Hard Feelings by K.M. Galvin
Four
The rest of the day is mind-numbingly boring. From the two-hour-long wait at urgent care just to get in to see a doctor to another hour of waiting for the X-ray results. Bruised ribs for the win.
Dad is furious, pacing back and forth, on the phone with my coach, demanding how this could have happened under her watch. It’s truly the angriest I’ve ever seen him. But I’m okay, all things considered.
I hope Britney’s head explodes, knowing she didn’t take out my entire season.
I will have to sit out for two weeks while my ribs heal, icing them as much as possible and keeping them wrapped tight. I’m already planning what conditioning I can do without hurting myself more, but Dad and Cassidy have warned that if they catch even a light sheen of sweat on my brow, there will be hell to pay.
Translation: I’ve now got two helicopter parents.
Dad’s got me surrounded by pillows on the couch with my favorite blanket and a giant jug of water to “stay hydrated because hydration helps you heal, Glory Jane,” and he’s making my favorite dinner of cauliflower in vegan mac and cheese with ketchup drizzled all over it. Dairy is a huge trigger for me. I miss you, cheese and ice cream! Thankfully, alternative diets are hugely popular now, and there are lots of options for me.
Cassidy went home after I got settled in, promising to fill in Coach on my behalf. That was hours ago. The sun has long since set as I turn on my dad’s and my favorite show, Veep.
“Here you go, kiddo.” He holds the plate of food out to me while circling the couch to join me with a plate of his own. Dad opted for a salad and not the processed monstrosity that I’m having.
He sighs heavily as he sinks into the couch, and when ten minutes pass without him touching his food, I prod him into telling me what’s clearly on his mind.
“Dad, what’s up? I’m okay,” I ask over a mouthful.
“I know; I know. I just—” He clears his throat and faces me warily. Now, I’m worried. “I had to tell your mom.”
Wrinkling my nose, I focus on my plate of food. “Why?”
“Well, she’s your mother, for one.”
“Does she know that?” I take a big bite, irritated with my tone. I hate that I even care.
“Glory …” He sighs heavily again, and I roll my eyes.
“What does she want?” Because he wouldn’t be bringing this up if there wasn’t more than him just informing my birth giver.
“She wants to come see you; she’s worried.”
“No, absolutely not. You know how it has been for us here since she took off; her coming back will just make everything worse.”
Dad leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and rubs his face roughly. “I know. That’s what I told her.”
“Dad, seriously, if I had the ability to jump up and go to my room, that’s what I’d be doing, so let’s pretend that just happened and end this conversation.”
“I know things have been hard—”
“I am literally here with bruised ribs because she set a ball into motion—”
“Glory Jane!” my dad interrupts. “I understand it’s easy to blame your mother because she left, but it takes two people to have an affair. I’m not even blameless in all of this. I had my eyes and ears closed so tightly in my marriage that I didn’t see what was happening right in front of me, and I dropped the ball with you when she left. I hate myself for it.”
“Daddy,” I whisper as tears flood my eyes.
Rubbing a hand over his dark hair, he faces me. “All I’m saying is that this is more complicated than what you’ve reduced it down to. And I get it, kid—I do—but she didn’t leave you; she left me. Things are not that black and white. We’re your parents, but we’re also human, and we fuck things up sometimes.”
I shake my head and focus on my food, absolutely not touching that sentiment with a ten-foot pole. “I just don’t know how you can forgive her.”
“I’ve been talking to someone, you know, and I think you should too. I’m trying to find my way to forgiveness because it’s important to me that you don’t get lost in the middle of this. I won’t let my resentment taint your life, Glory.”
Too late.
It’s what I want to say, but I don’t. I’ve become remarkably adept at keeping my thoughts and feelings to myself.
Dad grumbles at my lack of response and turns the volume up on the TV.
When I say my mother is selfish, I don’t just mean her having an affair.
My mother is an only child, and she was doted on and given everything she could wish for by her parents. They had been trying to have a child for years, and my grandmother was in her mid-forties before she conceived my mother. A miracle baby.
I sometimes think part of the reason they gave her whatever she wished for was that they felt guilty that they were much older than other parents, but they were so grateful to finally have a child that it became impossible to say no.
When Mom was sixteen, she lost her parents, and when she was seventeen, she met my dad. The need for security, both financially and emotionally, and the need for the life that she’d had before her parents died made her cling to my dad like he had been sent from God.
I have always felt she does love me, but children, by nature, always take more than they give. Growing up, I saw the love in her eyes, but I could also see that resentment rode a very close line to that love.
When I say that I’m not shocked my mother strayed or even that she strayed so close to home, I mean it. I’d expected it.
What I had not expected was to bear the brunt of it. We had moved to Galway for my dad’s job; we’d picked a house because my dad and I loved being so close to the water.
I can tell now, looking back, that sacrifice and my mother are like oil and water. They will always eventually split.
I’ve often wondered if she went after Sebastian just to prove she could still get what she wanted.
Don’t get me wrong; I feel guilty, having these thoughts about her.
Just like with Killian, my own resentment runs a close race with love, but understanding as much as I do about her doesn’t mean I forgive her.
The struggle between empathy and anger is hard. To have compassion for someone when you lie in the wake of their destruction seems counterintuitive. It would be so much easier if I could lay everything at her feet, ignore her past, and hold tightly to righteous anger, but I’m so tired.
Being angry all the time is exhausting, and I just want to move on from it all so badly.
I think some part of her feels shame for what she did, but despite what my dad said earlier, she did leave me.
Later that night, I’m in bed, scrolling on social media, and despite my better judgment, I go to Killian’s page. His page is littered with photos of his team, Tanner, and his mom. I’ve been totally erased online, and I don’t know why I do this to myself. It’s like emotional flagellation.
Locking my phone screen, I set it on the charger and pull my covers up. I hate that anytime I feel emotionally vulnerable, I miss him the most. He doesn’t feel the same, and the sooner I erase him from my life, the quicker I can move on.
My gauzy white curtains do very little to block the sun from glaring into my room and disturbing my sleep. I need to wake up anyway because Sunday morning means the Kings are at the diner, having breakfast.
A Sunday tradition I used to join in on is now an excuse to get into their house, clean, and get out without disturbing Their Majesties.
I slowly roll over onto my feet, wincing at the stabbing in my abdomen. Thankfully, Dad left prescription-strength Motrin on my nightstand along with a fresh water bottle.
Smirking at his obsession with hydration, I swallow down the pills and head into the bathroom to brush my teeth and get dressed. By dressed, I mean, pulling on some track shorts underneath my current sleep shirt, which happens to be an old practice shirt of Killian’s from his eighth-grade team. It’s all I can manage at the moment.
This shirt is definitely something I should have gotten rid of, but ended up keeping out of spite because it is extremely comfortable after multiple washes. And, yes, fine, I also like having something of his.
Leaving my room, I pause at my dad’s door, shoulders sagging in relief when I hear nothing but silence. He is going to be so pissed that I still went to work, but we need the money. Now more than ever, considering a trip to urgent care was not cheap.
I creep down the stairs, grab my set of house keys off our hook by the front door, and head to the kitchen, only to pull up short at the sight of my dad and Killian sitting at the counter, whispering to each other.
Killian spots me first, eyebrows slamming down in anger, which, of course, alerts my dad. Rolling my eyes at the impending argument, I close the distance between us and grab one of the bananas out of the fruit bowl in the center of the island.
“Glory Jane, you cannot be serious. You need to get back into bed and relax.”
“Dad, I’m not an invalid—”
“Uh, you literally are—” Killian cuts in but mimes zipping his lips when I shoot him a glare.
“I don’t even know why you’re here. Shouldn’t you be at the diner with your mom?”
His mouth quirks in amusement at the blatant hostility in my tone. “I was coming over to tell your dad that I spoke with the Watts family, and they will cover all the medical costs from the injury Britney inflicted.”
“Okay, well, you told us, so you can leave now.”
“Glory …” My dad sighs, dragging a hand down his face.
“I’m sorry, but have we forgotten what an abominable dick he’s been to me?” I cry out, instantly wincing and wrapping my arm around my ribs. Killian makes a move toward me but stops when I hold out a hand. “You’ve done enough, and I think you should leave.”
“Now, wait a minute—” my dad begins to protest, but I bite into my banana and make for the back door.
“Fine, I’ll leave instead.”
I’m embarrassed to admit that I slam the door after me, but he shouldn’t have even been let into our house. My sanctuary.
Killian could have emailed my dad. Sent a postcard. A smoke signal from his house.
Logically, I know my dad isn’t siding with Killian, but my pain does not behave logically.
I feel weak, emotionally and physically, so of course I wouldn’t want someone who’s used me as his emotional punching bag for the last few years around me.
I’m just protecting myself, I rationalize as I hurry up the path to Killian’s house.