Stupid advice. She doesn’t understand where I come from or the burden on my shoulders. My life is about plans. And backup plans. And backups to my backup plans.
“I’ll get right on that,” I say, “just as soon as I figure out how not to fuck up the season and throw my plan B,” really my plan F, “into a shit pile, in case I fuck up the season.” Which I probably will if I don’t figure out how I screwed up in the first place.
Nina shakes her finger at my face. “See. That’s what I’m talking about. You’re trying to control everything. Plan for everything. Work for everything. Make it happen,” she says, mocking my voice. “But it’s not sustainable, Dean.”
“Oh no?” Now I fold my arms across my chest. “Then do tell, Missy Perfect.”
She narrows her eyes. “Dean, I’m being serious.”
“Me too.”
She takes my hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. “You have to let go of this delusion you can spin every single plate on your table. At some point you’ll drop them all and end up with nothing because you’re such a perfectionist—you’ll kill yourself trying to ‘make it happen.’”
Make it happen is my mantra, and why not? When I face impossible obstacles, like coming up with ten thousand dollars on the fly to pay for a good lawyer for Flip after he stole a car and crashed it, I made it happen. I worked overtime, moved furniture on the weekends, and I even gave private sessions at the gym. All while I took a full load of classes. Of course, it had been during the off-season, but I managed to come up with the money. Kept Flip out of jail. It was just a Band-Aid, of course, which is why I need to make this new plan happen.
“I don’t see anything wrong with wanting to be the best at what I do,” I say. “But let’s keep it real; I’m no perfectionist. Did you see that game last fall?”
“I can’t believe you’re still spinning over that. One bad game. One. Poor you.” She chuckles condescendingly. “But of course I saw it. I’ve also listened to you cry at least three times.” She mocks my deep voice, “It’s over for me, Nina. Over…”
That’s not fair. In my defense, it was only one time, and I’d had four beers. Also, I teared up, not cried. Mostly because I still don’t understand where it all went wrong. I had my plan. I executed the plan: Practice. Practice. Practice. A dash of homework and studying. More practice. Gym.
“I hear you, Nina. And I appreciate you trying to have my back,” I lower my voice and teasingly add, “because it really makes my dick hard. But I thought we both agreed we weren’t going to be fuck buddies.”
She stares, shooting daggers with her angry, twitching brown eyes. “You think you’re so funny.”
“No. My dick is really hard right now. Wanna see?” I reach for my pants.
“Stop it. I know what your dick looks like, and if it were hard right now, it would be pretty damned visible.”
She means it’s big. “Thank you.”
“And,” she adds, “I’d be pouring my ice-cold beer on it.”
I stick out my lower lip. “Sure you don’t want to see it anyway? Maybe pop it in your mouth?”
“You’re a pig.”
Sometimes. But right now, I just want Nina to drop the anti-pep talk. If I wanted to have a deep conversation about my work ethic, fucked head, or life plan, I’d be talking to Coach. Or Igor. Fine, I do talk to Nina once in a while, too, but right now, I just need to chill. Watch the game. Drink a beer.
“I’m sorry, but your comment has offended me,” I say jokingly. “I’m going to have to rescind my offer. No dick viewing for you. But how about this awesome fucking game on TV?” I snatch the remote from her hand.
“Dean!”
“What?”
“You can’t keep burying your head in the sand. Your tactics are going to catch up to you. I know firsthand. I had to walk away from my dreams of going to the Olympics because I wouldn’t stop pushing myself to be perfect—perfect student, daughter, sister, friend, and athlete. After a while, I stopped sleeping, eating, enjoying life, because I was killing myself to be everything to everyone instead of focusing on me—my future, my dreams, and my goal.”
I sigh. My dick jokes didn’t work. She’s not going to let this go.
I stand to leave. “Thanks for the beer.”
“Where are you going?” She stands, too.
“Look, Nina, I know you care, but what do you want me to say?” I finally lose my patience. “I was living my dream. I was happy. I had everything figured out. And look what happened.” I blew it.
“Because you told yourself everything had to be so perfect that you crumbled under the pressure. You felt trapped.”