Chapter Fifteen
Matt
For exactly seventy-two hours after Sophia Turner tells me she wants me to be sure about us, I try to convince myself that maybe she's right. Maybe we both need space to figure out what we want without the intensity of daily interaction clouding our judgment.
It takes me exactly seventy-two hours and fourteen minutes to realize that this is the stupidest approach to problem-solving I've ever attempted.
And what I want to fight for is Sophia Turner, our ridiculous youth skating program, and the possibility that we can build something together that's bigger than what either of us could create alone.
My phone rings, and I'm hoping it's Sophia until I see Jamie's name on the screen.
"Please tell me you've stopped being an idiot about this girlfriend situation," she says by way of greeting.
"Hello to you too."
"Matt, I'm serious. Mom called me again tonight to complain about how you're throwing your life away for some girl, and I had to listen to twenty minutes of her theorizing about how this Sophia person has clearly manipulated you into abandoning your family values."
"She hasn't manipulated me into anything."
"I know that. You know that. But Mom is convinced that any girl who could make you miss Thanksgiving must be some kind of master manipulator." Jamie pauses. "So why haven't you told them about the program?"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean why haven't you explained that you're not just skipping family dinner for a girlfriend—you're staying to run a youth program that you helped create and that depends on you showing up?
Why haven't you told them about the kids who are counting on you, or the fact that you're actually building something meaningful instead of just coasting through senior year? "
I stare at my personal statement draft, where I've written three paragraphs about my theoretical commitment to advocacy without mentioning the very real advocacy I've been doing for twenty-four children who just want to learn how to skate without their instructors getting fired for dating each other.
"Because," I say slowly, "I was afraid they'd think the program was just another example of me making poor priorities based on romantic feelings."
"And now?"
"Now I'm realizing that I've been so worried about everyone else's opinion of my choices that I forgot to actually make choices worth defending."
"There's my brilliant brother," Jamie says. "So what are you going to do about it?"
"I'm going to fix this."
"How?"
"I'm going to stop being the accommodating guy who tries not to cause problems, and start being the guy who fights for the things that matter."
"And Sophia matters?"
"Sophia matters more than anything else I've ever cared about. The program matters. The kids matter. And if my family can't understand that caring about something outside our kitchen table doesn't mean I care less about them, then that's their problem to solve, not mine."
"Finally," Jamie says. "Now go get your girl back before she decides you're too much work and finds herself a nice, uncomplicated pre-med student."
After we hang up, I spend the next hour making a list of everything I need to do to fix the mess I've created. It's a long list that involves apologies, explanations, and what might be the most elaborate demonstration of commitment in the history of college relationships.
But first, I need to make some phone calls. The first call is to my parents, at 7:30 AM on Monday morning, which is early enough to catch them before work but late enough that I've had coffee and can think clearly.
"Matt?" My mom's voice is cautious, like she's not sure if I'm calling to apologize or to double down on disappointing them.
"Hi, Mom. Is Dad there? I want to talk to both of you about something."
"Hold on." I hear muffled conversation, then my dad's voice joins the call.
"Son, if this is about Thanksgiving again—"
"It's about why I'm staying for Thanksgiving," I interrupt. "And it's about time I explained what I'm actually doing instead of letting you assume the worst."
For the next twenty minutes, I tell them about the youth skating program.
About how it started as a way to resolve conflicts between hockey and figure skating, and how it evolved into something that twenty-four kids and their families depend on.
I tell them about the expansion, about the positive parent feedback, about the fact that Athletic Director Morrison wants us to continue next semester.
I tell them about Sophia—not just that she's my girlfriend, but that she's my partner in creating something meaningful. That she's brilliant and dedicated and the kind of person who makes me want to be better at everything, not just the things that come easily.
"You never mentioned any of this before," my mom says when I finish.
"Because I was afraid you'd think it was just another example of me making poor choices based on feelings instead of logic."
"And now?"
"Now I realize that the best choices I've ever made have been based on both feelings and logic. And logically, this program is important. These kids are learning and growing and gaining confidence. Their parents are grateful. The university wants to expand it."
"And emotionally?" my dad asks.
"Emotionally, I've never been more sure about anything in my life. I love Sophia Turner, and I love the work we're doing together, and I'm not going to apologize for that anymore."
There's a long silence on the other end of the line.
"Matt," my mom says finally, “You should’ve told us this from the beginning."
"I know and I’m sorry. I've spent so long trying not to disappoint you that I forgot you raised me to care about things that matter, even when they're complicated."
"You could never disappoint us by caring about something important," my dad says. "We just worried that you were making impulsive decisions without thinking through the consequences."
"The consequence of staying for Thanksgiving is that twenty-four kids get to participate in a program that might not exist without consistent leadership.
The consequence of dating Sophia is that I'm happier and more motivated than I've ever been.
" I pause. "Those seem like pretty good consequences to me. "
"They do," my mom admits. "And Matt? We'd like to meet her. Sophia. Maybe at Christmas, if she's willing to visit."
"I'll ask her," I say. "Assuming I can convince her to keep dating me after I spent the last week being an idiot about priorities."
"You'll figure it out," my dad says. "You always do."
The second call is to Athletic Director Morrison, who agrees to meet with me that afternoon to discuss "program development opportunities." The third call is to Coach Shanahan, who thinks my idea is either brilliant or completely insane but agrees to help anyway.
The fourth call is to Marcus's mom, who puts me in touch with Lucy's mom, who connects me with Emma's parents, and within two hours I've contacted every single family in our program. By Wednesday afternoon, everything is in place.
I find Sophia in the campus library, sitting at her usual table with approximately seventeen textbooks and a color-coded study schedule that looks like it was designed by NASA.
She's wearing the soft blue sweater that brings out her eyes and her hair is in that messy bun that means she's been studying for hours.
She looks up when I approach, and for a moment I see hope flicker across her expression before she remembers that we're supposed to be figuring things out separately.
"Matt," she says carefully. "How are you?"
"Better. Good. I mean, I've been better since I figured out what I actually want."
"And what do you actually want?"
"You. Us. This." I gesture between us. "And I want you to come with me to the ice arena."
"Matt—"
"Please. Just... give me an hour to show you something, and then if you still think we need space to figure things out, I'll respect that."
She studies my face for a long moment, probably trying to determine if this is going to be worth closing her textbooks and reorganizing her study schedule.
"One hour," she says finally.
"One hour."
The arena is unusually busy for a Wednesday afternoon, and Sophia notices immediately.
"Why are there so many cars in the parking lot?" she asks as we walk toward the entrance.
"You'll see."
"Matt, if this is some kind of elaborate gesture that's going to embarrass me in front of a bunch of people—"
"It's an elaborate gesture that's going to prove something important to both of us," I interrupt. "Trust me?"
She takes a deep breath, then nods. "One hour."
I push open the arena doors, and Sophia stops dead in her tracks.
The ice rink has been transformed. Banners hang from the rafters reading "Huskies Youth Winter Sports—Building Champions On and Off the Ice.
" Twenty-four kids in matching t-shirts are skating around the rink, demonstrating the skills they've learned over the past month.
Parents sit in the bleachers, applauding and taking pictures.
But that's not the most important part. The most important part is Athletic Director Morrison standing at center ice with a microphone, addressing the crowd of families and university officials who've gathered for what I've billed as a "program showcase and expansion announcement."
"Ladies and gentlemen," Morrison's voice carries across the arena, "I'd like to introduce the coordinators of our most successful youth outreach program, Sophia Turner and Matt Gable."
Sophia turns to stare at me. "What did you do?"
"I stopped being afraid of fighting for what matters," I say, taking her hand and leading her toward the ice.