The thought makes my stomach cave in.
“Ian, I just retired two weeks ago and have been taking time for myself. Can’t a girl breathe for a little?” I walk back to the kitchen and resume my chopping. “Grab the chicken from the fridge and chop it. Make yourself useful.”
Ian jumps right into action, washing his hands before grabbing the chicken from the fridge as he lets my words settle into the silence.
It’s how I know he’s about to go into lecture mode. The calm before the storm as I like to call it.
“Get it over with,” I demand as I chop some broccoli and carrots.
The frying pan sizzles when he dumps the cut-up chicken into it, and once it settles into a low hum, he says, “Why did you retire? You’re at your prime, if you ask me. You would’ve won gold at the Olympics,again.”
I stab the knife a little harder than necessary into the stalk of the broccoli, not wanting to talk about this in the slightest.
After mentally counting back from ten, I bullshit like I’ve never had to before.
With a casual shrug, I say, “It got boring. Sure, I’m great at what I do, but it’s not fun anymore. I need something new.”
“Gymnastics got boring?” he says, sounding baffled. “The only thing you’ve lived and breathed since you could walk? I find that hard to believe.”
“Exactly, it’s all I’ve done and I’m nearing the end of my career anyways. I want to pivot on my own terms, you know?” I do my best to sound convincing–without overselling it–because he’ll sniff my lies out from a mile away.
“Are you sure this is what you want, Jen?” he asks softly.
Ian started calling me Jen as a kid because he had a hard time pronouncing my name, and whenever he’s being serious, he calls me that.
I finally meet his worried gaze. Guilt rattles me for lying to him because growing up, all we had was each other and he’s always been my protector. But if I told him the truth about what happened, I know he would lose his ever-loving mind.
“It is. The ESA even offered me a coaching position.”
“As long as you’re happy.”
Happy is the emotion I’ve felt the least lately, but he doesn’t need to know that.
“Ecstatic.” I smile, doing my best to make it genuine.
Ian smiles and turns away from me to stir the chicken and I resume chopping the vegetables.
We continue cooking a stir fry together, the conversation easy and less heavy.
We’re sitting at my island, about to start eating, when Ian clears his throat and asks, “Has Mom contacted you at all about this?”
I nearly drop my fork at the mention of our mom. I’ve been trying to avoid any thoughts of her since this all happened, and now that he’s brought her up, there’s no avoiding it anymore.
“No. Why? Did she talk to you?” My heart beats wildly as I wait for his answer.
He shakes his head solemnly. “Nope. The last time we talked was when I got traded last year. She told me that if Detroit goes to the World Series, she’ll be there.”
Sounds like our mom. She’s only ever eager to be there for the big moments and nothing else. Sometimes she still doesn’t show up even for those.
“I figured she’d have something to say about you retiring, that’s all,” he says, his tone turning dry as it always does when we talk about her.
All either of us has wanted is to make her notice us. To make ourselves more interesting than the places she’s traveling to. And yet, she’s only shown up once for Ian, during his first playoff run two years ago. She came when I first went to the Olympics when I was sixteen. Which was eight years ago.
And neither of us has seen her since, only getting phone calls here or there.
“She’s probably somewhere with no internet connection,” I tell him, trying to convince myself of that rather than the simple fact that she doesn’t care.
“Yeah, probably,” he murmurs, then takes a bite of his food. We eat for a few minutes, my playlist providing background noise.
