21
“I did ice skating as a kid, you know.”
Andy’s mouth actually gapes open. “You did?”
“Yup,” I say smugly as I tie up my laces. “Not much else to do in rural Minnesota in the winter. That and cross-country skiing, which I hated.”
“So you’re saying you actually did a sport?”
I shove his shoulder harder than usual. “What are you implying? That I’m not athletic?”
“That’s exactly what I’m implying,” he replies with two dimples.
“Well then why don’t you put your money where your mouth is?”
“What money where what mouth is?” Andy asks, standing and testing out his skates.
I stand too, rolling my shoulders as an intimidation tactic. “I bet you I can do… three skating moves you can’t do.”
Andy opens the gate to the rink and lets me step out first. “Well that hardly seems fair. Will you give me a lesson at least?”
“I will, and I’ll even let you decide what you get if you win.” I glide out onto the rink, arcing around to face him with my hands lazily on my hips. (I may be showing off the tiniest bit.)
He follows, stepping onto the ice with caution and sticking to the sideboards.
“Hmm, okay…” he muses. “If I can do at least two out of three, you have to text Nolan and tell him you wrote an original poem that you want his constructive feedback on. And you have to actually send a poem.”
This has me doubling over in a full belly laugh. “Oh my god, you are deranged. Poor Nolan is going to take it so seriously.”
“What if you win? What do you get?”
“Okay, you’ve inspired me.” I start skating backwards as we chat (still showing off). “If you can’t do at least two out of three of the moves, you have to text Lia a list of your top 10 favorite things about me. No context, just ‘hey I wanted you to know my top 10 favorite things about Sophie.’”
“Easy.”
I stop against the side board next to him, looking down at our skates as I dare to ask, “Did you tell them about this, by the way? That we’re on a date?”
He shakes his head. “Did you?”
I shake my head, too.
Then we both start talking at once. “I just didn’t want to put pressure—” “They always overreact—”
Andy laughs, but it sounds nervous. “Yeah, exactly.”
“Come on,” I say, taking his hand. “It’s time for your lesson.”
“The score is now tied, Walsh.” I drift in taunting circles around him. “I admit your backwards skating was passable, but you horribly failed at the toe loop.”
“Way to protect my ego there, Soph.”
“It’s now time for your final test.” I make a little trumpet sound through my cupped hands and Andy rolls his eyes, but the twitch of his lips says he loves it. “Based on your undeniable mediocrity, we’re going to take it down a notch. This trick is called the bunny hop.”
Andy rolls his neck and shoulders, then rubs his hands together. “Bunny hop. Let’s do this.”
I take my time explaining the trick to Andy: start by skating forward, then push off with your left foot and lift the right to make an “h” shape with your legs.
Land on the toe pick of the right and continue forward on the left.
I demonstrate a few times too, as slowly as I can.
Andy watches me with a deep crease between his brows, nodding along.
He’s so serious that it almost makes me laugh.
Finally, he tells me he’s ready. He moves back about 10 feet, takes a deep breath, and goes for it.
And he’s got gumption, if not technique.
He’s right next to me when he jumps, but instead of landing on the toe pick, his right foot lands flat on the blade.
Before he can stop his momentum, his foot slides out from under him and catapults his body backwards.
His arms flail, grabbing desperately for support and catching the edge of my jacket before he backflops onto the cold, hard ice.
I come barreling down too—shrieking as we hit the ground with a splat, Andy taking the worst of the blow.
My body is cushioned by his, our limbs a mad tangle.
“Fuuuck,” he laughs out through the pain.
“Oh my god.” I’m laughing too, forehead collapsed onto his shoulder. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” he says, closing his eyes and letting his head rest back on the ice. “Ow. But yeah.”
“Okay good, because Andy?”
“Yeah?” He peeks an eye open.
“That was the worst bunny hop I’ve ever seen.” I pinch his cheek in a tease, then start to push up to stand.
“Not yet.” Andy wraps his arms tighter around my waist, trapping me there. “I’m not ready to face the public.”
“Okay,” I laugh, “but I think I’m flashing everyone in this dress.”
“Fine.” He takes one more long breath before loosening his hold. I help him to his feet as a biting gust of wind slices past us.
“Alright hot shot, I think we’re done for the day.” I adjust his jacket and give him a consoling pat on the chest.
“Why do I feel like this wasn’t the way to impress you on our first date?”
“I hate to break it to you, Walsh, but the time for impressions has come and gone. My image of you is set in stone.”
“Oh yeah?” he asks, following me out of the rink onto safe ground. “And what image is that?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know?”
“I would.”
“Well, I guess you should’ve won the bet and made that your prize. Here, sit down.”
I lead us to a bench by the side boards where we can take off our skates. There’s a tree above us, sparkling with bright white string lights, the snow glistening in reflection.
“You know,” Andy says, struggling with his laces, “despite the evidence, I still can’t imagine you actually going out onto a frozen pond to skate.”
“Why not?” I pull off my first skate and reach for the second.
“I don’t know. It’s hard to believe you did stuff before you met me.”
I give him a look that I hope conveys extreme incredulity.
“Okay, that sounded bad.”
I laugh. “Ya think?”
“I—I meant—” He stutters, nervous now, and I feel bad for giving him a hard time. “I guess I forget there was ever a time before we knew each other. It feels like we’ve always been on the same path, even though we haven’t.”
And that was actually really sweet. Sweeter than I know what to do with. So I shoot him a wink as I say, “I promise to never stop surprising you.”
I meant it to be teasing, but it comes out sincere. His eyes catch mine, and suddenly my palms are sweaty. I reach down to pull off my second skate, but my hand slips and I elbow him in the side. “Ope, sorry.”
He laughs. “That’s okay.”
I feel like I’m a teenager again, fumbling and hopeful and trying ridiculously hard.
“I think I know what you mean though,” I offer. “Sometimes when it’s just the two of us it feels like we’re the same person, but then we go out in the world and I’m reminded how different we are.”
“Like at karaoke.”
“Okay, you love karaoke exactly as much as I do. You just hide it well.”
“I’ll come, but I have never wanted to get up and sing.” We stand and walk to the skate return, reclaiming our boots from the rink employee.
“I never want to get up and sing either,” I protest, “but it’s part of the experience. Maybe the difference is I’m more susceptible to peer pressure than you.”
“Maybe,” he shrugs. “We also don’t like any of the same books.”
“Okay well there’s no accounting for taste.” I knock my shoulder into his and he rolls his eyes. “I still think we’re more similar than we are different. The differences are just the obvious stuff.”
“Yeah, the obvious stuff like one of us likes people and one of us doesn’t.”
“Okay,” I allow, “but we both like cats more than dogs.”
“I like cooking and you hate it.”
“That’s true… Oh! We’re both bad at keeping succulents alive.”
“Yeah, but I overwater them and you under-water them.”
“Whatever. Still counts.”
We leave the rink area and head into the surrounding park. Andy’s hand tentatively reaches for mine and our fingers lace together as we wander down the path, aimless, surrounded by evergreens and strangers and the yellowy light of the park lanterns.
Tonight has been disorienting and exhilarating and perfect.
I keep oscillating between the feeling that I’m just out somewhere with Andy—my best friend Andy—and everything is normal, but then he takes my hand, or touches my cheek, and I’m hit with the chest-clenching, sweat-inducing, horrible, wonderful realization that we’re on a date.
A romantic date. It feels like the edge of something that could either make me whole or break me into pieces.
“How do you feel about soft pretzels?” Andy asks.
“That depends…” I hedge, reminding myself to breathe and behave like a person. “Do you like them or hate them? I’m still trying to prove a point over here.”
“I do like them,” he chuckles, casually brushing a piece of hair behind my ear. Goosebumps explode across my neck. “But also, there’s a stand over there if you’re hungry.”
“Oh, yes please.”
The pretzel stand is small and dingy, operated by a gruff man in a Patriots hat who says nothing as he hands over two pretzels and about ten thousand napkins. There are open benches nearby, but we decided to keep moving to stay warm.
“Have you ever come to see the winter lights in Boston Common before today?” I ask between bites.
Andy nods as he chews. “I came with Carly once.” Then he cringes. “Sorry, I just realized I’m not supposed to talk about an ex on a date. I’m not used to censoring that stuff with you.”
“Don’t. It’s okay. That would’ve been like… four years ago anyway, right?”
We walk a few steps more before I ask, “Since you were honest about Elliot before, can I be honest about Carly?”
Andy turns towards me, listening. “I don’t want to say I didn’t like her, but I guess I never really made inroads with her? It seemed like she hated me even though I was trying so hard with her.”
“It’s not your fault. I think she could tell that…” He trails off and clears his throat. “I mean, I think she was insecure about how close you and I were.”
“That’s silly,” I say dismissively. “It’s not like I was single and trying to steal you. Wasn’t I with Adrian then anyway?”
“Adrian hated me.”
“He did not.”
“He did,” Andy insists, throwing his pretzel wrapper into a garbage can as we pass. “Remember when we went to the haunted house with Nolan and Lia and Adrian and Carly?”