CHAPTER 95
Ana
THE HOSPITAL FEELS just as cold as I remember.
Stepping onto the elevator, it stops at the second floor, meanwhile my chest plummets.
It’s Troy.
God, I look like pure crap. Crap probably looks better than I do right now. My hair’s sweaty, I have no makeup on—except for the smeared mascara stuck to my sticky cheeks—and I’m in sweats. Before he notices, I quickly drop my reindeer-patterned band-aid covered hands to my sides.
He stares at me. And I see it.
Pity.
He must have already seen the video.
Pushing my eyes to the floor in shame, and I dart right past him and out the elevator. This isn’t even my floor, but there’s no way I’m riding in that thing with him, especially not now.
A new set of tears spring from my cheeks, desperately in search of the stairs that have suddenly disappeared from the right wing of this hospital.
In such a state of panic, I’ve bypassed the attack stage altogether.
Stephanie’s door. I find it.
In.
Out.
_________
I don’t know what I was expecting, but the wellness center isn’t as frightening as I had made it out to be in my head.
And neither is Ms. Wong.
After apologizing probably a good fifteen times for ignoring her voicemails for the past year or so, she finally insisted that I don’t bring up the matter again, that it was okay for me to need space and deal with situations at my own pace.
It makes me feel stupid, avoiding this resource that had been available to me all this time, until she starts spitting out questions I have no answers to.
“Would you say things in your life are balanced?” she asks very normally, as if the question is the equivalent to, do you prefer still or sparkling?
“No, they’re not,” I admit.
“Have you ever considered taking a break?”
“A break?”
“From figure skating.”
Breathe.
“If I take a break from skating,” I reply with honesty, “someone else will take my place the second I leave, and I’ll never be in the position that I am right now.”
“But you are unbalanced, you just said.”
“I’d be more unbalanced if I took a break. I’d—I’d lose it.”
“Your mind?”
“Yes.”
“The mind and body work together.”
“Yeah,” I mutter thoughtlessly, “or against each other.”
“But they are both still a part of you. Your mind has programmed your body. And if you neglect your mind, your body will punish you for it later. A temporary break is far more ideal than a permanent one.”
“A temporary break doesn’t bring you a gold medal,” I snap like a child.
Stephanie sits up, her face neutral. “And this medal, it means a lot to you?”
“It means everything to me,” I emphasize.
“Why?”
“Because it’s the gold medal. It’s what we work night and day for. Our entire life for.”
“This medal makes you feel accomplished,” she guesses, gesturing my way.
“Yes,” I reply. “Like everything my coach did for me and the things my family gave up were worth it. That I didn’t let down all the little girls who look up to me. That everything I gave up—everything I’ve lost—was worth it.”
“You already have a gold medal, though,” she reminds.
“One,” I remind.
“More than most skaters will ever have,” she points out.
“I know.”
“Did it make you feel accomplished? When you won this medal.”
I think through the question for a moment. “I don’t know. When I first got it, of course. I was in another world. I thought I made it. But then, I guess, not so much. I’m a little obsessed with winning. I wanted more.”
“You wanted to be the best.” I nod. “Why?”
“Because I always felt like I was the worst.” A tear streams down my cheek, Stephanie nudging the tissue box beside her my way.
“I was too tall,” I explain, wiping the salt away, “too bony, then too curvy, too poor, too soft, then too cold, I never fit in. I kept pushing my way through two polar opposite rinks, and every trophy I got, it never felt like it was enough. I’m still bullied, I still don’t stand up for myself, I’m still more hurt than I want to admit.
But I never wanted to be that girl who somehow always was the victim.
I know I’ve made more mistakes than I can count, but I don’t know how to change any of these things. ”
“I think that’s enough for today,” she concludes, lifting her lips with understanding.
Through the words, somewhere in the exchange, I realize now: the air feels a little easier to let in.
_________
Troy
A hand taps over my back, poking around to find an elderly woman with silver strands, wearing bright purple glasses, holding a bouquet of gladiola arrangements in her other.
Her strange frown confuses me before she reminds me if I’m ready.
To check out.
Realizing I’ve been holding up the whole gift shop line, after quickly apologizing to the lady and the rest of the line, I move through the children’s wing of Faerieladle Hospital with a set of petal pink roses.
Greeting the nurses and the rest of the hospital staff, I stop by the receptionist’s counter, smiling in fondness at the stickers stamped with comic book characters and princesses.
Denise—the nurse who’s been working here since my mother gave birth to me and my brothers—picks up the green woven basket that’s always behind her computer and filled with all sorts of candies.
She brings it to my face, breaking my rigid mouth into a smile, reminded of her doing the very same since I started volunteering here in high school.
“Don’t frown so much,” she scolds. “You’ll have wrinkles ten years before me.”
I laugh with a nod. “Do you know where Daisy Rossi’s room is?”
Denise points in the direction of the hallway, signaling the location of the young skater. She forces me to take a piece of chocolate before I leave, curving my lips at the gesture, except my second smile was phony.
All I can think of since she escaped out of the elevator, was the paleness in Ana’s face. How weak she looked for a girl who I’ve always known to be strong.
It killed me. Ripped my heart in half. And shoved me into a room full of pretty flowers that all looked terribly ugly because the girl that I care about didn’t look okay, and I knew I couldn’t help her.
I shake my head so quickly to roll away the harsh reality, pulling myself together for the purpose of today’s visit.
I slap on a smile, knocking against Daisy’s door, entering when the nurse gestures that it’s okay for me to come in.
The young girl is finishing up checking her vitals before she leaves us, exiting the room.
“Troy!” Daisy beams. “Are those for me?”
“No, I got them for your sister.”
“Hey!” Her tiny brows crinkle together.
“Yes, they’re for you,” I say with a laugh.
“I love them, thank you.”
“Of course.” I set the flowers onto the small table resting beside her hospital bed.
Pulling up the chair by the television, I bring it toward her, emptying the bag I brought onto the larger, sliding table by the glass window, rolling it closer to her as coloring books fly out, followed by a set of plain Christmas stockings, and a sewing tin full of festive decorations.
Daisy sits up, her eyes so bright at the shiny fabrics and vibrant colors before her, the infectious joy on her cheeks temporarily easing the gloom from the outside world.
“Let’s see your wrist,” I say, scanning her cast as she brings her injured hand toward me.
“It’s better. I still can’t skate for another two months.” She frowns for a moment at the idea.
“It’s okay,” I reassure. “If you focus on your recovery and your health, I promise the rink will still be there after. What’s the most important thing?”
“My health,” she recites with a sigh.
“It’s true. And we need you back at the rink to show everyone how to do a proper twizzle.”
“It’s so not that hard. You just gotta lead with the right foot.” She throws her head back in frustration. “Alice doesn’t understand.”
I laugh at the sibling rivalry between Daisy and Alice, my heart warming at how close they are with one another.
A couple minutes into decorating, and Daisy glues googly eyes onto hers, sticking the white plastic stationary onto the green velvet.
“Do you think Ana can join our next practice?” Mid-gluing a gold star onto the red velvet of my stocking, and like a dam that forgot it was broken, all the pain floods back into my chest. “I liked her.”
So did I.
“Um, maybe,” I lie.
“She’s really pretty,” Daisy says, twirling a strand of her hair shyly.
I smile. “Yeah, she is.”
“Is she your girlfriend, Troy?”
My hands twitch with no warning sign. “No.” The word rips from my throat. “She’s not.”
For a good half hour, I completely zone out. Out of this room, out of this building, out of this city, and it all narrows down to a vow I once made.
As a kid, you don’t really think about having your own kid one day, except when my mother died—the way that she died—at fourteen, I thought about it and knew it wasn’t for me.
Things were so dark that it felt selfish to even want to have kids one day. How could I be okay with putting another person through the pain that no one asks for? Then Ana shoved past me at school, the way she’d always do, and the sun reflected off her skin.
It would be a crime for someone not to inherit those eyes, I thought to myself that day.
I had never pictured having kids before. But then I did, and I couldn’t imagine them not having her eyes.
That day feels like a lifetime ago.
_________
I return back to my apartment, happy and confused.
Glad Daisy’s wrist seems to be healing well post-surgery, meanwhile wondering why Ana was even at the hospital.
My phone silent, I open it to find a new message from Ana, surprised.
After a good few weeks of not texting her other than brief questions related to practice and our next competition, it’s like my heart forgot what it felt like to hear from her.
How much it misses to hear from her.
How much it hurts to hear from her.
Ana: hey, just wanted to let you know that I’m taking some time off from practice for my health, so I’ll miss the Grand Prix Final.
I already let our coaches know. Sokolov wanted to yell at me so bad but she bit her tongue ha.
Yamamoto already confirmed that with our points at the last two events, if we do well at Nationals, we will still make it for February.
I’m so sorry for missing this event, but I just can’t skate right now. I’ll text you when I’m back
After ten long minutes of debating on what to say, I start to finally type.
Me: hi, thanks for letting me know
Delete
Me: hi, thanks for letting me know, hope you feel better
Delete
Me: hi, thanks for letting me know, hope you feel better. And don’t worry about the final. If you need anything, please call me. I’m here for you
Delete
Me: hi, thanks for letting me know, hope you feel better. And don’t worry about the final
And I still feel shitty after sending that.
Heading into the kitchen to start dinner, I hear a knock on my door, my heart leaping, wondering if it could be her—wishful thinking, I tell myself—my brows pulling together when I swing open the door to find the familiar blond standing in the hallway.
“Karl?”
“Hey.” He steps right in, his expression disappointed.
An overwhelming kind of warmth fills me at the sight of my younger brother's face after days of trying to check in on him—and sending more I'm sorry messages than I can count—all of which were ignored.
And I don't blame him. It was beyond shitty of me to tell him the truth about Mom's death so harshly, so carelessly. The guilt still weighs over me from keeping him in the dark when we’ve always led with the pillar of honesty with each other. “Why didn’t you tell me Dad threatened to send you off to boarding school in Europe if you told me the truth?”
Dimitri told him.
I sigh, shutting the front door as Karl moves into the living room.
“Because that still doesn’t excuse me from not telling you,” I reason, following after him. “It’s a separate thing.”
“No, Troy. It’s not a separate thing when that would have separated you from us.
” He rests an arm along my shoulder, not realizing how much I needed that.
“I still wish someone had told me, even though maybe I wouldn’t have even understood it then.
But you’re a great brother, if I haven’t already told you, and you did the best that you could do. ”
“I should’ve tried harder.”
He smacks my arm like he hopes it wakes me up. “Then the rest of us are fucked if this was you not trying hard enough. And I’m sorry for overreacting. Me leaving like that after dinner, I was upset at the situation, at how I found out.”
“No, I understood,” I say. “I’m sorry too. I dropped the news to you like an asshole instead of just telling you directly.”
He gives me a nod like we’re good, the gesture sewing my chest back up a little, knowing I didn’t lose my younger brother.
“I know I had the least time with Mom,” Karl says as the dust has settled, “but I miss her.”
“Me too,” I admit, feeling the sting in my eyes at how true those words are.