Chapter 6
CHAPTER SIX
"Glad you're here, Freya. We need to talk" were the first words Mom said to me. Some sixth sense must've alerted her to my presence because her eyes didn't leave the pool. Every bit of her attention was laser focused on the trio of swimmers currently running their routine.
"Hi Mom," I said back, "I'm good. Thanks so much for asking."
Still not looking at me, she lifted a brow.
"How'd PT go? Oh, awesome! Besides it hurting like a mother, it was the best. Again, thanks for caring."
"I didn't ask," Mom said as I dropped into the seat next to her, "because I already know."
"Sure."
"You feel like crap because you can't play. PT was torture—like the first day always is after an injury. And you're annoyed that I made you come here when all you want to do is go home, bury yourself under a pile of books, and wallow in the pit of despair."
She glanced at me, taking in my wide eyes.
"Did I miss anything?"
"No, that was annoyingly accurate," I mumbled.
PT was painful and tedious.
Actually, maybe that's what the letters really stood for.
Who knew?
"Did they give you a schedule?" she asked.
I nodded. "I'm supposed to meet with Alice two days a week for three weeks, Tuesdays and Thursdays. Depending on my progress, I may need more time."
"Doesn't sound so bad. One of my girls tore her hamstring and was out for the year. Since it's only your wrist, you can still do a lot of things this summer."
"Yeah, except for the one thing I wanted to do," I said.
"Buck up, Freya," Mom said.
I scoffed. "Thanks for the pep talk."
"You know what I always say."
I pretended to think. "Synchronized swimming doesn't get the respect it deserves."
She pointed at me. "That's true. It never has. What other sport do you know that combines the athleticism of swimming, the artistic skills of dance as well as the danger of possibly blacking out and drowning to win gold?"
I bit back a smile.
"I'm serious."
"I know," I said. "You're so morbid."
She waved me off. "Anyway, I meant the other thing I told you. When life gives you lemons..."
"Squeeze them into the eyes of your enemies," I finished.
Mom nodded sagely as if that bit of wisdom was all I'd ever need in life.
"Okay, but in this case, who's the enemy?"
"Life, circumstances, your own body. Take your pick."
My brow furrowed. "So, what are you saying?"
"I'm saying—" Her eyes shot to the pool where the girls had just finished their routine before shouting, "Run it again! The cadence was sloppy, and that rocket split still needs more height if you want to compete against the teams at the top."
The girls didn't complain, only nodded and got back to business.
"The cadence didn't look that bad," I said.
She sniffed. "It's got to be better if they want to win."
"Maybe you need different music," I said under my breath, but of course, my mother heard.
"Excuse me?"
Lifting my chin, I met her hard stare with my own.
"It's not the girls' fault. The choreography's good; they execute it well, but the music should accentuate their performance.
Instead, it detracts. The artistry and musicality's not there because the composition is all over the place—which in turn makes that section look messy. See?"
My mother's jaw worked as we watched the swimmers reach the part in question.
Again, they performed the moves flawlessly.
Again, the music made it look wrong.
"Huh," Mom said.
"Music matters," I said.
She nodded. "Good catch. I'll see what we can do."
The compliment, the acknowledgment that I'd made a potentially valuable contribution, had my heart glowing.
"What I was saying before is you shouldn't let anything hold you back," she said.
"Especially not the lemons," I put in.
"Especially not the freaking lemons," she said then added, "I know you're hurting, Freya. I'm sorry you didn't get to go on that tour. Really."
"Thanks, Mom," I said and meant it.
I thought we were having a moment, thought this would be a bright spot. Unfortunately, I didn't see the cliff coming until it was too late.
"This may surprise you, but I know my daughter," she went on.
"Apparently."
"And I know you're not going to like what I'm about to say, but—"
"But you've decided to spare me any further pain and not say it?" I cut in hopefully.
She gave me a soft smile.
"Okay, fine. Hit me. This week can't possibly get any worse."
Famous last words...
"I'm getting married in a few weeks, and I want you to be there," she said.
My breathing stalled. For a second, things went a little blurry. I wondered if I was dying but realized later it was probably just the oxygen loss.
"Freya?" Mom said.
I opened my mouth, and nothing came out.
This couldn't be real.
But then the trio of girls got out of the pool, and one of them walked over to us.
Stacia was my mom's strongest swimmer, the prettiest too with her smooth, olive skin and expressive eyes.
She was older than me but only by a couple of years.
Stacia tugged loose her hair tie, letting her long dark locks fall freely to her waist, wearing a bright smile on her beautiful face.
"Did you tell her?" she said.
"I did," Mom replied.
"And?"
"She hasn't said anything."
"She's probably just excited." Stacia flashed those pearly whites as she put her hands on my shoulders. "Your mom is marrying my dad. We're going to be sisters, Freya. Isn't that amazing?"
"Amazing," I choked as she pulled me in for a tight hug.
As she leaned back and looped her arms with mine and my mom's, she added, "I've always wanted a sister."
Stacia looked to me expectantly.
"I kinda liked being an only child," I said with a shrug.
"Well, that's cool. Hopefully, you'll like having a brother and sister too."
Her tone turned serious.
"If you want to call dibs on maid of honor, I completely understand."
Feeling like I was in a daze, I shook my head. "What?"
"Oh." Stacia's smile didn't waver. "I just meant it should obviously be you. I know that. I love weddings and would love to take on all the responsibility that entails. But if you want the position—"
"No, no, no, that's all you," I said quickly.
"Are you sure?"
"Absolutely. I hate weddings."
"Freya," Mom snapped.
"Not yours in particular," I said. "Just weddings in general. Blech."
Stacia laughed like I'd said the funniest thing in the world while my mom frowned. Then my future stepsister squealed and pulled my mom and me in for another hug. "I'm so excited. Can you believe we're going to be one big, happy family?"
I couldn't.
I really couldn't.
What would Dad say? Would he be sad or shocked like I was? Would he have trouble believing it?
With Stacia cutting off my air supply with her swimmer-strong arms, and my mom throwing me an apologetic glance because she knew I wasn't a big hugger, I knew it was true.
My final thought as I stumbled away, mumbling about having to go, was maybe I should open a lemonade stand. The lemons just kept coming.
Heart numb, mind too full to process everything, I walked and walked.
Eventually, I ended up on the other side of the sports complex.
I wasn't watching where I was going, had only ever been to the aquatic center to see my mom, so when I finally looked up, I didn't recognize a thing.
If I retraced my steps, I knew it would lead back to the pool, but...
something in my stomach clenched at the thought of seeing Stacia and my mom happily making wedding plans.
A moment.
I just needed a second to get myself together.
Then I'd go back and smile and pretend.
But right now, I wanted a place to hide. An escape. Somewhere I could cool down and think.
Shouts and laughter came from my left, and I followed the sound, hoping for a distraction.
The ice rink was just as big as the pool.
But instead of blue waves, the water was as white as snow.
And instead of swimmers, several little figures moved across the frozen surface, practicing some kind of drill, shouting and laughing with their friends.
A slight chill settled over my cheeks as I walked closer to the ice, taking a seat a few rows down but still near the back.
The only other person in the stands was a girl several seats away.
Headphones covered her ears, a hoodie thrown over her head, and I wasn't sure, but from the way her body was slumped to the side, I thought she might've been asleep.
Sounded like a good idea actually.
Closing my eyes, hearing nothing but the sound of skates gliding over the ice, I tried to think logically.
So, my mom was getting married.
It had been years since my parents' split.
My father didn't date much, but I knew Mom had been seeing Eric, Stacia's dad, for a while now.
In remarrying, she would gain a son and a daughter, one who shared her dreams and could possibly make those dreams come true for her.
A daughter who loved the sport that she loved.
Mom was chasing her happiness, and I would be happy for her.
Even if it killed me a little.
"Hey, are you okay?" someone asked.
Eyes popping open, I looked to my right and saw a boy. He looked like he was maybe nine or ten. His hair was dark and kind of all over the place. His light blue eyes stood out in stark contrast. The pads under his white jersey made him look like a little Michelin man.
"I'm fine," I said, sitting straighter. "Why do you ask?"
He gestured to me with the hand holding his helmet. "You're crying," he said.
"Am not."
"Why are your cheeks wet then?"
"Because"—I lied, quickly wiping my face—"this building must have a leaky roof."
He tilted his head. "My brother says it's okay to cry. Even if you're a hockey player."
I nodded. "He sounds smart."
"I guess."
"Are you going to skate?"
"Yeah," he said with a shrug. "I just wanted to make sure you're good first."
I blinked. "That was thoughtful."
He flashed me a toothy grin.
"How old are you exactly?"
"Ten. How old are you?"
"Seventeen," I said, and he chuckled.
"Wow, you're old," he said.
I laughed at that. "And I thought you were nice."