It feels like an eternity before a bus rolls up. Mom holds her hair away from her face between curled fingers. I try to copy her, but my hair’s too short and my hand hovers awkwardly.
We sit quietly for the four blocks to Market Street. As passengers exit and board at a stop, Mom’s hand settles on my knee.
“I love you.”
The words flood my chest with unexpected warmth.
I’m not sure what made Mom say this, but I place my hand over hers. “I love you, too.”
“I still don’t understand—” Mom stops mid-sentence when I squeeze her hand gently. She breathes in through her nose and lets out a long breath from her mouth. The same way I do before a skating event to ground myself.
“I don’t understand what you’re going through, but I love you. I don’t want you to feel miserable or hate skating.”
“I don’t hate skating.” Mom waits as I search for the right words. “My free program just isn’t right for me. The costume isn’t, either.”
“This is all very new for me, but I want to understand.” She turns her hand over, fingers twining through mine.
The bus moves on. It climbs a small hill just past downtown, then Mom and I get off.
Once we’re back on the sidewalk, Mom turns to me. “If you don’t like your program, we’ll find something different. Same for your costume.”
“Mom, that’s not…” I pause. “It’ll cost a ton.”
“Yes,” Mom says as we turn a corner. “It will be expensive to start over. But there are things that are more important.”
She looks at me until it sinks in. Deep down, I think I always knew things like my happiness and health are more important than saving Mom money. The extra training costs were just easier to worry about.
We pass old brick buildings and familiar side streets, unlock the heavy metal gate into our building, and take the stairs up to our apartment.
My thoughts keep returning to the conversation with Mom and Alex. To what Mom said on the way home after. I come to a stop near our kitchen table and turn back to her.
“Hey, Mom? You always say to focus on training and not worry about money. But just because we don’t talk about the cost doesn’t mean I don’t think about it.”
She blinks fast, like she’s trying to hold back tears. “I thought it was best to let you enjoy skating and be a kid.”
“It was a good idea, when I was younger. I could just have fun on the ice.” I pull some tissues out of my duffel and hand them to her. “But I’m twelve now. I’m old enough to work as a skate-school assistant, so maybe it’s time for me to help choose what I’ll be skating to for a whole season, too.”
“This all feels like it happened so fast.” Mom dabs her eyes. “One day you were tottering around in rental skates, the next you’re landing double axels and winning Nationals. No one tells you what to do when your daughter”—she swallows hard at the end of the word—“when your child has this kind of talent.
“Then Alex decided to move to Oakland and told me about that famous choreographer. It came right after I got my bonus at work, and I thought, here’s my chance to finally give you everything skaters with two parents already have.”
I open my mouth, then close it. I don’t understand how I can feel happy and sad all at once.
“I wish I’d known how you were feeling earlier.” Mom looks at me. “You can always talk to me if there’s something you’re unhappy about. Anything at all. You know that now, right?”
“Yes.” I smile a little.
Mom lets out a sigh as she glances at her watch. “I’m afraid I have to go back to work.” The corners of her mouth turn down. My expression matches hers.
Right now, I know what happy means to me more than anything. I take Alex’s advice and tell her. “I wish you could stay.”
“I wish I could, too, but I didn’t even leave with my laptop this morning. They’re expecting me back.” She looks so defeated.
I hide my disappointment by looking toward the window. I had a feeling she’d say that.
“But I have an idea,” Mom continues. “Let’s spend Friday together, just the two of us. We can have a longer conversation, without work interrupting. I’ll put in the time-off request when I get back to the office. What do you think?”
It looks like Mom’s holding her breath, like she’s not sure I’ll want to spend a whole day with her.
I don’t take long. Reaching out, I wrap my arms around her waist. She hugs me back.
There’s no need for words. Mom knows my answer.
After Mom leaves, my thoughts turn to Tamar and Hayden. Those are two friendships I still need to fix, if it’s even possible.
I have to start somewhere, though. I climb the ladder to my bed, determined to come up with a plan. It’s time to take matters into my own hands instead of sitting around waiting for people to text me back.
Chapter Thirty-Two
The next day is cold and foggy: typical for San Francisco in August. Zipping my coat up under my chin, I brace myself for the walk ahead.
I know what I need to do, but I’m still not sure how. I run through ideas as I walk. By the time I ring Tamar’s doorbell, I still haven’t totally figured it out.
The familiar yappy sounds of Pix and Ponch precede a patter of canine feet. When the door cracks open, Eli looks down at me.
“Hey.” He shoos the dogs away. “Haven’t seen you in a while.”
I try not to flinch. It’s probably just small talk, but Eli’s comment still feels like an accusation.
“I’ve been busy with skating,” I explain. “Is Tamar home?”
I should’ve let her know I was coming, but I deleted every text I tried to write
