I couldn’t see it last night, too blinded by my own anger, but her fear was as palpable as the ice covering Alkey Lake. Instead of staying last night, making her tell me what was really wrong, I ran like a coward, too pissed off to talk it all out.
Did she make it home safe? Was she okay? Was she hurting today?
I never imagined that our first time would happen in a small forest overlooking the lake, but I guess that it only made sense that it happened there.
As children, we’ve spent countless hours skating there, dreaming of our futures. She wanted to be an Olympic medalist, and I wanted to play in the NHL. And unlike a lot of other people, unlike my own family, she never doubted me.
She never told me that my dreams were too big for a kid from a small town. She never told me that I couldn’t do something. She was always the one pushing me to do better and better and better.
She never forsook me, and I wouldn’t do the same.
With heavy limbs and an aching heart, I turned off the engine, determined to get this over with once and for all. Last night after texting my mom that I was going to the apartment in town, I switched off my phone, hiding from the rest of the world.
As I turned it on now, I knew I shouldn’t have done that.
Fifteen missed calls from Bianca and over a dozen from my mom greeted me as soon as the screen lit up. My heart clenched painfully, invisible hands of anxiety creeping through my bloodstream, and I knew without a doubt that something was wrong.
I looked toward Sophie’s house, realizing that the lights were off. They should’ve been back by now.
She had a competition today. As much as it pained me not to be there for her, I knew that it wasn’t the place or time to discuss what needed to be discussed. I stayed away, giving her some space to come to terms with what we were, no matter how much she tried fighting it.
With unnecessary force, I slammed the door of my car shut, and ran inside the house, my eyes frantically searching for my mom.
She wasn’t working today, and I knew she was home.
I ran through the hallways, coming to a halt when I saw her hunched above the table in the dining room, looking smaller than she actually was.
“Mom?” My voice wobbled, too scared to hear what had happened.
She turned toward me, her cheeks flushed, her eyes red from crying, and then it started again. Her shoulders shook, her face contorted in pain, and without preamble, I crossed the distance between us, going down on my hunches right next to her.
“Mom, what’s wrong?”
My hands shook as I placed them on her thigh, willing her to talk to me, to tell me what was wrong.
“Is it Dad?”
She shook her head, hiding her face from me.
“Is it Grandma? She sounded okay the last time I spoke to her.” I tried pushing and pushing, but she continued crying, heart-wrenching sobs shaking her body. “I’m sorry I didn’t answer my phone, but it was switched off. Is that why you’re crying?”
“Oh, Noah.” She suddenly turned to the side, toward me, and hugged me with all her might. “I’m so sorry, my boy,” Mom said, squeezing me as tight as she could. “I’m so freaking sorry.”
“Sorry about what?” I tried pulling back, but she wouldn’t let me. “You’re scaring me.”
“I’m sorry.” God, I wasn’t sure if I wanted to know what was wrong.
“Sorry about what?” I finally managed to pull back and grabbed her hands instead. “Tell me what’s wrong. Please?”
She pushed the loose strands of hair from my forehead, her eyes glistening with unshed tears, while her face as well as her neck had a crimson shade from all the crying.
“Did you watch one of those sad documentaries again?” I chuckled lightly, trying to change the mood. But that was the wrong thing to say, because her face again twisted with pain, and those crocodile tears started falling again.
“I-I love you so much. You know that, right?”
“Uh, I do. And I love you, too, but you gotta tell me what’s wrong. Did something happen? Did somebody die?”
She pulled me closer to her, burying her head in the crook of my neck, wetting my shirt and my skin, shaking my body as well from the force of her own trembles.
