Kite In The Snow by Karla Lopez
I wait for Mae as she cleans next to Camila, helping her close. It’s been two days of her looking sad and quiet. I feel desperate to fix it because she was doing so good. I guess this happens with trauma, you’re okay one minute, and the next, you feel like your life is falling apart.
The worst part is that she won’t talk to me about it. She’s quiet and distant, so much so that I find reasons to be around her to get her to talk. It’s not much, though.
As if she feels my stare, she looks up and her baby blues collide with my brown ones, and I hold my breath. Mae’s beauty is unexplainable. I feel it throughout my whole body, and it makes me weak at the knees.
Her eyes start to fill with unshed tears before she turns away from me. She keeps her pain to herself, and I wish I could carry it for her.
We all finish closing in silence. Today is game day for the hockey team I coach, and I always close early on game days since the whole town seems to always show up.
It’s crazy what we do for winter sports. It’s freezing outside, but with the good gear we can play a quick game. We usually do our winter sports outside, but since my players are young, we don’t want them playing in such cold conditions. We play inside, and it’s one of my favorite parts of my day.
“See you at the game?” I nod at James as he walks out. Camila walks over to give me a hug. She’s forever the affectionate.
“Are you coming to the game?” I ask her.
She grins. “Where else would I be?” I chuckle and watch her say bye to Mae.
Mae lets her hug her, and I hold my breath watching the interaction. She has come so far from overcoming her fear of being touched. It makes me smile with pride.
Mae’s back is toward me as Camila leaves, and I watch her back for a few seconds.
I walk slowly toward her. “There’s a game tonight with the team I coach. The whole town pretty much shows up, and I wanted to know if you wanted to come. There’s a section that’s pretty comfortable that you can sit at, and I’ll bring blankets, so you won’t be cold. There will also be food there if you get hungry.”
I wait for her response anxiously. For some reason, I feel like I’ve been walking on eggshells around her.
“No, thank you. I would rather stay here and go to sleep,” she whispers and her rejection to me lately stings more and more.
I nod at her even though she can’t see me. “Okay.”
I grab my coat and bag and walk out without another word. I feel hurt that she doesn’t want to spend time with me anymore and I don’t understand what’s changed, but it feels like I’m losing my favorite person to be around.
A sharp pain hits me in the chest that there could be a possibility that Mae might want to go back home to the father of her baby. What if she realizes she can make it work? I hope to God not, because even I know an abusive relationship never changes.
I can’t lose her.
An hour later, the stadium is filled with the whole town, but I can’t help the nagging feeling I have that something is wrong. Maybe it’s the way I left things with Mae.
I watch my team hit the ice, tiny bodies in gear bigger than them and it makes everyone smile and cheer. The game is only twenty-five minutes because of how small the players are and how cold it is on the ice, but it’s still fun to see how many times they can score. It’s usually only once.
I watch my team play awesomely and score two times, and it fills me with pride just like how I used to feel when I played. We let the players all shake hands and the winning team gets medals. We had several discussions on whether the kids should get medals for participating or not.
We decided that the winning team gets medals, and for participation, the kids get prizes. Helps them understand that not everyone wins, but you will get rewarded for good work. Majority of the parents agreed to it. I just want to do what’s best for my players. They’re at a stage in life where learning certain things puts them in vulnerable situations.
Once every player goes to their parents, I make my way back to my cafe. I walk slowly, letting the bitter air bite into my skin while I think of Mae and what could have possibly happened to make her pull away.
I go to unlock the door to the shop, but I see it’s open and I find it odd considering I locked it when I left, and I know Mae wouldn’t have left. An uneasy feeling takes over and I rush upstairs. When I make it to my apartment everything is still and silent and there’s no Mae in sight.
I start to panic when I see a note on the island.
My heart stops as I stare at the note and then I run into action. I run all the way to the hospital so fast that I don’t even feel the cold air fill my lungs and rub against my skin, which usually causes it to burn.
When I make it to the hospital, I go right to the front desk lady. “Mae Bakeman! Where is she? She’s going into labor.”
The older lady sees my panicked face and gets right into action trying to find Mae for me. When she does, she directs me to her. Right before I get to the door, I can hear Mae’s whimpers and my stomach rolls at the sound. I don’t think I’m strong enough to see Mae in pain.
I feel the anger under my skin that she didn’t call me when she was in pain and going to the hospital. I would have left the game. I walk into her room and her blue, tear-filled eyes meet mine.
I rush to her as she whimpers again. The nurse is rubbing a cold towel on her forehead. “Mae, why didn’t you call me!” I all but shout at her and she flinches, making me feel like a real dick for yelling at her.
“I don’t want to be your burden!” she yells and then whispers, “I’m not yours.”
I shake my head at her in disbelief. “What are you talking about?”
“I heard you,” she whispers as tears streak her face.
“Mae, I don’t understand. Heard what?”
“What you said to James, about not wanting to be with a pregnant girl.”
I shut my eyes in shame that she heard mine and James’s conversation, but she must have not stayed for our whole conversation because she would be yelling at me for a whole different reason.
She would be pulling away because I’m starting to fall for her. I’m starting to fall in love with Mae Bakeman.