She and I have an open line of communication. She knows that I will tell her whatever is on my mind, I just need time.
She won’t like what I have to confess, but I trust my mother more than anyone else on this earth and she’s great at giving advice on certain situations.
I just hope when it comes to this situation, she’ll be able to understand it.
FIFTY-ONE
I have to say, I thought Mama would react much, much worse to my confession. After all, telling your mother that you were fooling around with your coach isn’t an easy pill for any parent to swallow, but considering all my mother has been through, I know this is a truth she can handle.
At first, she didn’t even know what to say. She had to take a moment to leave my room and let it digest. She doesn’t come back to check on me until six, and that was to tell me dinner is ready.
The dinner she makes is my favorite. Grilled tilapia, steamed broccoli with extra butter, and a sweet potato with cinnamon, butter, and brown sugar.
We eat in silence for the first few minutes, forks scraping across porcelain, the clock on the wall ticking away. I sip my sweet tea as Mama sighs and places her fork down.
“Look, I can’t say I’m pleased about what I know, Amber,” she finally says, and it’s a relief to hear her finally say something.
“I know.” I keep my eyes down.
I feel her studying me. “But I can tell that you are seriously heartbroken by what happened, which makes me think that you really care about him.”
“I do, Mama. A lot.” I pick my gaze up to look at her.
“And now he isn’t speaking to you?”
I sigh and shrug. “I think he’s become overwhelmed with the realization that he’s out of a job now, because of what we did.”
“Well, he wasn’t fired, so he still has a shot out there, right? And you should be very grateful to Coach Hamilton. She could have carried things out a lot worse if she didn’t have a soft spot for you and him.”
I stare down at my half-eaten fish. Mama stretches an arm across the table and reaches for my hand. She picks it up and squeezes it and I look up into her bright brown eyes that are very similar to mine.
“Maybe this is what’s best, Amber. And maybe he knows it’s better this way—to let what you have come to an end. If he really cares about you, he will reach out again just to make sure you’re okay. I don’t know him all that well, but maybe he just needs time to think things through, get his life back in order.”
“Yeah. Maybe.”
“Try not to worry too much, Amber. Men are—well, they can do crazy things. Sometimes they overreact. Sometimes the realization slaps them right in the face when they least expect it.” She pulls her hand away and takes a bite of fish. “I can’t even tell you how many times your father has done silly things that made me question our marriage, but eventually he rolled around and realized what was right. Sometimes it takes men a little longer to deal with things—to mature.”
I smile, digging back into my food too. After I finish a piece of broccoli, I say, “Thank you for not getting mad at me, Mama.”
“Oh, I’m mad,” she counters, quirking a brow. “I don’t like the idea of a man of authority messing with my daughter, but from the way you explained it, who am I to hold what you feel against you? You were open and honest with me, and you’re a smart girl. I know you wouldn’t have done anything if it wasn’t worth being with him, and you wouldn’t have told me a thing about him if he didn’t mean a lot to you so…” She shrugs and puts on a gentle smile. “I’m upset about it, but I trust you, baby girl.” She then points her fork at me. “But you better have been protecting yourself.”
I bust out laughing. “I was, Mama. Trust me. I was and I still am.”
I spend two weeks of summer practicing at the track in my neighborhood park, and working out in my backyard. I want to come back stronger next season and I want to prove to Hamilton that what happened with Torres and me won’t stop me from being the best I can be. She took me in, despite criticism, and I owe her that much.
When I run, though, I can only think about Torres and his whistle. How he’d blow it and tell me to run it again. I know when I mess up with my starts and finishes and I can picture him blowing on that damn whistle, shaking his head, and telling me to get back to the starting line.