Chapter 57 Sonya
SONYA
Since the Wings are flying to Edmonton early in the morning, players say their goodbyes and head home.
Lokhov pats my shoulder before going and says I’ll be getting about a million messages from Kavi because while she couldn’t be here tonight because of a photography booking, he’s already told her that I was with Adrian at his family’s dinner. That she’s going to want all the details from me.
Quinn gives me another hug that lifts me off the ground.
Adrian and I get ready to leave, too, but then Sid asks us to stay for a little bit longer. I can tell from the expression on Adrian’s face, that even if he might suffer from exhaustion tomorrow, he doesn’t want to say no to them.
“We can stay,” I say, catching Adrian’s eye. “If you want to?”
He tackles me with a hug of his own and promises his family one more hour, but after that we have to drive back home, no matter what.
More dessert is served, and everyone goes to the living room and grabs a seat.
Fifteen minutes later, no one is shocked when Adrian and Sid prance around the corner with multiple headbands on and glitter spread across their cheeks.
Sid’s mom, Ava, leans over to me and whispers, “Sid’s dad has been out of our lives for a while, and that’s been rough on Sid. So ever since they mentioned their dream of performing on Broadway, Adrian’s been Sid’s biggest supporter.”
A warm pulse of affection radiates through my chest. It doesn’t surprise me one bit how much care and love Adrian has to give. He’s incredible.
The hockey captain takes his phone out and puts melodramatic music on.
For the next ten minutes, we’re treated to him and Sid pretending to be trees before they are uprooted and spun around in the wind. Then it’s a competition to see who can improvise the most believable, funniest, and random movie dialogue.
“You just got served justice!”
“Hasta la vista, you punk!”
“We can do this the easy way or the hard way! Dead or alive, you’re going nowhere!”
The whole time Adrian keeps glancing at Sid, checking that whatever they’re doing makes them happy. It’s so pure, the way he keeps encouraging them.
“The next part,” Sid announces, “anyone can join.” They sneak me a sheepish glance. “For example, if we wanted to try some ballet moves…”
Adrian ruffles Sid’s hair. “Remember Sonya has to rest up for a big audition. So she can’t.”
Watching a nine-year-old hang their head with disappointment does something to me. I don’t want that. Not one bit.
I get up.
Sid claps, giggling.
Going in front of all these people reminds me of getting on a stage. Maybe that’s why I snap into automatic professional mode. “Okay, it’s about stances. Going on your toes is a matter of foot and ankle strength. On top of that, the pointe shoes we wear help a lot. So if you’re not wearing them—”
“Don’t know if they have a pair in my size,” muses Adrian.
“I’ll custom-order you some.”
“I’m so down!”
My mouth twitches.
Of course, he is.
“The top of the shoes are called the platform,” I continue.
“And they’re shaped and flattened to be stiff so you can balance on that hardened part.
That being said, without the shoes, you can still do heel raises.
” With my feet apart, parallel to my hips, I rise up.
“Press into your feet and squeeze your bum.”
Adrian tries copying me.
I smother a surprise laugh.
“What about me? What moves should I do?” asks Sid, jumping up and down.
“You can do hops,” I tell them. “Jump upwards in a vertical line, and make your landing as quiet as possible.”
They hop.
“Yes, but bend your knees and keep them soft.”
They try to follow my instructions, but it’s not exactly right.
“Even softer knees. Keep going. Do a set of ten. I’ll do them with you.”
I sound exactly like a dance mistress.
My thoughts drift to instructions drilled into me over the last two decades. Straighter back. Lift your head. Stop slouching. Faster. Go low. Go high. Straighten those toes. Arch your toes. The leg you stand on has to be the strongest one. Curve your neck.
There were never-ending fixes.
Sid listens to my corrections, but on the eighth hop, stops. “Are you sure we have to do it like this?”
I freeze. “Oh. Right. I might not be the best ballerina to copy. I’m having some problems myself, and I’m sure if you take lessons from a proper dance mistress—”
“No, let’s be silly.”
“Silly?”
“Like this.” Sid shakes their foot around as if they’re trying to take a sock off with no hands. “Okay, your turn. What’s your fun move?”
I’ve got a lifetime of criticism, meant to pull me up the steep mountain of perfection that I’d based my whole identity around. I’m not sure I have a fun move.
They cover their mouth and whisper to me, “It’s okay if you want to copy mine.”
This stiff perfectionist knot in my spine attempts to ease.
Okay. Yeah. I’ll do that.
I do.
“That’s so fun,” squeals Sid.
Their joy is contagious. Going with it and getting swept along, I make up a random move, shaking my whole leg from top to bottom as if it’s a wiggling worm.
Sid does the same.
The music shifts. Adrian’s changing it to something more upbeat, then mimicking our wiggles.
Sid’s hands are out.
I stare at them blankly, until they grab me themselves.
We spin around. Their gap-toothed smile is completely visible. Cheeks are flushed, curls bounce out of their braid, and their sweater flaps behind like a comical cape. Sid’s young and energetic and delighted.
We spin and spin and spin more.
And I’m dizzy with this double vision of me at that age.
Sid and I would’ve been complete opposites.
We don’t look the same at all. I wasn’t laughing in ballet class.
I was somberly focused, seeking instructors to give me guidance.
I wanted rules. Parameters to follow, so that once I met them, I would be patted on the head, and paid attention to, and given feedback.
I could earn praise and measure myself by that praise.
It gave me an avenue to be seen. A way to try and feel in control.
But was it ever fun?
I can’t remember. All I know is that right now both sides of my mouth lift up.
There are bubbles lofting inside me wanting to be released.
It suddenly doesn’t matter if none of these are proper moves or if I might fall over the very next second.
I don’t care if anyone is watching or not.
I’m boundless. Free. And I can’t physically reach back in time and hug the child I once was, but silly dancing with Sid and making them laugh, somehow it feels like I am.
“You’re so right,” I say with awe. “This is fun.”
Everyone joins in.