Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 74956 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 375(@200wpm)___ 300(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74956 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 375(@200wpm)___ 300(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
“Is there um…anything I can help with?” I ask. “Are we dusting or…”
“No, I’m not dusting. Or rage cleaning.” She dumps her latest load of books onto an already overflowing pile with a lack of concern for page and binding damage that is also out of character. “Just purging myself of shit that no longer serves. I’ve heard Stephanie say that at least a dozen times in yoga class, but I never really understood what it meant. At least, not at a deeper level.”
She pauses, chewing her bottom lip as she moves back to the shelf, approaching her MVP-Minnesota State Championships trophy, the largest in her substantial collection. “Now, I think I do. It came to me in a rush on the way home. All of a sudden, it was all so clear.” She swipes a rough thumb over the golden plate at the base of the trophy, where her full name—Artemis Leanne Lauder—is inscribed. “Do you know of any resale stores or charities that accept things like this as donations? Or should I just throw it away?”
“Hey, now, killer,” I say, starting toward the shelf. “Let’s put a pin in this for a second, okay? Talk this through a little before we head for the Dumpster?”
I extend a hand, but she grabs the trophy instead, avoiding eye contact as she paces away. “Thanks, but I don’t need to talk it through. I don’t want any of this crap anymore. I really don’t.”
“Listen, I know you’re angry, and you have every right to be. The stunt your dad pulled tonight was complete bullshit. But that doesn’t mean—”
“No, it wasn’t bullshit.” She turns back to me with a laugh that sounds more angry than amused. “I mean, it was, but that’s just Dad. That’s who he is, Stone. Who he’s always been. And he’s never going to change.”
She starts pacing again, the trophy still clutched in her hand like a weapon. Her bare feet slap against the hardwood as she moves, her cheeks flushing pink as she gains momentum. “More importantly, he’s never going to let me change. Never. No matter how old I get, or how successful I am, or how many trophies my teams win. I will never get to be a fully-fledged adult professional working in this sport without my father feeling entitled to stick his nose into my business any time he feels like it. And people will always listen to him because—”
She continues in a deeper voice, impersonating the hockey bros who are always eager to kiss her dad’s ass. “Oh, wow, look, it’s Tim Lauder, the famous hard-ass of hockey. Wow, Tim, how did you win so many titles and turn so many losing teams around? Is it just because you’re committed to being a huge hairy dick or is there another strategy involved?”
She lets out another strained laugh as she lifts her gaze to the ceiling. “People are always so desperate to please him. To win the famous Coach Lauder’s seal of approval.” Her jaw clenches. “But not me. Not anymore.”
She thrusts the trophy toward me again, pointing to it with her free hand. “I never cared about this shit. Never. I just wanted to be a great player and keep getting better. Dad’s the one who acted like our dog had died if my team didn’t bring home first place or I wasn’t named MVP. Except that our dog couldn’t die because I didn’t get to have a dog growing up, no matter how much I loved animals or how many times I begged for one. Dad was too busy coaching and deciding who I should grow up to be to care about anything else. And I just let him decide that for me. Decide what mattered. Decide who I had to be.”
The music pounds softly behind her words as she moves, matching the fury in her steps. Her pale skin is bright red now, and her breath is coming faster, but she shows no sign of stopping.
“Even as an adult, even once I finally realized I’m the one who gets to decide what I care about, not him, I’ve always pretended we’re still on the same page. I’ve kept the peace and played along instead of speaking up. And it isn’t because I’m afraid of him or think he’s right or anything like that.”
She stops moving, her green eyes blazing as she focuses on something over my shoulder, something I suspect only she can see. “It’s because, deep down, I think I knew it was pointless,” she continues in a softer, but no less emotion-filled voice. “He will never see me as anything but an extension of him, a reflection of him. And as long as that’s true, I never get to be a real person. I’m just…a trophy.”
She drops the trophy on the floor beside the books, where it lands with a heavy thud.