Page 90 of Between the Boards
“Did something happen?” My mother asks in a gentle voice, rubbing calming circles along my back.
“You can tell us,” my father reassures me.
I take a deep shaky breath and tell them all about Stephen Kozak and how he scored me, and I also tell them about being called a mixed-bread by someone on The Rip Raiders. Both of them look so upset by the end of it, I’m almost positive my mom is going to burst into tears, while my dad looks like he wants to punch something.
“I’m glad your coach is doing what he needs to do to get that judge fired,” My dad says. “But I hope he addresses that boy from the other surf team for his racist remark.”
I nod. “He said he would.”
“It must have hurt to have him call you that,” my mother says, pulling me in for another hug. “I’m so sorry you’ve had to deal with that.”
“It’s oka?—”
“It’s not,” my father interrupts. “I fear I have not done a good job preparing you for the kind of favouritism, and racism you will experience—not just in the competitive world, but also in real life.”
My mother squeezes my shoulders in comforting reassurance before she walks off to grab us each a plate of her birthday pie.
“You are mixed, that is true, but to be called a mixed-breed, or to refer to yourself as one, is bad on many levels, my daughter.”
“I know,” I murmur, watching as my mother cuts the pie. “I just wish I wasn’t getting so much hatred from both sides, it’s so confusing…I don’t even know what I’m supposed to be anymore.”
My dad sighs, pulling me into one of his famous bear hugs. “You are you—a perfect mix of your mother and me, created out of our love for each other,” he says. “You do not need a label to tell you who you are, or where you belong in this world, my sweet girl.”
And that’s all it takes for my tears to start flowing. Somehow, my dad always knows the right things to say when I’m in need of self-affirmations. He holds me tight as I break down in his arms, and within seconds my mom joins the hug, crying alongside me.
What a blessing it is to have parents who feel not only the joyful moments with me, but the painful ones too.
“You guys are the best parents on this planet” I say between sobs. “I don’t deserve you.”
“Oh, my sweet girl.” My mother sniffles as she strokes my hair. “You deserve more.”
We hug for a long while, until the sobs stop wracking my body, and our stomachs begin to growl.
“I think that means it’s time for pie,” my mother says, kissing the side of my head before she retrieves our pie plates and hands one to each of us. “It’s called rabarberpaj in Swedish.”
“What does that mean?” I ask as I cut into a piece with my fork.
“Rhubarb Pie,” she says. “I used to eat this so much when I was pregnant with you, my doctor would get so mad when he’d see my blood sugar levels.”
“It’s true,” my dad says, already halfway through his pie. “But your mom never listened to what they said when it came to this pie. It was non-negotiable.”
I giggle as I take my first bite. “Wow, that tastes so sweet!”
She brightens instantly. “A sweet pie, for my sweet girl,” she says, putting her plate on the counter and turning to face me. “Now, tell me, who is this guy you mentioned defending you at the competition?”
My face flushes and I turn away trying to hide it.
“Ah, ah.” she says, grabbing onto my arm and turning me back to face her. “I know that look better than anyone. You have feelings for him.”
I let out a defeated sigh and sit down on a nearby stool, placing my pie plate next to hers.
“I don’t know,” I admit. “He’s my friend—one of my best friends—it feels wrong to want him.”
My dad walks away, muttering something about not wanting to hear about his little girl and boys, leaving me and my mom alone to talk about Colton. She takes a seat in the stool next to me and takes my hand, rubbing soothing shapes with her thumb.
“Does he have feelings for you?”
I nod. “He told me he loves me,” I whisper.
