“Elida!”
“I think it’s to discuss coaching.”
“He looked interested in more than swapping coaching tips. But sure. It’s purely professional.”
“Tara.”
“I’m just saying.”
“Please stop just saying.”
She smiles into her mug and lets it go. I’m grateful enough that I refill her coffee from the machine even though it doesn’t improve it.
I’m back in the apartment by noon.
It’s still beige. The lighthouse is still going nowhere. I’ve started to find both of these things almost comforting, which probably says a lot about the state of my life.
I sit at the desk and open my laptop and write up the women’s session notes.
My phone buzzes.
Hey - still on for tonight? Pick you up at seven?
Jake.
Jake Skelly is straightforward. He won’t make me feel like last night - unsteady and kissing someone I shouldn’t in the cold outside a bar like I’ve forgotten every single lesson the last few years tried to teach me.
Distance, says the sensible part of my brain. This is exactly what you need.
Seven sounds great, I type back.See you then.
I sit for a moment. I think about Erik - about how that started with kissing someone I shouldn’t but I was certain it was worth it, and how completely and catastrophically wrong I turned out to be.
The distance between last night and this morning suddenly feels necessary.
Jake is good. Jake is safe.
That’s not nothing.
That’s actually everything right now.
MATEO
I wake up Saturday morning and lie there for a few seconds before I remember.
The kiss.
I stare at the ceiling.
It was brief. Soft. Less than ten seconds and I’ve replayed it enough times since last night that I could probably reconstruct it with forensic accuracy - the cold air, her face tilted up, the moment she leaned in and I closed the gap and she kissed me back. And then the moment she stepped away and walked back inside.
I put my arm over my face and look at the inside of my elbow instead of the ceiling, which doesn’t help.
The thing is it wasn’t just the kiss. It was the whole night. Her in the bar, laughing with Tara, not performing anything. The way she grabbed my hands to show me the step and laughed.
I get up before I can lie there and think about it any longer, which is the only useful thing I can do with this. I go to the rink because it’s Saturday so the ice will be quiet and there’s nothing wrong with me that an hour of hard skating won’t at least temporarily fix.
I shower. I make a snack.
