotten a bunch of thank-you’s for all I’ve done as captain, and a few people went out of their way to assure me we all bring our personal issues onto the field sometimes.

Even more of them echoed what Coach told me when I made the announcement to him: I’ll always be a Lobster.

“I think she’s coming!” one of the girls down the line shouts.

My first reaction is to gulp like a cartoon character as a fresh wave of nerves shoots through my body. I smooth the front of my already smooth red lacrosse sweater and strain my eyes to catch the first glimpse of Hope coming around the corner of the distant building.

A few seconds pass. Then a full minute goes by.

“Hmm. False alarm!” my teammate shouts back to me.

It doesn’t bring me any relief. I start shifting from foot to foot, clutching the letter in my hands and coming dangerously close to shredding it in a nervous fit.

Having the team back me on this meant the world, but the only reaction I’ve really been waiting for is Hope’s. I’ve lain awake in bed the past few nights, staring straight up at the ceiling and imagining all the ways this moment could go.

She might turn around and go home as soon as she sees the first letter, vowing never to speak to me again for the rest of her life. That would probably be the worst case scenario, and the longer I stand here fidgeting and waiting for her to arrive, the harder it gets to convince myself that’s not exactly what’s happening.

My stick is lying on the ground at my feet, and I narrowly avoid tripping over it as I shuffle around. I order myself to stay still; falling on my face and greeting Hope with a bloody nose would also be pretty high up there in the worst case scenario list.

Staying still doesn’t go very well, so I distract myself by unfolding the papers in my hand and reading over the words I’ve already memorized. I have the full document here, including the part I left for Hope in the locker room:

Dear Hope,

I’ve been staring at my computer screen for over half an hour, watching the cursor blink and wondering how to start this. It feels like there’s a long chain of words coiled up inside me, and I’m searching and searching for the loose end that will let me begin unwinding it all.

That’s what these weeks with you have been like: an unwinding. Spending time with you made me aware of all the knots that were keeping me from being the best person I can be. You made me want to undo them for the very first time. It’s been messy. I mean, fuck, has it ever been messy, but it’s also been exactly what I needed.

I know I haven’t always been exactly what you needed. I’ve been afraid. I’ve been silent when I should have been loud. I thought I was playing it safe, but really, all I did was hurt people. I hurt you.