What if I fell flat on my face and Alex tried to be nice about it?
What if my mother’s voice was right and this wasn’t something “grown women” did?
I squeezed my eyes shut.
No.
No more letting her voice be louder than mine.
I took one deep breath, bag from the passenger seat, and forced myself out of the van.
The second I pushed open the rink doors, a wave of sensory nostalgia hit me so hard I almost stumbled. The smell of popcorn and industrial floor polish. The low thrum of early-2000s pop playing over ancient speakers. Colored lights blinked over the glossy wooden floor. The sharp, metallic whirr of wheels carving arcs in the rink.
I was nine years old again, holding Ethan’s hand as we skated in circles in this very roller rink. I was sixteen again, sneaking in with friends, cheeks flushed and heart wild from freedom. I was every version of myself I’d buried under adulthood and grief.
I swallowed hard.
“Eleanor?”
That voice, warm, bright, careful, slid straight through my nerves.
I turned.
And there he was.
Alex stood by the edge of the rink, skates already in hand, hair pushed back, eyes softening the moment he saw me. He smiled, it was a real one, one he didn’t give the world, just the people he trusted.
“Hey,” he said, walking toward me. “You made it. It’s not the park, but it’s much better for skating.”
Something in my chest fluttered painfully and beautifully all at once.
“Yeah,” I breathed. “I made it.”
He looked relieved. Actually relieved. Like he’d been hoping I would show up, not out of politeness or obligation, but because he wanted to seeme.
“Ready?” he asked gently.
“No,” I admitted. “But also yes. But mostly no.”
He laughed with a warm and encouraging chuckle as he held out his hand.
“Then let’s start slow,” he said. “I’m right here. I’ve got you.”
I barely had time to take another breath before someone swooped toward me in a blur of pink wheels and sunshine energy.
“YOU must be Eleanor!”
I startled so hard I nearly dropped my skates.
She skated to a perfect stop in front of me, no wobble, no hesitation, just pure, effortless control. Her pink roller skates gleamed, and her brown legs were showcased by the tiniest pair of athletic shorts I’d ever seen. Her knee-high socks had pink sparkles embroidered into the stripes. And her hair done in two perfect Afro puffs, each wrapped in sparkly pink scrunchies.
“Uh, yes,” I said, awed. “I’m Eleanor.”
She grinned, warm and radiant. “I’m Mel! Alex and Belle told me you'd be here today.”
Of course, he had.
“Welcome to Roll-O-Rama, home of the Grimm Reapers, home of family chaos, and home of the absolute best chili in the tri-county area. Come on.” She tugged gently on my wrist. “Let’s get you geared up.”
