“Great. You’re the favorite family member now,” Étienne grumbles.
“I always was,” I whisper.
We head down to the baggage claim area and wait way too long for our luggage to come through. Our fathers help us carry our stuff to the car, and then we are on our way home.
Home.
I’m eager to see Mama and Mémé and Pépé, but I can’t help the ache that’s in my chest, knowing Roman is two thousand miles away.
Is he thinking of me? Is he wondering if I landed okay? Has he even gotten on his plane yet?
I press on my phone that’s in my front pocket. I haven’t felt a notification since I got off the plane. I pull it out anyway, just to look. Nothing. I open Roman’s text, just in case I missed something.
I didn’t.
There’s nothing.
Shoving it back into my pocket, I get into the car and close my eyes until we get home.
There won’t be much quiet time now. It’s right back to it. Interviews, photoshoots, brands reaching out… everyone will want a piece of me now that I hold the medal. My loyalty will stay with those who believed in me before I got it, but that doesn’t mean I can skip out and not do the work. If I want to go back in four years, and if I want to keep competing and touring, I need to keep practicing. The next couple of weeks off from practice will hopefully go by fast. I’m going to need the distraction of skating.
When we get home, I don’t miss all the cars parked in our driveway and the signs in the front yard and hanging on the door.
“This is unnecessary,” I say.
My father looks at me over his shoulder. “This is your mother we’re talking about.”
“Good point.”
The four of us bring everything inside, and I know what awaits me. A party to celebrate my accomplishment. I kind of just want to be left alone.
Still, I step into the house with a smile on my face knowing the photos are coming. Family I haven’t seen in ages are all here, all stuffed into the house, shouting excitement at me in French. I understand half of it, but the English words stick out more.
My mother pushes through the crowd to reach me, pulling me into her arms and hugging me tightly.
“I am so proud of you, Nico. You did wonderfully.” Then the tears start. “I am so sorry we couldn’t be there. Mémé and Pépé needed us here, and—”
“I know, Mama. You don’t have to explain. It’s okay.”
“I’m just so sad I missed it,” she cries.
“I’m here now. And you watched it on television.”
“Of course we did!” She throws her arm around me and walks me through the crowd of cousins and aunts and uncles. “Now, come on. I made your favorite.”
She guides me into the kitchen.
“You madetourtière?” I ask, noting the meat pies covering the island.
“Of course I did. What kind of mother would I be if I didn’t make my son’s favorite after winning an Olympic gold medal!”
I huff a laugh and take the plate when she hands it to me.
“Sit and eat,” she says, shooing me away.
Étienne is there beside me, his plate as full as mine.
The rest of the family trickles in, all taking pie and other food that my mother made. It must have taken her hours to prepare this. I’m grateful for it and I missed them dearly, but I can’t help but feel like someone is missing.
