“Henry’s only doing his part to ensure he never has to be a big brother.”
“Yeah. We should probably have Holden checked out. I know Rose has been wanting to have another one soon,” Jeremy says as they come to a stop at the barn’s entrance. He shuffles his feet and appears to contemplate something. After a moment, he looks directly at Sergio with a nervous expression, brows furrowed together, and his bottom lip trapped between his teeth. “Would you like to come up?”
“Sure,” Sergio says, trying not to sound as if being invited up to Jeremy’s is the only thing he has ever wanted.
With Henry sleeping on Jeremy’s bed, Sergio waits on Jeremy’s sofa for him to return from the kitchenette with some tea. The electric tea kettle grows louder as it edges closer to a rolling boil, and Sergio takes the time to admire the little home Jeremy has made for himself here in the barn.
The place itself is warm and cozy with no traces of the climate-controlled chill that is maintained to keep the ice frozen a level below them. To add to the warm atmosphere, Jeremy painted the walls in a deep green, and his furniture is made of rich, brown leather. He's hung artwork on the walls and loaded shelves with plants and his collection of books, most of them obscure titles of the magical realism variety.
But what strikes Sergio as interesting isn’t necessarily what Jeremy has displayed. He’s more curious about what he doesn’t have adorning his walls and shelves. There are no photographs of his days as an Olympian. No medals or trophies, not even a framed commemorative keepsake. It’s as if that part of his life never happened. As if Jeremy never skated before he stepped onto the ice in the barn. The rink is the only place left that holds any trace of his blades carving shapes into the ice.
“I hope ginger lemon is okay,” Jeremy says, handing a mug of tea to Sergio before he sits beside Sergio on the small sofa. The scent of the lemon wafts around Sergio, and the deep spice of the ginger clears his sinuses which are adjusting to being back inside from the cold.
“Anything is fine,” Sergio says, content to still be in Jeremy’s presence, especially now that he’s gotten a better glimpse of how Jeremy lives, cocooned and private. He settles a little deeper into the sofa, resting his back against the corner so he can maintain a better view of Jeremy beside him. “It’s quite cozy in here.”
“It’s not much, but it works for me,” Jeremy says and relaxes more deeply as well. He brings his feet up onto the sofa and tucks them underneath his seat, letting his knees knock together to rest on the cushion. His tea, he holds close to his chest. “Better than any place I could have found on my own, that’s for sure.”
“Rental market tight around here?”
Jeremy rolls his eyes, but not at Sergio. “Tight and ungodly expensive. Holden and Rose could probably make a killing renting this space out to someone else or using it as an Airbnb.”
“I doubt they have any interest in making money off of it.”
“Clearly,” Jeremy says with a resigned laugh. “Otherwise, they’d have given me the boot ages ago.”
“How long have you been living up here?”
“Only since summer,” Jeremy says and takes a sip of his tea.
“Where were you living before?”
“With my parents … in Jersey.” Jeremy shudders and tugs at his left eye. “I know. Embarrassing, right?”
“I don’t think so.” Sergio shrugs, even though he does kind of think so. But he’s sure there has to be some sort of explanation as to why a former Olympian was living with his parents.
“It wasn’t by choice,” Jeremy continues. “Don’t get me wrong, I love my folks. They’re good people. But it certainly wasn’t what I expected for myself in my mid-twenties.” He pauses and takesanother sip. “But after everything that happened and medical bills piled up and my endorsements all dropped me, I didn’t exactly have a lot of other options.” He dips his head and looks away from Sergio. “But you don’t really want to hear all this.”
“Sure, I do,” Sergio says with complete sincerity that causes Jeremy to look back at him. There’s a glimmer of curiosity in his brown eyes. “Don’t forget. I failed to keep tabs on you.”
“Well, the tabs on me change day to day, so it’s hard to keep up.”
“How so?”
“Sometimes I wake up fine. Sometimes I don’t. Some days I wake up feeling perfect for me and end up a mess by lunch.”
Sergio suppresses a light laugh as this is a wholly inappropriate time to chuckle, but in a strange way, due to his current circumstance, Sergio can relate. Wisely, he says, “And sometimes you go on a nice string of days where everything goes just right. And others are an endless stream of disasters.”
“Pretty much.” Jeremy laughs and takes another sip of his tea. “That is, until one day, I’ll end up being nothing but a stream of disaster days. And that’s the part I hate.”
“They’re only disasters if you think of them that way. And who knows? That might not happen at all.”
“I'd like to say that’s the case. But most studies show that with males, this only goes one way—and fast.”
“Hmmm …” It’s almost a shame that Jeremy has no recollection of all these New Year’s Eves. Because, from what Sergio can tell, Jeremy is caught in what would be considered a good day for him. Hopefully, if he ever manages to break this loop, Sergio can help to extend this run into the days and weeks and months and even years out for him.
“But, whatever. It doesn’t matter. I can’t change anything about my situation. All I can do is go with the flow and take care of myself.”
“And if you could change it, would you?”
