I have a few hours before my skating classes start. I should go home, rest my ankle, maybe eat something since I skipped breakfast. Instead I end up in the gym, even though I’m not supposed to be doing anything intense.
The weights are organized by size along one wall, so I grab a set of light dumbbells and start with basic exercises. Nothing that requires me to use my ankle. Just something to burn off this restless energy.
I’m three sets in when Almardon walks in. The backup goalie. He’s quiet, serious, the type who nods at you in passing but doesn’t make conversation unless necessary. The complete opposite of Rodriguez in every way. I don’t understand how they’re friends.
He heads straight to the rowing machine without acknowledging me, which is exactly what I want. No forced small talk. No questions. Just two people using the same space.
I finish my sets and move to stretching, lowering myself to the mat. My ankle protests when I point my toes, a sharp twinge shooting up my shin. A few more weeks before I can attempt doubles. And then the qualifiers that I won’t be ready for.
My phone buzzes in my pocket.
Olivia.
Emergency bridesmaid meeting tonight at 7. Zoom. BE THERE.
Great. Just what I need. An hour of discussingflower arrangements and seating charts and pretending I’m excited flying to Toronto to watch her marry Owen, whose best friend destroyed me two months ago.
I’ll be there.
I put my phone away and focus on my stretching. One thing at a time. Teach my skating classes. Survive the bridesmaid meeting. Keep moving forward.
Don’t think about Garrett. Don’t think about February. Don’t think about Rodriguez and his stupid persistent attempts at conversation.
Just keep going. That’s all I have to do.
By the timeI get home, it’s already 6:45. I barely have time to grab a glass of water and set up my laptop before Olivia’s invite pops up on my screen.
The bridesmaid Zoom call is exactly as awful as I expected.
Olivia is in full bridezilla mode, which means she’s talking a mile a minute about napkin colors and whether the centerpieces should have roses or peonies. The other bridesmaids, her college friends mostly, are enthusiastic and engaged and asking all the right questions about the venue and the timeline and whether we’re doing a bachelorette party.
I’m muted, half-listening while I ice my ankle. The ice pack is rigid and cold through the thin towel, numbing my skin.
“Jules? You still there?”
I unmute quickly. “Yeah, sorry. What’s up?”
“I asked if you were going to be okay wearing heels with your ankle situation.”
“Yeah, I’ll be fineby then.”
“Perfect!” Olivia beams at the camera. She’s so happy it almost hurts to look at. “Okay, so about the rehearsal dinner. Owen’s family is hosting at their favorite restaurant, and?—”
I zone out again, my mind drifting.
“—and I know it’s going to be a little weird with Garrett there, but Owen says he’s being super mature about the whole thing.”
The other bridesmaids look confused. Of course they do. They don’t know what happened.
“Wait, what happened with Garrett?” one of them asks.
“He and Jules broke up before the holidays,” Olivia says, like it’s no big deal. “But it’s fine. Ancient history, right Jules?”
Ancient history. Two months. That’s ancient history now apparently.
“Right,” I manage. “Totally fine.”
“Good. Because Owen really wants his best friend there, and I don’t want any drama at my wedding.”
