“Uncle Caleb, can we go fast?” she asked.
“We can go safely,” I corrected, which only made Eva laugh.
“You’ve been hanging around children too much,” she said.
I looked at her. “She is literally a child.”
Eva reached up and straightened my scarf the way she used to when we were younger, like she was still convinced I couldn’t be trusted to dress myself. “I mean your music lessons. You should getout more. Maybe date someone.”
I ignored that and ushered Abby through the doors.
The rink was already full. Kids clung to the boards, parents shouted encouragement that sounded suspiciously like instructions, and teenagers moved in clusters like they were trying to look effortless. Music played through tinny speakers, some upbeat holiday song that had been overplayed enough to become a form of background noise rather than something anyone truly listened to.
Abby tugged me toward the benches. “Watch, I can do it without holding on now.”
“That’s what you said last time,” Eva replied.
“That was last time,” Abby said with deep seriousness.
We sat to lace our skates. Abby’s were the kind with bright colors and sturdy support, designed to keep children upright even when their bodies hadn’t decided what balance was yet. Mine were plain and familiar, the leather softened with use. Eva’s were older than mine and sharper, because Eva skated regularly.
I tied my laces carefully, then glanced up as Abby stepped onto the ice and immediately wobbled.
Eva leaned close. “You’re overthinking again.”
“I’m watching Abby,” I said.
Eva made a sound that meant she wasn’t buying it.
Abby pushed off, arms out for balance, and managed a small glide before grabbing the boards again. She looked back at us triumphantly.
“I did it,” she called.
Eva clapped. “You did it. Very brave. Very stable.”
Abby beamed and started inching along the boards with determination.
I followed her onto the ice, steadying myself with a small shift of weight. Skating felt different than snowboarding. It was quieter. You could hear the blades cut, the soft scrape as people adjusted their stance, the small gasps when someone nearly went down. It was a place where movement was its own language, and I understood it.
For a few minutes, I focused only on Abby. I kept pace beside her, close enough to catch her if she tipped, far enough to let her feel independent. Eva skated nearby, occasionally leaning down to offer advice and then immediately contradicting herself because she enjoyed being right more than she enjoyed being consistent.
“You’re not holding your arms right,” she told Abby.
Abby frowned. “Like this.”
“No,” Eva said, holding her arms out. “Like this.”
Abby mimicked her, then wobbled again.
Eva laughed. “Actually, your way was fine.”
I shot Eva a look. “You look like a penguin. Doesn’t she, Abby?”
“What,” Eva said. “I’m encouraging her.”
“You’re confusing her,” I replied.
“It builds resilience.”
