CHAPTER 7
Ana
I’M GREETED WITH the pleasant sound of moaning as I unlock the doors to our apartment.
The two-bedroom shack is wedged between the border of Faerieladle and Wisteria. The latter is where my mom lives and offers much more affordable housing as it’s more of a rural habitat. Mom resides deeper into the city, where people only ice skate for fun.
“Lucy, fuck yes.”
And that’s my roommate, Lucy. Well, technically, that was her boyfriend, Nico.
If I was rich, my first expenditure would be a new apartment where I’d live in solitude.
At least while I’m still in school, it’s approaching impossible to focus consistently on my studies.
My anxious state isn’t helping the matter that’s only exacerbated by the breakages, leaks, and general chaos that brews in this shoebox.
My phone rings again.
Good thing I check the caller ID, or else I was this close to shutting it off completely.
“Hey—shit.”
An incoming call from my mom replaces the screen, now blocking Donya’s figure. I wait for the interruption to disappear, while texting my mother.
“Two seconds in and already a ‘shit’?” Donya jests.
“Well, what can I say, it’s been a shit-heavy day.”
“Spill.”
“Okay, but I have to get ready for dinner with my mom.” I rest my phone against the headboard, scanning around my closet for a comfortable set.
“That’s okay. I’m just knitting a scarf for my sister’s boyfriend.”
“You mean you’re knitting a scarf for Xavier,” I concur.
“One of these days you’re gonna have a guy I can tease you about.” She aims a knitting needle my way. “I hope you remember these moments.”
“Ha-ha,” I mock.
“So how was practice with—”
“Don’t even say his name.”
Mishi meows at my callous tone from above the mirrored dresser.
“Even worse than you expected?” Donya guesses.
“Way worse. Then double it.”
“I know this might be the last thing you wanna hear right now, but you kinda won the jackpot here.”
“Really? Cause it feels like I got kicked in the face and faceplanted into the crummiest mud.” I toss the two crewnecks I’m holding onto the duvet.
“You and Troy are the best pairs skaters, and now you’re skating together? It could’ve written itself before, if you both didn’t get in the way of yourselves.”
Turning around, my eyes land on the spaghetti-like strings of terracotta yarn that Donya’s meticulously threading along.
Her comment catches me by surprise, mainly since I used to imagine what skating with Troy would be like.
And it’s so much worse.
I divert my attention back to my still undecided wardrobe, replying, “I can think of two people who’d disagree.”
“And I can think of thousands who’d agree.” The brief silence confirms a pondering Donya, before she continues, “I just think it’s funny that Violet let go of Troy for you to step in. She singlehandedly increased your chances and lowered her own.”
I drop the fabrics to my stomach, facing the screen again. “See, I think it’s unsettling, and I’m still trying to figure out why she did it. She doesn’t do anything without an ulterior motive.”
And no girl just drops Troy Larsson; that’s not how things work around here.
To let go of the greatest pairs skater in the game right now—in the past decade—there must be a reason behind it, a reason that’s flooding a whole lot of suspicion and fear in my veins ever since the news broke.
“If you spend time worrying about Violet’s next moves,” Donya replies, “you might as well never sleep. Don’t question any of it.”
It’s easier to say this when you’re not faced with her presence on a daily basis. Or have her to blame for a hefty portion of your anxiety.
Still, Donya’s advice is invaluable.
“You’re right. Thanks.” Slipping on a pair of boyfriend jeans, I ask, “Did you hear back from Coach Wallace yet?”
For the first time during our call, she places her knitting set down. “No. Now she’s saying we won’t know for sure until sometime in November.”
“Really? That sucks,” I offer. “I’m sorry.”
It’s more common than the average viewer probably thinks.
In figure skating, each country has a designated quota based on the discipline its participating in: singles, pairs, ice dancing.
Once the quota is met, the competing countries select their representing skaters based on performance at Worlds, a few other competitions like the Grand Prix Events and Nationals, and alongside a bunch of other extraneous factors—a skater’s body of work just one major factor included.
Long story short, skaters can attend the Winter Games with just weeks’ notice.
“It’s whatever,” Donya brushes off. “Bradley and I aren’t betting on it, anyway.”
I notice the way her eyes dim in contrast to the nonchalance coating her words.
She might not indulge in the competitiveness of it all, but I’ve always had the sense that she wants to make the Olympic Team.
Bradley and Donya would make history as the first South Korean and Persian, respectively, figure skating pair to represent Team USA.
Placing tenth at Worlds this year was a massive achievement, and a sign for a spot on that coveted roster.
With Violet and Ethan, and Troy and me, however, only one other pair could potentially join.
The sport feels big until it’s time for the Games, where it slims down to a whole other definition of daunting.
Donya and I know when to push each other, and right now isn’t the time. Instead of nudging further, I try to cheer her up, “Do you think now that I’m skating with Troy, I’ll be spending time with Xavier? Just in case, text me the messages you want me to relay to him.”
Pushing down my smile, I watch her tawny cheeks tinge scarlet.
“If you talk to him about me, I’ll make up rumors about your sex life and share them with Troy.”
“You wouldn’t.”
“Yeah, you’re right, I wouldn’t. Just know, I would want to.”
I snort.
“Noted.” I lie back against the covers, running my fingers through my hair. “Although, my sex life is so underwhelming right now, I don’t think anyone would even buy into a rumor.”
Disappointed, she drops her knitting needles into her lap. “What happened to our goal for the year?”
“What goal?”
“The year of wild sex.”
I sigh. “It died.”
“It cannot die. I refuse to let it.”
“Be my guest.” I gesture at her.
She tilts her chin toward me. “You first.”
“Why me first?”
“You’re around way hotter guys.”
“Bradley’s hot.”
“Yeah, he is.”
“But…Xavier’s hotter, right?” I give her a wink.
Then get the death glare in return.
Sitting back up, I take a sip from my mug. Donya begins knitting again as she asks, “Hey, did you try the vibrator I told you about?”
I choke out my water. “Donya.”
“What?”
“What if Lucy heard you,” I whisper.
She shrugs. “She’d encourage you too. Didn’t you say she has a high libido?”
“Well—”
“Wait,” she interrupts, her eyes sparking wide, “am I hearing things, or is that moaning in the background?”
I exhale deeply.
“Yes, that’s actually her right now…”
“Oh my God. That’s amazing.” She cups her face.
“There’s nothing amazing about hearing that on a loop every day I come home.”
It’s been at least 20 minutes since I got here. And they’re still at it. I don’t know if I’m nauseous or jealous.
The sound of skin slapping makes me jump.
No, definitely nauseous.
“I promise when you try it,” she continues, “you’ll just wish you did it sooner.”
Donya is the most sex-positive person I’ve ever met, and the fact that she’s also Persian makes it even more mind-boggling to me, our culture not exactly being known for embracing the act. She’s full, actually, unlike my half, and embraces her sexuality like no other.
My friends all have a quality I aspire to be like.
_________
“Azizam!” my mom greets me with, accompanied by three custom cheek kisses.
“Hi, mom.” I remove my coat. “How are you?”
“Good, good. Oh, I think the rice is burning, I’ll be right back!”
Mom darts off and disappears into the kitchen as I begin to roam around the foyer before reaching the dining room.
The cozy scent of saffron and sumac dances in the air as the zigzag of family photos greets me. I pick up one of the rustic-bordered memories resting on the amber wooden console, commemorating that afternoon.
Grandma, Mom, and I are standing outside the Larsson Ice Rink, my hands clasping onto a fresh pair of skates, the crisp white gleaming even through the tattered image.
Grandma Mina had gifted me the boots on my sixth birthday, a year after I started skating. She promised me them if I continued for an entire year, and Grandma always kept her promises.
The skating dream, if not for her, wouldn’t have been possible.
Mina funded the majority of our expenses on the backs of fleeing her home country, in the middle of an entire revolution, and separated from her only daughter, Mariam.
Overnight, my mother flew to the U.S., at 19, with $250, a suitcase the size of my high school backpack, and no guarantee that she’d ever see her mom again.
Even then, Mina envisioned a better life for her daughter, and despite her husband falling ill and passing during the turmoil, she put up a fight and reunited with my mom after six months.
Mom passed the time by going to community college in Wisteria, living off the scrap of payments Grandma would disguise in unsuspecting pieces.
Mina was strong-willed, and when authorities grew suspicious, she got creative.
Gold jewelry in bags filled with pistachios, coins under shoe soles, and cash divided between pages of Persian Literature.
By the time they had reunited, mom had met my dad, who had recently moved from Bulgaria, in an English class where he was also learning the language.
Fast forward a year, and they were married and expecting a child.