The Halo Effect

epilogue

The August air was stifling.

I felt the heat of the brick sidewalk seeping up through the plastic of my flip-flops as I walked over to where Dad's Jaguar sat parked in the street in front of the townhouse, wheeling my most definitely overpacked suitcase behind me. 

Dad was standing with his hands on his hips as he inspected the new sticker on the rear windshield of the Jaguar, his brow slightly furrowed.

"Does it look crooked to you?" Dad asked when I stopped beside him, releasing the handle of my suitcase. "It looks crooked to me. I should've let Teá put it on."

I stared at the Middlebury College Lacrosse sticker for a prolonged moment. The fact that I had pretty much solidified my academic and athletic future remained surreal to me.

What also remained surreal was that I would have Macallan Blake as my teammate for those four years in Vermont. I'd rediscovered the existence of happy tears when she'd called me the other night to share the news that she too had committed to Middlebury.

I touched my fingertips to the blue and white sticker, feeling its warmth from the sun and smiled softly as I reflected upon the grueling effort and dedication that it represented. I had spent the last decade of my life playing lacrosse. I spent countless hours at various practices, games, and showcases. I bled into cleats and bruised every inch of my arms. I tore my ACL.

I had given lacrosse so much of myself, and now as I stood next to Dad, I acknowledged that my parents had done the same. They were with me every step of the way—driving me to those events, buying me those cleats, sitting at my bedside when I woke up from my surgery.

"It's perfect," I said with a dutiful nod. "Thank you."

The corners of Dad's eyes crinkled as he smiled down at me. "My little girl is going to college next year. Where did all the time go?"

I rolled my eyes amicably and watched as Dad popped the trunk and heaved my massive suitcase into it. I'd successfully managed to cram my summer wardrobe into it last night, but had needed to sit on top of it while zipping it shut.

"Dear god," Dad heaved out, eyeing my suitcase with humorous concern. "Are you sure you've packed enough? You're going to Nantucket, not Antartica."

"Well if I haven't, I can always buy more clothes on the island and start dressing like a Ralph Lauren model."

"All I ask is that you use your mother's credit card. I would like to retire eventually."

"Will do."

Mom had recently bought a tiny Cape Cod style house out in Madaket, and had invited me to stay with her until the end of the summer. She was planning to repaint most of the rooms, and was in the process of picking out new tiles for the kitchen.

Kelsey, Macallan, and Gianna would visit next weekend to ensure the two of us hadn't started a show on HGTV. We also wanted to have a belated celebration of our team's victory in the championship game, which Cannondale had won 13-10.

The sound of a slow approaching car whisked my attention away from the trunk, and my breath caught at the sight of the familiar black Honda Accord.

Dad shifted into my line of sight and gave me the kind of wearily pointed glance that I imagined all good fathers gave their daughters.

"I know we've discussed this, but I'm more than happy to keep an eye on you from my office window," Dad said as he shut the trunk deliberately slow. "There's still time for us to establish a distress signal. Or I could trim the bushes and pretend not to listen."

I shook my head and smoothed down my sundress as the breeze swept at the bottom hem. "That won't be necessary. We won't be long, anyway. He knows I'm leaving soon."

"All right," Dad said with an understanding nod. "Wish him luck at Duke for me."

"I will, but he doesn't need it."

Dad let me have the last word and retreated into the house.

Sighing, I leaned back against the Jaguar and watched Trip McKenna parallel park across the street. As with so many other things in his life, he made it look effortless, like parallel parking on a narrow city street was something he'd always known how to do.

When Trip emerged from the driver's side, the first thing I noticed was his hair. He'd let his curls run amuck since graduation, with more than a few loose corkscrews falling in front of his eyes.

"Hey," he greeted, closing the door behind him and crossing the street with his hands tucked into the pockets of his khaki shorts. "I'm glad you called."

"And I'm glad you picked up," I said with a faint smile. "You were still one of the first people who I wanted to tell. I hope that's okay."

I'd played quite a bit of emotional tug-of-war with myself before finally working up the nerve to call him last night to tell him that I'd committed to Middlebury. Because when I considered who I wanted to share the news with, Trip McKenna immediately came to mind. The notion of that would've upset me a few months ago, made me feel like my heart had somehow defected in the sense that it couldn't accept that we were over.

But that was a few months ago, and summer had stitched me back together in more ways than one. I didn't regret the way I loved him, or the way I still wanted to share parts of my life with him.

Trip's trademark half-smile made an appearance as he tilted his head in the direction of his car. "Well, I brought you another congratulatory cake. I hope that's okay, too. It's better than my first one, I swear."

"Hey, I enjoyed the first one," I laughed lightly. "You know that."

"I do," Trip chuckled and swept a few of those rogue curls away from his forehead. "Anyway..." he drew out the word as he moved beside me to lean against the Jag, and turned to look at me. The late afternoon light had filtered itself through the leafy greenery of the trees, and bathed him in splotches of soft golden light. "I'm happy for you, Chan. Really happy. Middlebury lucked out with you and Macallan."

He sounded terribly genuine, and my heart lifted in my chest at how familiar that genuineness was to me. It was like hearing a song from childhood that you'd never learned the lyrics to, but would always recognize.

"Thank you for saying that. But Trip, I..." Emotion tied a knot around my vocal cords, momentarily strangling my sentence into nonexistence.

There was still a part of me that longed to hold on, to try to hold his hand because I couldn't stand to let go of all the happiness that we'd shared. But I also knew that my future happiness didn't hinge on our being together, and that we could gracefully allow for our respective paths to diverge.

Trip still seemed to have a handle on how my mind worked. He shifted in front of me, closing the little distance that remained between us, and I surrendered to his gravity one last time to embrace him. I fastened my arms around his waist and rested my head in the crook of his neck. The beating of his heart jumped through the soft cotton of his t-shirt, steady and reassuring.

"I'll always root for you, Chandler."