CHAPTER 22
Troy
“TROY, IS THAT you?! I’m in the living room.”
“Yeah, it’s me, I’ll be there in a second!” I shout from the doorway as I lock the front door of Xavier’s mom’s house. Dropping the bags of groceries, I slip off my shoes and switch into a clean pair of socks. I pick the bags up before heading into the kitchen to rest them by the sink.
I wash my hands and face with a generous amount of soap before making my way to the living room.
Xavier’s mom lives with her three younger daughters, but Xavier’s moved in again recently ever since his mom’s breast cancer relapsed after last Christmas.
Mrs. Herrera’s currently undergoing a new round of chemotherapy, and her immunity hasn’t been too strong.
So we’re making sure to keep the place sanitized as much as possible for her.
“Troy.” Rosie’s smile lights up the room just as she did since I met Xavier at hockey practice when we were just six.
I quickly lean forward to give her a hug as she tries to get up.
She places a warm kiss on each of my cheeks.
She’s done that since we were all little.
It’s a Spanish custom. Even with the germs that could be crawling all over us that she needs to be careful about right now, she refuses to stop it.
So I figured I’d also wash my face, while I was at it, just to be safe for her.
“Troy, I told you not to come here. It’s Friday night. You should be at a party or on a date. Are you dating anyone?”
Rosie always thinks of others, it’s always been in her DNA.
And she’s also obsessed with all things romance.
Novels, films, myths. It’s a fucked up thing, when we all found out her husband was cheating on her with their maid for the past twenty years.
But, Rosie still watches reality dating shows and romcoms like true love still exists somewhere out there.
And she’s always making sure her children and her loved ones experience love in all its forms.
Her and my mom were close. My heart stings when I remember the picture frame of Rosie and my mother from the Rink then look up to find it still resting next to the television.
Xavier wanted to stay with his mom tonight, but his youngest sister, Belinda, had a skating competition, and didn’t have a ride.
He told me late last night, but I knew that he wouldn’t want to miss her first competition.
So I told him that I would stay with his mom.
It’s why I forgot to tell Ana. And their family doesn’t want Rosie’s health information to be shared with members outside of their immediate family and close friends.
For financial reasons, Mr. Herrera is still technically married to Rosie. She decided to keep his last name because of their history, but they see other people even after he begged her for forgiveness, and she understandably refused to view him as her husband after his betrayal.
“No, I’m not dating anyone right now,” I finally reply.
“How come?” She pulls her blanket up to her chest, visibly cold. “What did I tell you the other day?”
“That you really love pita bread?” I joke.
“Yes. I really do. But not that.” She gives me a knowing glance. “Life is nothing without love. You’re young. Go out and live. And love.”
The words that come out of Rosie’s mouth are either tough love or inspirational quotes that no other person could get away with, but when she says them, how she says it, you can’t help but feel your heart tinge.
I smile. “I’ll keep that in mind next time.” I bring a few of the pillows next to me to rest them beside her. “I’m going to start dinner. It should be ready in less than an hour.”
“You’re making me dinner? What happened to the takeout?”
“You need fresh food. This is better for you. And trust me, it’ll taste much better.”
She shakes her head, with the same motherly frustration I’m sure Xavier’s used to. “You do too much, Troy. I hope you know how much we all love you.”
“I love you guys, too. Always.” She reaches out to squeeze my hand, and I squeeze back.
“Ooh, can you make the yogurt I like?” Her brown eyes sparkle.
“What’s Greek food without tzatziki, c’mon now, Rosie? I wouldn’t do you dirty like that.”
I plop up from the couch as she chuckles.
_________
A few hours later, and the front door swings open, while Xavier comes rushing in with Marisol, Angela, and Belinda.
Marisol is 17, Angela 15, and Belinda 14.
Marisol and Angela ice dance, and Belinda’s in pairs skating.
They all skate at the Rink but aren’t part of The Academy.
Their mom thinks the environment is toxic for young girls, and her daughters have managed to skate pretty well without joining a professional skating academy.
My mom also used to mention something about the toxicity of figure skating for women, and one reason why she never touched the sport herself and only wanted to remain as a fan.
I always felt it was the nature of any competitive sport, that at the top it’s a cutthroat environment.
Just look at hockey. There’s a reason it’s known to be a violent sport.
Because it is a violent sport. And even though I grew up with only brothers, I was around a lot of women, and just from my mom alone, I’m at least a little aware that figure skating isn’t as pretty for girls as it may seem from the exterior.
When Xavier and his sisters walk through the foyer, I lift my index finger over my mouth and quietly motion to them to stay quiet.
Rosie fell asleep about an hour ago, while we were watching the latest episode of her favorite reality TV show, Love at the Villa.
The television screen still glows in the dark, but not as loud.
I slowly get up from the couch to greet them.
We all move into the kitchen to not wake her up.
When I spot Belinda’s tiny trophy in her hands and beaming smile, I lift her into my arms in excitement.
“I knew you’d kick their asses, B.” We exchange our signature fist bump when I put her down.
“I did my axel and everything! Just the way we practiced.”
Pride fills me just at the fact that a few practices we had together meant enough to her to even attribute a fraction of her own hard earned win with my help.
“She was pretty incredible,” Marisol echoes as Angela smiles, pulling a tub of salted caramel ice cream from the freezer.
Xavier grabs five spoons as we circle the table for our usual seats.
The girls start scooping the ice cream, while Xavier turns to me, his voice quiet.
“Thank you. For staying with her.”
“Anytime, man. Really.”
He gives me a hug while I pat my friend’s back who looks more exhausted than I’ve probably ever seen him look in years.
“No, really,” I add, “I gotta know if Gisele and Sebastian end up together.” Xavier laughs. He’s been watching the same reality show with his mom the whole season, so I know he’s aware of the contestants.
“Watch us end up on that show one day,” he jests.
“I wouldn’t last more than a day at that villa, but just to escape some people in this town for a few weeks, I’d do it in a heartbeat.”
He lets out a deep sigh. “Same.”