Page 38 of The Great Dating Fake Off
Her pace slows. “Move?”
“Yeah.” Something in me deflates. I grab a pinecone, toss it in the air, and catch it with the top of my foot to distract myself. “I’m starting a new Boys and Girls Club.”
The breeze off the lake gusts as she looks at me. “Wait a second. I thought you were a mentor now.”
I juggle the cone between my feet and knees like a soccer ball. “I’m a director of development for the organization. Or I was until I took a small break this last year to help Nella fix up her house. My job is to do everything to get clubs off the ground in new areas. I scout markets and write up proposals for approval from the board of directors. Once it’s approved and I’m awarded the contract, I hit the ground running.”
Her attention moves between my legs and my face. “What do you do after it’s approved?”
“I secure the buildings, fix them up so they’re what we need them to be for the kids, get buses and organize their routes, recruit volunteer mentors and staff, train those people, network with schools and local businesses—like your store, for example—and some other stuff. After I get the facilities in order and expand as much as the area can sustain, I hire a manager to run it day to day, and it’s off to the next place.”
She shakes her head as if shocked. “Whoa. That’s really something.”
“Honestly, a lot of it is dealing with facilities, manual labor, and grunt work. It takes a lot of that to get any organization off the ground. It doesn’t sound like much, I’m sure.”
“It does, first of all. But if you don’t enjoy it, why do you do it?”
“I never said I didn’t enjoy it.” My brows knit together. Enjoying my job was never really the point—though I genuinely do.
When it became clear medical school wasn’t happening, I spent a good while trying to decide what else I could do. I thought about why my parents chose the paths they did. When people asked them how they ended up in their line of work, they’d answer the same way every time. Just doing our part! I started asking myself what’s my part? What can I do that would have even a fraction of the impact that their careers have had on the world? What would I be proud to update them on when they fly home after eighteen months of saving lives in the field?
No choice I came up with seemed remotely good enough, so I channeled my shame and disappointment into hitting baseballs.
“I had this coach,” I begin. “In high school. Leo Fischer was his name.”
The month after my grandfather’s death, when my parents had to leave again and life was supposed to get back to normal but didn’t, Coach Fischer stopped by my house every morning and we ran in silence. Mile after brutal mile, rubber pounding the pavement. He made sure my ass went to school immediately after, and he didn’t stop showing up until I was myself again.
When my parents couldn’t be there for me, and my grandmother was too deep in mourning to be available, he was there.
Remembering that time in my life feels like zippering a tight jacket around my heart, the teeth digging in where it hurts.
“He made a huge impact on my life,” I tell her. “I lucked out when it came to the adults in my life with two superhuman parents, two superhuman grandparents, and a coach on top of that. I’ve had teammates and friends who had no one to turn to when things got rough. I don’t take for granted that I’ve had people to look up to and trust who were there for me in different ways throughout my life.I decided I wanted to create situations where kids and teenagers, not just athletes, had access to people who cared. Or as Coach would’ve said, gave two twiddly shits about them. That’s why I do what I do—for the kids who have no one. But enough about me.”
Her expression is so tender it’s almost pained. But as fast as the softness came, it’s gone as she shakes her finger at me. “Not so fast, mister. How many of these clubs have you opened?”
I attempt a soccer trick with the cone and fail. “This will be my third.”
“Three? Already? And you’re only thirty?”
I let out a dismissive grunt. “That’s old. In the immortal words of McLovin, old enough to party. My parents had finished med school by my age, and my grandfather was already well on his way to becoming an Air Force flight surgeon. My life is measured by the distance between me and the people I’ll never live up to.”
“Does it have to be a competition?” she asks. “What they did is great, and what you do is great.”
Her tone is way too generous considering it really is mostly renovating buildings and going out of my mind trying to figure out after-school bus routes.
I lob the cone toward the trees and fall into step beside her. “Eh. It’s great that I’m able to help those kids, but small in the grand scheme of things. I’m not out there creating new vaccines or anything.”
“Listen, the world is a dumpster fire, and no one can fix it all. You’re throwing your portion of water on it by working with a cool organization. Take the compliment. Where’s the next club?”
My gaze wanders to the view beyond the lake. We’re surrounded by mountains, which makes this whole place feel like it’s nestled in a bowl. The natural beauty and the smell of pine seeping into my skin makes it difficult to think about where I’m going.
And almost…disappointing.
It’s an unfamiliar feeling, as I’ve never cared where I’m going before.
“Nebraska. About an hour outside of Omaha.”
Her exhale is like a balloon losing air in a gust. “Wow. Nebraska. That’s far.”
