Page 5 of Stroked Hard
It isn’t just the shirts my dad creates, that I will get to in a second, it’s their theatrics. They arethoseparents standing in the crowd, tucking and twisting with every one of my moves while holding hands. And when I hit the water, they squat down and then leap into the air, hands still clasped. It’s the most absurd thing you’ll ever witness. They have their own memes for fuck’s sake.
And then their outfits. Christ. Want to talk about the love for America and a child, just look at my dad’s shirts. They are usually decked out in red, white, and blue stars and stripes across the chest as well as a blow-up of my face. Underneath: Hollis Howlers. It’s obnoxious, but for some insane reason, I secretly like it. Seeing my parents in the stands, flags in their hands, my face plastered across their chest, and smiles on their faces, it makes all the countless hours in the gym and on the platform worth it. To make them proud makes it all worth it.
“The tickets will be at Will Call, Mom. Don’t worry, Dad will be able to show off his shirts.”
“Thank Jesus.” She pauses and then whispers into the phone, “He asked to borrow my bedazzler. I’m not sure where he’s going with those expensive jewels he got at the craft store the other day but I’m a little thrilled to know I have a chance of sparkling under the lights this year. Your father is really stepping up his game.”
The bedazzler? Shit, all I can think of is that one Capital One baseball commercial where the mom bedazzles everything her son is wearing. I wouldn’t put it past my dad to do the same thing.
Bedazzled Speedo, sparkle crotch, jewel dick . . . sends a fucking chill down my spine just thinking about it.
“He didn’t make me anything, did he?”
“I don’t think so.” I hear the distinct sound of her covering the phone but she doesn’t do a very good job because I can still hear everything. “Al, did you make Hollis something with the bedazzler?” she shouts.
I can’t hear my dad but I hold my breath, praying he didn’t have enough “jewels” for me.
My mom comes back on the line. “He didn’t have enough jewels.” Thank fuck. “He can go grab some more if you want something.”
“That’s okay,” I say quickly. “I won’t have time to wear it. I will just take pictures with you guys in your shirts.”
“What a wonderful idea. You make sure to wear your USA gear.”
“I didn’t make the team yet, Mom.”
“Oh pish. You’re the number-one diver in the world, so there is no doubt you won’t make the team.”
“I can be the number-one in every event, but one bad day could keep me from making the team.”
“What’s with the negativity? Do you need to talk to your father?”
Talking to my father on the phone would add another half hour to this already long conversation, so I avoid that scenario with a quick distraction. “Did you hear from Holly?”
“Yes, she’s doing quite well on her travels. Paris has revived her, I can hear the joy in her voice. Her break-up with Jimmy was hard. I’m glad she’s taking the time to find herself again.”
“Me too,” I respond, thinking of my twin. “Do you think if I make it to Rio, she’ll attend?”
“Not if, but when you make it to Rio. I bought non-refundable tickets, so either way your father and I are going to Brazil this summer, and yes, she’ll be there. She said she’d never miss it.”
The tension in my shoulders eases.Holly will be there.I hadn’t even realized I was carrying that tension, but it was there. All I really want is for Holly to be there.Deep breath, Hollis.
Ever since the accident, I’ve felt as though she doesn’t want to be a part of my diving career, like she resents me.I need her.Fuck, having her present—watching me, cheering me on—it’s what propels me to be better.
Voices start to travel down the hallway just outside the dressing room, indicating I’ll no longer be alone.
“Hey, I have to go, Mom. Tell Dad I can’t wait to see the shirts he comes up with this year and please make sure he doesn’t bedazzle the things too much. I don’t need light reflecting off your shirts and distracting me.”
“Don’t worry, sweetheart, I’ll handle your father. I’ll talk to you later. I love you.”
“Love you, too.”
I hang up just as the door to the dressing room opens. Reese steps in wearing nothing but a leopard-print Speedo and holding a beach ball. His chest is oiled up to the point that I’m pretty sure if I opened up a Slip ’N Slide across his abdomen and charged women five bucks a slide, I’d be a millionaire in an hour. He looks like a total douche and being his dutiful best friend, I make it my business to point it out to him.
“Swimming not going so well? Decided to audition for the drag showIt’s Raining Men? Because let me tell you, you’re nailing the part.” I give him a thumbs up as he retaliates with his middle finger.
Exhaling, he slouches in the seat next to me and takes a long sip from his water bottle. “Fuck, that was torture. Did you hear what she was complaining about today?”
“Who? Satan?” I ask, shooting a text off to the girl who keeps ignoring me.
