Dom’s confidence was reassuring. When my parents and brothers told me they were sure Dom and I could pull something off, it was hard to trust their judgement. They did their best to understand my skating, but they hadn’t been able to understand all the technical things for a while. Mark and Olga, on the other hand, were so focused on the minutiae of what we were doing. It was easy to get bogged down with the feeling that we would never do it as well as they wanted us to. Dom’s easy confidence in us was what I needed at times like this, and he knew it.
The thoughts of my mother triggered a memory. “I was supposed to ask if you’re going to come to my parents’ to watch Skate America this weekend. Your parents have already saidthey are, but my mom doesn’t want to take me at my word that that means you’d come, too.”
“Crap, I meant to tell her I would. Sorry,” he said. He held the door open for me and caught up in a couple of strides.
“She still thinks that you’re the best,” I said, rolling my eyes. “I swear, I think she likes you more than she likes me sometimes.”
“That couldn’t have anything to do with the fact that she didn’t have to raise me and deal with me as a teenager, could it?” Dom asked.
I sat down to take off my skates. “Maybe,” I said, fingers tugging at the laces. “She heard plenty about your teenage shenanigans, though.” Both sets of parents had spent a lot of time together, following us from one competition to the next. They’d had more than enough time to talk through everything. I didn’t doubt that Dom’s parents had heard complaints about things I was trying to pull over the years and vice versa.
“Now that’s a word you don’t hear often enough,” Dom said, running a cloth down the blades of his skates to remove the moisture from the melting ice. “But I prefer to think that my parents didn’t know the worst stuff I did, so they couldn’t share it with your parents.”
“If that makes you feel better,” I said. I flexed my toes, enjoying the freedom after the tight constriction of the stiff white boots covering my feet and ankles. “Although I’m not sure about that. Not only would you have had to have hidden it from them, but you’d have to hope I didn’t tell my parents about the things I knew you did.”
The metallic noise of him shutting the zipper on his bag half-covered his snort. “Like you would tell them everything. I take credit for inspiring at least half the bad ideas you had. Telling them would be like shooting yourself in the foot.”
It was true. For all the sucking up Dom had done to my parents, the responsible way he portrayed himself had beenpartially an act. That had even extended to me at first, although that was more likely because I seemed like such a kid rather than him trying to impress me. By the time I started high school, he’d opened up to me more. Getting the information directly from him instead of eavesdropping on conversations the cooler older kids had was a big step in our bonding. “I’ll let my mom know you’re coming if you don’t want to text her.”
Dom laughed. “Nice try at changing the subject.” Despite his teasing, he let the subject drop. “Is there something I should bring?”
“Beer,” I said, which got a grin. “You know my mom. I’d bet good money that she’s already got half a dozen appetizers planned and won’t have enough room to put it all out by the TV.”
“Beer it is, then,” he said. “Then we can celebrate if they all suck or drown our sorrows if they’re all good.”
That wasn’t what I’d had in mind, but I had to admit that it sounded appealing. “Good call.”
When the weekend came, it was clear my father agreed. I was sitting on the loveseat in my parents’ living room, feet tucked under my bum, while my father answered the doorbell. He came in with a case of beer in his hands and a wide grin on his face. “The Hughes are here,” he said. He raised the cans slightly and said, “Dom remembered the beer I like.”
Dom walked in behind him, his sock feet sinking into the plush carpet. He had on a long-sleeved Henley and jeans, so unlike the clothing I was used to him wearing. “I couldn’t forget what you like, Tim.” He looked at me and jerked his head towards the kitchen. “I’m going to say hi to your mom.”
I could already hear our mothers laughing, while my dad was telling Dom’s father to come see the drink options in the fridge. “See if there’s any food ready when you come back,” I called as he disappeared into the kitchen. Surely, something had to be ready by now.
A few minutes later, he was back, with an assortment of crackers and a cheese tray. “The counter in there is absolutely covered,” he said, shaking his head. “How many people did your mom invite over?”
“Just your family,” I said. “Well, she invited Kendra and Alexis, too. But they have midterms next week, so they said they have to study.”
“She is going to have leftovers for days,” he said before heading back into the kitchen. A moment later, he was back again, this time with a dip. He placed it down carefully beside an artfully arranged pile of napkins and a small stack of plates.
Once he had everything settled, Dom flopped onto the loveseat beside me. He had one arm over the back of the couch and the other on the armrest, while he rested a foot on his knee. He looked at me and grinned, and I couldn’t help but smile back. I was a bit surprised he hadn’t chosen a spot on the couch or one of the chairs my parents had set out, but I was happy to have him close. “You aren’t eating yet?”
“I don’t want to look like a pig when our parents come in,” he said. “They might judge me if I ate half the food before they got a chance to eat.”
“There is no way they’d be surprised,” I said. I turned my body so my knees brushed against his leg. “Do you remember how much you could eat five years ago? Your parents must have spent more on food than they did on skating.” Between a growth spurt and the amount of exercise he got during the season, he ate enough to feed a small family on his own.
My father walked into the living room and sat in his usual chair, while Dom’s father sat near him. They both had beers in hand. “If you want something, make yourselves at home,” he said to Dom and me. “You know where everything is. If you want some of your beer, I put the cans in the door of the fridge.”
My mother came in then and sent a stern look at my dad. “You could at least get up and get it for him, Tim. He was nice enough to bring some.” She turned to look at Dom and me on the loveseat. I suddenly felt like she was looking at how we had chosen to sit close to each other. I told myself not to be stupid. It must be residual paranoia from Brandon. “Please, dig in. Hazel, did you not tell Dominic to help himself?”
I bristled at the comment. “He wanted to wait for everyone,” I said defensively.
My mom looked skeptical, but Dom came to my defence. “She told me to help myself. I didn’t want to be rude.”
“Nonsense,” my mom said, as though it was the most ridiculous thing she’d heard. “We have plenty of food, and you are family. Help yourself.”
That seemed to convince him, because he slid off the loveseat and started filling up a plate as our mothers got settled on the couch. Maybe he’d realized that my mother would be more offended by him not eating than she would be by him pigging out. Sure enough, she smiled at Dom when he settled next to me again with an overflowing plate of food.
I got a more reasonable plate for myself, making sure it would not slip off and fall onto my lap. I had just gotten settled again and was crunching on veggies when my mother said, “Tim and I would like to thank you for standing up for Hazel last Friday, Dom.”
