“Maybe I’ll be good at ice skating.”
Out of somebody else’s mouth, that might have sounded…arrogant, I guess.From Bobby, though, it was exactly that: amaybe.
We made our way to the rink.There was already a decent-sized crowd, but the rink was big enough that it didn’t feel overly full.I got out on the ice, made sure I had my balance, and held out a hand to Bobby.He wobbled as he joined me; his face was turned down, his gaze intent on his skates, but I could still see that huge, goofy grin when it stretched across his mouth.
“You want to keep your knees soft,” I said.
Bobby nodded.
I skated backward slowly, pulling him with me.“Now we’re going to swizzle.”
With a little laugh, Bobby asked, “Swizzle?”
“Turn your toes out, yep, like that, now push.Great.Now, toes back in—yep.”I squeezed his hands.“See, this is exactly what I’m talking about: you’re a natural.”
Bobby’s head came up long enough for him to flash that ridiculously beautiful grin at me, and then he turned his attention back to his skates again.
We made our way slowly around the rink once: me skating backward, Bobby taking his time.He had a few shaky moments and one near fall, but honestly, he was doing great.
“Did you go ice skating a lot growing up?”he asked.
“A couple of times a year.”
“You’re good.”
I laughed.“I’m not good, Bobby.I’ve just done it before.”
“You’re skating backward.”
“That’s right.I’m a hotshot.”I squeezed his hands again.The whicking sound of blades in the ice mixed with the music—Irving Berlin, now—and the excited voices of our fellow skaters.“Ready to get out there?”
“We just skate around in a circle?”
“Unless you’re a hotshot like me,” I said, and I gave a jaunty burst of speed backward—and promptly almost fell over.
Bobby was kind enough not to laugh.But that big grin got a little bigger.
We skated with the crowd for a while.It’s strange how going round and round in a circle, surrounded by a bunch of random other people, can be so much fun.Part of it was the season—the big boughs of evergreen, the red bows, The Queen—Mariah Carey—belting out the true anthem of Christmas.And part of it was Bobby.I kept catching whiffs of the clean, sporty scent of his deodorant, mixed with the crisp cold of the ice and, from the booths set up around the rink, popcorn and cider and hot chocolate.
Because Bobby has an unfortunate affinity for Sports (notice the capital S), he was, of course, a natural on a pair of skates.He even wanted to try skating backward, and he did a much more credible job of it than I ever had.We’d started our loops around the rink on the outside, being passed by everyone from Keme and Millie (yes, they were holding hands, and yes, they were adorable) to Bliss and Althea Wilson (who were also holding hands and were also adorable, even if they were fifty years older).But after a few laps, Bobby wanted to go faster, and we worked our way to the inner circle.
That was when Keme and Millie (but mostly Keme) decided to go even faster.
And then—surprise, surprise—Bobby wanted to go faster too.
And then it was just Keme, with Millie laughingly drifting off to the side of the rink.Keme skating past to swat me on the back of the head.Keme skating up and spraying us with ice.Keme zipping alongside and grabbing the hat off Bobby’s head.
Bobby was mature.Bobby was serious.Bobby was perhaps the most responsible person I’d ever met.But sometimes he got a certain look in his eye that had everything to do with being a boy.
“Go race him,” I said.“And then beat him up.”
“I love you,” he said.
He didn’t wait for a response; he was already flying down the rink, his compact, muscular body bent over the skates.
A total natural.
I was starting to have my doubts again about the whole I’ve-never-been-skatingthing.
