Never Vacation with Your Ex(8)
Author: Emily Wibberley

 

Dean and I reached pecking pretty early. It wasn’t unexpected, given how much romantic history it felt like we had because of how much history history we actually had. But despite the naturalness of our relationship, we would sometimes surprise each other, too, drawing the other in for long, heart-fluttering, knee-liquefying kisses. He—

 

No. I halt the train of thought. This is not about Dean. I’m here with Jeremy. Rebound Jeremy. Nice Jeremy, with the extra coffee I don’t want.

 

I give him a bright smile. On our first date, he pointed out I’d seen him play, but he’s never seen me play. The wordplay made me smirk, and I told him for our next date, he could come to a pickup game, which is where we’re heading now. Brianna and two of our friends who now play for Brown are waiting down at Narragansett. It’s probably my favorite place to play in my home state, though to be honest, the competition isn’t crowded. Rhode Island isn’t exactly a beach volleyball state, which is one reason I look forward to our California trip every year. I’m grateful for the friends I’ve made here, training my hardest on the East Coast’s sand, but if my mom hadn’t retired, I would still be spending winters in California like I did when I was little, before Mom stopped training year-round.

 

“Good day?” Jeremy asks as I’m pulling out of the parking lot.

 

“Better now,” I reply.

 

“I got this for you.” He puts the coffee for me into the center drink holder, like I hadn’t noticed the cup’s conspicuous presence.

 

When we pull up to the first red light, I sip hesitantly from the smile-shaped opening in the plastic lid. Honestly, I don’t know what I’m drinking. It could be vanilla, or espresso, or pumpkin spice. To me, it all tastes like battery acid.

 

“Yum,” I say.

 

Jeremy reaches for the cord to plug his phone in. I’m hit with more whiplash, remembering how Dean would play new songs he’d discovered for me on our drives to each other’s houses. He was never pretentious, never preachy, never out to impress or intimidate me like music guys are. He just wanted to show his best friend what excited him.

 

I’m wondering if Jeremy’s going to do the same when, once more, I stop myself. With the road winding through the New England trees toward the beach, I decide to be present with Jeremy, who says all the right things, who got me coffee, who just put on the same Harry Styles song he sang for me on our previous date. I’m not here to think about where things stand with Dean. The whole point of breaking up with Dean was to stop thinking about where things stand with Dean.

 

“So do you, like, want to play in the Olympics?”

 

His question pulls me out of my refocusing efforts. Glancing over, I find earnestness in his eyes. He’s not prying like volleyball guys do, out of skepticism and competitiveness. He’s really interested. He wants to get to know me.

 

I soften. “I’m going to try. Qualifiers are still a few years out, and I want to find the right partner first,” I explain. “Most players go to college or play pro before trying. I’m not going to put too much pressure on myself.”

 

Jeremy nods. “Your mom didn’t play in college, though, right? I mean, I saw she has the record for volleyball gold medals. She went straight to the Olympics. I was just wondering if you wanted to do the same thing.”

 

I fight to hide my grimace. My fingers involuntarily clench the steering wheel.

 

So Jeremy googled my mom. It doesn’t mean he’ll be weird about it. I need to work on not reading comparisons coded into every facet of my life. In fact, it’s normal to have questions like this, I remind myself. Most people find it interesting when they learn I’m related to an Olympian. It’s a nice, engaged, boyfriendly thing to discuss.

 

I repeat my reassurances in my head. He’s interested. He wants to get to know me.

 

Instead of observations, they sound more like prayers. It’s not helping. I dash them from my head, focusing on the road, which is curving toward the parking lot, revealing the sparkling ocean. “That’s the plan,” I say. “I’m not as good as my mom, though. I’m good, don’t get me wrong. Really good. One day I will go to the Olympics. But I’m not going to break my mom’s records, and I’m not trying to. I just love this sport.”

 

I like the charge of conviction I feel in my words. They’re the truth. I do love volleyball. The idea of being the best in my family is one I never let go of, because I never held it in the first place.

 

Still, not competing with my mom doesn’t relieve the pressure her legacy places on my life. I want to do her name proud.

 

Jeremy looks impressed. “You’re really mature about this,” he says. His voice is gentle, not doubtful or wheedling. “I don’t know if I could handle living in someone’s shadow.”

 

I hit the gas a little hard at the next green light. While I’m not looking to outdo my mom, Jeremy’s phrasing grates on me. It’s not the nicest comment, but besides, it’s not how I see things. I don’t live in my mom’s shadow. Shadows hide you in the dark, making it so you have to shine even brighter to be seen. Instead, I live in my mom’s spotlight. Everyone is watching me. From professionals to jerks on Instagram.

 

In this world I’m committed to, I have a reputation before anyone has seen me play. It’s a privilege, I know, even if the spotlight is sometimes searing.

 

Which is where Jeremy comes in. I need flings like these, free of consequences. I need flirty texting. I need front-seat make-outs. I need . . . freedom.

 

It’s why, in some guilty yet desperately necessary way, Jeremy is good for me. With him, I can make mistakes and walk away. Escape expectations without having to play the Instagram-friendly, volleyball-famous role of Kaylee Jordan. I can unwind, then wipe the slate clean with someone new.

 

Not like with Dean. He was a mistake I won’t make again.

 

I pull onto the sandy pavement of the beach parking lot. “It’s not easy,” I go on. “Which is why I need someone to help me have fun.”

 

Jeremy grins. “That I can do.”

 

When I park the car, he kisses me again. This time, I keep my mind on his smell, his thumb gentle on my jawline, the way our mouths move together. Him.

 

 

 

 

 

Six

 

 

I STAND ON THE court with Bri, facing down Leah, our former indoor volleyball teammate from Newport High. She’s now a freshman at Brown, and she’s brought one of her teammates to be her partner.

 

The sun shines low in the sky, sticking my sweat to my skin. Feet planted in the sand, I bend my knees, preparing to spring in whatever direction Leah serves. On the sidelines, Jeremy sits on the sand with Patrick, Leah’s hallmate at Brown, and his long-distance girlfriend Siena, who’s in town for the weekend. My chest flutters whenever I notice how intently Jeremy is watching, not scrolling on his phone or chatting with them.