Chapter 10 #2
Seeing Kirby smiling, laughing, and looking gorgeous made Mara’s heart thump in her throat. She had felt different since their incident. Like what they had done was permanently marked on her skin. She couldn’t believe every person she’d interacted with hadn’t been able to look at her and know.
“There are subtitles.”
Mara took a deep breath and pictured a pond of calm water. It was all she could do to keep from seeing red.
“I didn’t read them.” The video had cycled to a new clip of cats playing with a cardboard box. Her dad’s Facebook algorithm was truly a mystery.
He sighed in exasperation and fiddled with his phone to get back to the video. “Listen to it.”
“I’m not going to listen to a video in the middle of a coffee shop without headphones.”
“Jesus, Mara. Why are you being so contrary? She bashes you.”
“Let me see.” She snatched the phone from her dad and held it up to her ear.
The man’s voice filtered through. “And what about Mara May? What is your strategy in a race with her?”
Kirby says, “Ah man. Don’t ask me that. You’ll get me in trouble.”
Mara frowned. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected.
She glanced at the screen and could see it was from a podcast called Arctic Out and About.
There was an Alaska state flag and a progress Pride flag in the background.
Kirby chatting with a queer podcast from Mara’s home turf rubbed her all kinds of wrong.
Not that they would have ever thought to invite her to their podcast. Being unapproachable and private had that effect.
“You like trouble, though,” the man said. “That’s what you’re known for!”
Kirby laughed, which made Mara’s breath catch.
“You caught me. Fuck, okay. Keep her within your sights. Then she gets too confident or too gassed and bang, champagne toasts and gold.” There was a weird blip like words had been cut.
Maybe the host’s next question. “She’s perfectly fine.
But unless it’s about ski gear or trail conditions, we don’t have anything in common.
Mara is… hmm, how do I say this nicely? She’s a very self-contained and unflappable human being. ”
“Are you saying she’s boring?” the host asked. “I feel the need to defend my fellow Alaskan.”
“Have you ever met her?” Kirby asked. “I’ve heard Anchorage described as the biggest small town.”
“I saw her on the trails once. I waved.”
“Did she wave back?” Kirby asked, delight evident in her voice.
“No.”
They both cracked up at that.
“Well, boring is your interpretation, not mine.” Kirby’s tone was the equivalent of a shrug.
Mara handed the phone back. It was impressive how Kirby had managed to make something so bland sound so mean.
“That wasn’t too bad.”
“You don’t care at all that she’s talking about you?”
“It’s a pointless video.”
“Has”—her dad turned the phone around to look at the screen—“Arctic Out and About asked to interview you?”
Mara pinched the bridge of her nose. She almost felt like laughing. “No.”
“You’re a better skier. You should be getting these interviews. Plus, you’re, you know.”
“Gay?”
“Well, yeah.”
“She is the defending gold medalist in the thirty-k. She’s the only American cross-country skier to get a gold in Beijing. Kirby is flashy.” Heat rose up her neck.
Mara had learned Kirby was lots and lots of things. Flashy was just one of them.
“You’re flashy. You dress like… that.” Her dad gestured at her pale-yellow sweatshirt and matching sweatpants. His opinion of it was quite clear in his tone.
“Yes. I have a sponsorship deal with this brand. Because I like wearing these colors.”
Compartmentalize. Deep breath.
“You should be getting more interviews, Mara Louise. More than her.”
It hadn’t taken long to be first and middle named. As much as her dad tried to be a coach, he always reverted to dad voice eventually.
“I am.”
“With who?”
“The usuals, Dad. It’s fine. I don’t like being interviewed. I’m happy with what has been arranged.”
Well, she wasn’t happy with the way the interview with Janette Collins had gone.
Except she kind of was happy with it.
It was complicated.
Kirby had been right that it had felt good to let loose. To stop hiding her true thoughts and feelings. And Kirby wasn’t holding back when it came to talking about Mara.
“The narrative should be that you’re—”
“Stop it.” She shook her head, one quick jerk, and her dad’s mouth snapped shut. He seemed shocked, and Mara felt a short, sharp pulse of happiness at that.
A mom and her preteen daughter walked up right at that moment with an athletic bag for Mara to sign. They were American. The girl, Avery, had a pair of sunglasses pushed up on her head that looked like the ones Mara had broken during training.
“Did you get your sunglasses here in Predazzo?” Mara asked as she signed the bag. “I broke a pair this week and need another.”
“You can have these,” Avery said, much too eagerly, and practically threw the glasses at Mara.
“Oh, no. That’s not what I meant.” She had honestly just been trying to make small talk. “Here.” Mara took the permanent marker and drew a tiny heart on the inside of the earpiece of the sunglasses. “Think of me when you wear these and are going really fast.”
They were a favorite brand of most cross-country skiers, and Mara could have tossed a stick and hit a store with them in stock.
The girl stared at the heart and seemed to get emotional, which Mara was not equipped to handle at all.
“Who’s your favorite skier?” Mara blurted out.
It was a question her agent had taught her to ask when she had to chitchat with fans.
People usually said Mara May because it would be rude not to say your favorite skier was the skiing superstar right in front of you.
But preteens didn’t always have their social etiquette dialed in because Avery didn’t miss a beat. And she did not say Mara May.
“Kirby Bonham.”
Mara blinked. Her dad’s mouth dropped open. The girl’s mom closed her eyes briefly.
“What?” Avery said. She peeked back at her mom, seemingly confused or maybe defensive about everyone’s reaction. “Kirby has a gold medal. And she won Genius Academy.”
A laugh bubbled its way out of Mara, and she couldn’t swallow it. She would never escape Kirby. “Of course she did.”
The young girl’s mom also laughed, a bit nervously perhaps, but still a hearty chuckle.
Mara’s dad did not.
“I like you too. Obviously,” Avery said sullenly.
“Sure.”
“And you’ll probably win gold this time. And then you’ll be, like, even.”
“Okay, Avery. Let’s go,” her mom said.
“It was so nice to meet you, Avery,” Mara said. She was having trouble keeping her laughter inside. Mara would never win Genius Academy, so she and Kirby would never be even.
And Kirby had won a gold first. She’d always have that over Mara.
Four years ago, the television networks, sports journalists, and the team’s media department had decided she deserved to be coronated once she won the gold. They had built it up. She had let them.
Then she hadn’t won the gold after all.
And that had been the story. A failed Olympics. A failed gold medal.
Hubris didn’t make you a star, but it did occasionally get you roasted by a preteen in an Italian café.
What was it that Kirby had said? Mara got too confident at the end.
She hadn’t felt confident since losing in Beijing.
That loss was a constant stitch in her side, reminding her to be humble, to try hard, to push and fight and win.
Once they were alone, Mara’s dad said, “See?” like that whole interaction with the young girl had proven some big point.
A point about her. A point about Kirby.
Mara stood up to order something, anything, else.
While in line, a protein bar in hand, something Kirby had said during their hookup snuck up on her.
Use your big girl words.
A blush so hot it felt like flames burst over her face, but she turned the sentence over in her head anyway.
There was no reason that phrase should have been as sexy as it had been, but Mara had really, really liked the frank meanness. The bite in Kirby’s tone.
Mara paid for her protein bar and another coffee for her dad. She returned to their table.
“Here’s a coffee.” She placed it in front of him. He didn’t thank her or look up from his phone.
“So you’re not racing in any of the sprint events?”
“No.” She did fine in sprints and had won bronze in the sprint in Pyeongchang, but they were not her best events by any stretch.
He shook his head in disbelief. “And your training regimen involves an hour of yoga and meditation every day? That’s what this article says. I’m not sure that’s the best use of your time. I know Coach Karlsson thinks the optimal way to train is a mix of low-intensity—”
“My training is off-limits.”
“Excuse me, Mara Louise?” Oh, there was the dad voice again.
Big girl words. Big girl words.
Mara wanted to be brave. To set the right boundaries, not the wrong ones. She was pretty sure she had set the wrong boundaries with Kirby.
But she was going to fall apart if all she heard every time she talked to one of the most important people in her life was that she was lacking and needed to be doing more. The voice in her head did that enough.
“Give me this time to focus without you in my ear second-guessing everything, and I’ll see you once I’m done competing.”
“In nineteen days? You’re not going to see me for nineteen days?” he said, referencing how many days remained until the fifty-k.
“Correct.”
He put on a hurt expression. “You used to value my opinion.”
That wasn’t untrue. Her dad had always been around, more than everyone else’s support networks. He had helped her stay insulated, focused.
And she had needed that. Wanted that. Thrived that way.
But insulation and isolation were starting to feel pretty similar. And if this was her last experience, her last shot at Olympic gold, it was time to do things differently.
“I love you, Dad. But I’m not entertaining this type of, I don’t know, debriefing with you right now.”
Big girl words.
“I’ve never known you to be ungrateful,” he said. She braced for a lecture about the insane amount of time spent, the money, the sacrifices. “But it’s your choice. I don’t need to stick around just to bear witness to your mistakes.”
And that was the rub, wasn’t it? She was racking up the mistakes, one after another. The interview, the sunglasses, the loss of focus, Kirby Bonham.
Doubt trickled through her brain. What if he was right?
If everything fell apart, would she look back at this moment and wish she’d exhausted herself racing all six events?
Would she wish she’d made more money with appearances and sponsorships prior to the Olympics?
Would she wish she had molded the media story around her in a way that benefited her more?
Maybe it would have been better to do extra commercials and press. To hit the princess narrative harder.
Her dad stood up, and she jumped. She felt upset.
“Guess I’ll give you that space,” he said.
She nodded. “Don’t forget your coffee.”
He snatched it off the table and walked away.