Chapter 30
thirty
. . .
Violet
I look like Bambi on ice the first thirty minutes, but Mason stays with me the whole time. I keep insisting he leave me behind and go do some twirls or whatever he likes to do out here, but he insists he’s having fun right where he is. I eventually manage to glide on the ice without feeling like I’m going to tip over face first, and the next thing I know we’re doing laps around the pond. Very slow, very small laps but still. Childhood Violet is rejoicing. I look to my right and see Mason beaming.
“You’re doing great, Vi.”
“This is so fun! I can’t believe I’m doing this.” I loosen my grip on Mason’s hand and pick up some speed. “Do you think I could try skating on my own?” I’m not entirely sure where this burst of confidence came from, but I wasn’t going to question it.
“Absolutely.” He gives my hand a final squeeze before letting go. I stumble a little but manage to stay upright .
“If coaching for Westchester doesn’t work out, you could definitely make a killing with ice skating.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Definitely. Look at how fast you managed to teach me. Next stop, Olympics!” My enthusiasm sets me off balance a little, and I wave my arms like I’m treading water.
“Mmm…” He presses his lips together, suppressing a smile.
“Aren’t coaches supposed to encourage their players? Don’t laugh.”
“You look like …someone looking for the light switch in the dark. It’s cute.”
“Don’t be rude.” I gently smack his arm. “Maybe we can do pair skating in the Olympics! I’ll dazzle the crowd with my beauty and grace, and you can do all the fancy tricks.”
“Eh, the uniform isn’t my style. I could never pull off sequins.”
“C’mon. Just imagine how great your ass would look in those tights.”
“Thinking about my ass now, are we?”
I open my mouth to respond when I see a kid barreling toward me. He notices me at the last second but rams into my side, and my legs slide out from under me. I stick out my hand to try and stop myself from falling on my face and jam my wrist on the ice. A second before I can process that horrendous pain the back of my head knocks the ice.
Fuck. First fall of the night is not a pretty one. The kid looks at me sheepishly and apologizes before skating back across the rink. I’m lying here like roadkill as his friends skate around me. Mason squeezes past and scoops me up bridal style, skating off the ice. He sets me down on a nearby bench.
“Oh god, Violet. I’m so sorry I didn’t see that kid coming.” His eyes are filled with panic as they scan my face. “Can you tell me the date?”
“What?”
“What is today’s date?” He repeats himself .
“Ice skating.”
“Violet, it’s December 8th. Fuck, you’re concussed.”
“Oh, no I thought you meant what did we do for today’s date. I know it’s the 8th.” I realize I just called this a date. “But this isn’t even a date so?—”
“Can you track this for me?” He asks, moving his finger around. He speaks like he can’t hear my ramblings about this date-not-date. I follow his finger until he appears satisfied. He looks off into the distance, working his jaw. He looks kind of mad.
“What’s wrong, Doc? I can handle it I promise.”
He doesn’t laugh. Not even a smile. Tough crowd. He drags his hands over his face.
“I can’t believe I let you fall.”
“We both knew I was going to fall at some point.”
“Yeah but I didn’t think you’d fall on your head. ”
“My wrist broke my fall. My head barely touched the ice.”
“What if you have a concuss?—”
“I promise you, I’m fine. Hell, I could probably race you right now if you want to get back on the ice.”
He ignores my attempt at humor. “Maybe we should take you to the ER just to be safe?”
“Mason.” I take his shaking hand into mine. “I don’t feel dizzy or confused. My wrist hurts, but I can move it. I don’t think I need to go to the ER.”
He glances back to the ice and then looks down at his feet. Maybe he was the one who wasn’t ready to face his fears today.
“My Olympic career ended as quickly as it started. Why don’t we call it a night for the skating? I am 100% fine, but also very much in need of a warm blanket and some hot chocolate.”
“I was planning on inviting you over to my place for dinner after. If that sounds alright with you.”
I really was fine, but my wrist was hurting like a motherfucker, and the fall gave me a pounding headache, which is making me feel cranky. I want to be in my bed, nursing my wounds alone. But I can’t leave Mason. Not when he looks like he hates himself right now.
“That sounds perfect.”
Mason continues to watch over me like a hawk, and I try not to be annoyed. I know concussions are a sensitive topic for him. Plus, I can’t remember the last time someone dotted over me like this and honestly, it was pretty nice.
The moment we entered his apartment he guided me over to the couch like an elderly person with a fall risk and insisted I relax while he made dinner. He came back about five minutes later to hand me a hot chocolate. A girl could get used to this.
While he’s in the kitchen, I take in my surroundings. From what I can see, his apartment gives off your classic bachelor pad vibes: a massive couch pressed up against a wall of exposed brick, a large TV to the left with his Xbox close by, and to my right I see his autographed Patrice Bergeron jersey hanging on the wall. I still remember when he got it as a Christmas gift over a decade ago. Mason shed a few tears (he denied it afterward), and his dad looked so happy knowing how much the gift pleased his son. I miss seeing them like that. I wonder if I ever will again.
“I’ll be done in a sec.” I hear the clinking of bowls, and a moment later he heads out of the kitchen, two steaming bowls in hand and a towel thrown over his shoulder. He places his bowl on the coffee table before placing the towel under my bowl and handing it to me. I look down to see what’s for dinner and my heart clenches.
“Is this my mom’s beef stew?”
“Same recipe. Elaine shared it with me when I headed off to college.”
“This takes hours to make. ”
“I made it before I came to pick you up. It’s no big deal.” He shrugs.
“You can’t even get some of these ingredients in local grocery stores.”
“There’s an Iranian grocery store that just opened up, like an hour drive outside of the city.” He nods his head toward my bowl. “Why don’t you try it before you give me too much credit, alright?”
I take a bite and I’m brought back to the first time we met in our old elementary school cafeteria. The first time he defended me, and the first time he left a mark on my heart. One that’s never gone away. One that I wanted to hold onto for as long as I could. We scarf down our dinner in silence, leaving our empty bowls on the coffee table.
“So…how was it?”
“Don’t tell my mom, but you make a better Amin than I do. That was amazing.”
“That’s incredibly high praise.” He makes a motion of zipping his lips shut. “Now I know you must be ill.” He lets out a small laugh before scanning my face. “You sure you’re okay? Head’s not hurting at all?”
“My head is perfectly fine.” My heart, however, was filled with cracks and sharp edges, and for the longest time, I thought it would always be that way. I was used to it being broken, but I wanted something different now. I wanted something more. Something better. “Can I ask you something?”
“Anything.”
“What are we doing?”
His eyebrows come together, “What do you mean?”
“I mean…” I toy with the hair tie around my wrist. “Are we just hanging out as friends? Are we dating? You planned this whole thing where you helped me achieve a childhood dream, overcome my fear, and made me my favorite dish and that feels like a date, but I just…I don’t know what we’re doing.”
“Do you want it to be a date? ”
“Depends. Did you plan this as a date? Or is this how friends hang out now?” I can feel the cracks and sharp edges of my heart warm smooth over with hope. For the longest time I thought it would never be hopeful again, always expecting the worst. But at this moment, I am hopeful. Hopeful that this is a date.
“I asked you on a date tonight. Whether or not it ends as one is up to you.”
My words barely come out as a whisper, yet somehow, it feels like they echo against the walls. “It’s a date then.”
“Good.”
I wait for him to continue as he leans back against the cushions and throws an arm over the coach. The epitome of calm to my current state of ‘freaking-the-fuck-out.’ Is this really happening?
“I’ve spent the last few weeks trying to keep things platonic because I thought that’s what you wanted.” He laughs, looking anything but amused. He looks sort of tortured actually. Like keeping things platonic has pained him, and he's now realizing it was unnecessary.
“So, you want this.” I gesture between us. “You want…me?”
He scoots over on the couch so we’re only a few inches apart.
“Violet, I want you. I know I’ve said this before and fucked it all up, but it’s always been true. I am only now mature enough to actually act on it.”
I feel simultaneously elated and miserable because I know that's true. I've always known, deep down, that Chicago was just a blimp in our eternal timeline. That Mason was growing, though perhaps more slowly than I was, and if I waited, he would catch up. But it felt good to be mad, to harden myself against yet another person making me feel like I wasn't good enough. But it was years of anger wasted. And I want to be happy. I deserve it dammit.
Mason continues, “I’ve wanted you for a very long time. And if you want me, I’m yours. I’ve always been yours, even when you didn’t want me to be, even when you tried to forget me. ”
With his words, I swear I feel my heart slowly piece itself back together. It wasn’t perfectly healed, and maybe it never would be, but it would be safe in his hands. That I knew for certain. I take his hand and place it on my chest. “You have my heart. Always.”
“Always.” The words from his mouth are a promise.
“Then act on it already.”
Mason grabs my face and kisses me so hard I see stars.