Basketball is Not Life

Chapter Thirty-Three

March came quickly. Which meant the tournament everyone lived for came around. We knew with our record we would be in the March Madness tournament. There was no way we were even close to being outside of the bubble. We just were fighting for a good seed now.

It was Selection Sunday. They had cameras trained in on our game tape room. All of the Spartan players, managers, and coaches waited until they called our seed. The room erupted. I was sitting next to Parker. He had dragged me into the room and sat me down next to him. When he saw the number, he turned and hugged me.

My chat erupted with messages saying they saw me on TV and if I was dating the guy that hugged me. My father texted to congratulate the organization I was working for. I had texted him back; congrats since Duke was one seed higher than Michigan State. Even with losing Ryan four games in. Duke has had a fantastic season so far.

My dad sent another text: looks like we could be seeing each other at the big dance. And after looking at the bracket that everyone was pulling up on their phones, I saw the route my father saw. We each had to win two games to play against one another, and we both knew the chances of that happening were very high.

March was just about to get crazy.

I didn't let the fear of knowing that I could see Ryan at the tournament creep in. He was still on my father's basketball team. Toeing the line as my mother had called it. Parker, Ryan, and I are the only ones who knew what really happened a year ago. I couldn't bring myself to tell my parents. I did keep going to a therapist that my mother had found for me.

Dr. Kavanagh, told me to call her Suzie. I always called her Dr. Kavanagh. She specializes in patients with trauma. The thing she had been telling me the most was that my trauma, even if I saw it as small and insignificant as other people's trauma, was still trauma. I had been sweeping it under the rug for so long that there was no way I could keep shoving it all back under. She still did not know the whole truth. I didn't know if I could repeat the words. I even wondered if Parker brought it up if I would be able to repeat the words to him.

Parker had been the anchor that kept me going to therapy. There had been a few snowy days where he even drove me and waited in the parking lot for me. We still hadn't discussed what we were. We were just Parker and Renee. Roommates that seem to like each other more than friends.

Parker was a topic that came up quite a bit.

"Why don't you ask him what you are to one another?"I was picking at my nails. That's what I did when she brought up something I didn't want to talk about. Which was almost everything.

"We did talk at one point. Parker said he was all in. That was after his dad wanted him to drop whatever this thing is. And for me to move out of the house."

She hmmm at me. "And could the reason be why you can't talk to Parker because you are afraid?"

I stopped picking my nails and looked up at her. She had grey hair and black glasses. She squinted at me from time to time, and I wondered if the glasses really helped her.

"I'm not afraid of Parker at all. He would never hurt me..." physically was the word I left out. Mentally I knew he had the power to crumple me. I knew he could leave me very broken. So part of me was a little afraid. I was just never going to tell her that.

"You are afraid that you care for him more than he cares for you." Was that actually what I was afraid of? Possibly.

We went around in a circle before the session was up.

"How did it go?" Parker asked when I jumped into his car this time. For some reason, he had taken his instead of my Range Rover.

"Good," I said like I always said. And usually, that was the end of it.

"Anything new?" He asked, pulling out of the parking lot.

"Same old same old. I'm me."

He nodded. "Is it helping?"

I was going to retort back something snotty, but I paused, thinking about it. "I don't know to be honest," I said finally. "I want it to be working, but ..."

I couldn't finish that thought. I didn't know why it wasn't working.

I pivot the conversation. "We talk about you a lot."

"Me?" His voice sounded on alert.

"Quite a bit, actually." I don't know why I was telling him this.

"What about me?"

I started picking my nails again, and he pulled the car into the nearest restaurant.

"I didn't know we were going out to eat," I said.

"We're not." He said. He pointed at my hands. "You are doing your I'm nervous thing with your hands. What is it you need to tell me?" He asked. His eyes were on mine. I could just make them out from the streetlamp outside of the restaurant.

"I'm nervous because you could break me."

He turns as much as he can in his seat to look at me. "Ren, I would never hurt you." He gasped. I nodded. "I know you would never hurt me on purpose, Parker. It's just ..." I paused. "You could break me if you ever got tired of me. I don't even know what you and I are. We tiptoe around it." He broke my words out by jumping out of the car. He was in grey sweatpants, Nike shoes, and a green Michigan State sweatshirt. I was dressed up in jeans and a black flowy shirt. He got out, opened the door, grabbed my hand, and shut the door behind me. He tugged me along up to the steakhouse that he had parked in.

He walked in, holding onto my hand.

"I thought this was pretty obvious," he muttered more so to himself than me. The hostess looked up at us approaching. She asked if we had a reservation.

"I would like a table for my girlfriend and me," Parker said.

She asked if we had a reservation again; Parker said no and was told they were booked for the night.

"Well, that was a letdown." Parker laughed as we walked back out to the car.

"I'm your girlfriend?" I asked when we got back in the car.

Parker nodded. "I thought that was pretty obvious, Ren. I'm crazy about you."

I smiled. "I'm crazy about you too."

"I kind of knew that." He winked at me. We ended up back at home, and I ended up making us spaghetti. He said it was better than the steakhouse that rudely turned him away. I smiled, knowing I would at least have something to report back to Dr. Kavanagh at my next session.