Kiss and Cry (7 page)

Another obstacle involuntarily made my eyes linger, his shoulders. Some crazy person must have shoved boulders under his skin because there was no way those were his actual muscles! I caught myself staring at his deltoids, and trapezius wanting to let my eyes coast back downwards hoping to catch a glimpse of his pectorals, and oh my God how I would love to see his gluteus maximus. I inhaled slowly forcing my eyes back on their journey upwards. I abhorred my own behaviour, knowing I was treating him like the piece of meat he was, grilled to perfection, and smoking hot.

My eyes beheld his, frozen in locked position, the most intense dreamy brown eyes I’d ever seen, melted dark chocolate. They matched his wispy longish brown hair perfectly. This is the guy whom I hate? Now I had to rethink it!

Adam, Adam I chanted in my head. I had to remember Adam. Ryan’s looks alone were the last thing I expected, but I was sure he had to be cocky, selfish, arrogant or something. Talking myself down wasn’t working.

I amazed myself at how shallow I was being. I was stunned stupid at the sight of him. I shook it off and held out my hand to greet him, “Hi I’m Dalia, nice to meet you.” He scooped my hand gently into his never for a second breaking eye contact with me. Unmistakeable chemistry was filling the air. My parents and Mrs. Kennedy smiled knowingly at each other, so far, so good.

Mom had the table decorated really elegantly. She had her best China out and the centrepiece was the golden brown turkey, cooked to perfection.

“This is lovely,” Mrs. Kennedy complimented.

“Thank you,” my mother answered shyly. She was acting really weird. I noticed how hard she was trying to create a good first impression. Mom NEVER USES her fine china. It was a dead giveaway.

Ryan and his mother sat on one side of the table and I sat facing him. My parents sat at opposite ends.

We quietly and politely passed the dishes around until everyone had a little bit of everything on their plates before discussions began.

Mrs. Kennedy addressed me first, “So dear, I hear from your mother that you had a bad fall a few weeks back?”

“Yes, I did, but I’m better now.”

“I’m so glad to hear it.”

“Are you dating anyone in school, dear?”

“No, she’s not,” dad answered firmly. I know why it mattered to my parents but why did it matter to Ryan’s mother? Why didn’t my parents ask if HE was dating anyone or was this an unspoken double standard I was sensing?

Ryan didn’t contribute to the conversation. He was apparently the strong, silent, observant type. The rest of the conversation was between our parents. I became an observant type too.

I learned that Ryan’s mother divorced her husband when he continued to complain about her obsession with Ryan’s skating. Ryan’s been coached by Mr. Hicks for seven years, and I’m his second partner. The first one chose to quit because she wasn’t able to handle the pressure of the competitions. She would fall apart during their performances causing Ryan to lose medal contention.

By the time they had dessert (mom gave me the evil eye when I went to reach for one) and aperitif’s it was nearing eleven. I managed to be excused shortly thereafter practically running up the stairs to start texting Tara.

When I looked at my phone for the first time in four hours there were messages from Adam waiting for me, but I was too excited to talk to Tara to bother checking them. They could wait until later when I could savour every word he wrote me:

Dalia: I met him!

Tara: What did U wear?

Dalia: My holy jeans & camisole with the black jacket my mother gave me.

Tara: Face and makeup?

Dalia: Picture, perfect!

Tara: What did he look like?

Dalia: A greek god’s body with intense dark chocolate brown eyes & wispy brown hair. He’s the > beautiful guy I’ve ever seen.

Tara: Fuck off!

Dalia: Serious!

Tara: Do U like him?

Dalia: No, I hate him.

Tara: Why?

Dalia: His club, his coach, double standard.

Tara: ?

Dalia: The first question from Mrs. Kennedy after asking about my injury was, ‘R U dating any1 Honey?’

Tara: Seriously?

Dalia: Yes, & do U think my parent’s asked HIM if HE was dating any1? N. O.

Tara: What did U say?

Dalia: What do U think I said? No, I don’t have time to date!

Tara: So R U going 2 break up with Adam?

Dalia: Why the hell should I? As far as I know, Ryan could B dating someone & nobody minds. Why shouldn’t I be afforded the same courtesy?

Tara: Amen 2 that sister, if U’r parent’s ask what we did tomorrow, what do U want me 2 say?

Dalia: Just say we hung out @ Sierra’s.

Tara: What R U & Adam doing?

Dalia: I don’t know, he wants 2 surprise me.

Tara: Well, Don’t get caught!

First Day of Training

I woke up before my alarm went off. The clock displayed 5:58 a.m. My first day of training on foreign ice, with a foreign coach, after a major injury. I couldn’t begin to describe the anxiety festering in me, I was definitely on edge (Pardon the pun!).

The house was quiet and the morning light was peaking through my blinds. I stretched out in my cozy warm bed before getting up to shower. I chose to use tepid water rather than hot, fearing my muscles would relax too much in the hot water. I knew I was going to be spaghetti legs today, and I wasn’t about to worsen the situation.

Wrapped in a towel, I padded over to my closet to pick the figure skating dress I was going to wear to the arena. I picked my favourite one made with black lace on the upper body, dropping down really low in the back. The skirt was also slightly longer in the back. It was elegant. I covered the majority of the dress with my good luck hoody that I brought to all my competitions and practices. It was my security blanket.

The keys to mom’s car were left for me on the front table, which told me she wasn’t coming to our first practice. Nice, I thought sarcastically, this again. Just as I opened the front door mom called out, “Are you ready Honey? I’ll take you.”

Well, wonders never ceased, mom came clipping down the stairs fully clothed with the exception of her Christian Grey slippers. The paraphernalia they sold after the release of the first movie was too much! “I’ve already got the keys,” I told her.

She was following me out the door, “Mom, Your slippers!”

She looked down at her feet, “Oops! Thanks.” She walked over to the closet and changed into her shoes shrugging on her fall jacket before continuing out of the house.

Mom took the keys from me and we got into my dad’s beat up, shit box, really embarrassing to be seen in, backfiring, fifteen year old Honda Civic. Great first impression to anyone who might be in the parking lot of the new arena we were going to, “Can’t we take the other car?”

“Sorry Honey, this one has gas in it. We don’t have time to take the other car.” I got into the passenger side while mom attempted to turn over the ignition.

Row row row row, nothing.

Row row row row, nothing.

Row - Hum.

Mom grinned, “See, Honda’s never let you down! Domestic cars spend more time getting fixed than they drive on the road. Remember that when you go buy your first car Honey!”

My first car, was going to be a Mustang. I fell in love with them ever since I rode in Adam’s. I didn’t bother informing her though. Once she started on one of her tangents, there was no stopping her. We drove to the new arena in silence. It was a good twenty-five minutes from my house. When we arrived she said, “I’ll drop you off here.”

“You’re not coming in?”

“No, Ryan’s mother offered for Ryan to drive you to school after all the practices. She switched him to your school when I informed her about its high ratings against all the other schools in Toronto. We figured if the two of you are doing the same curriculum than you can study together at competitions. It’s all set up. See, you’re not the only one who’s going to have to do some adapting, he is too. See you later dear!”

I closed the door and she was already pulling away from the curb. With my bag flung over my shoulder, I walked into the unfamiliar doors of the arena with trepidation.

Once I passed the doors there was a vacant desk to my left and a well lit lounge to my right overlooking a darkened empty curling rink. The lounge extended to the next area I approached which was the rink I would be skating in. The couches were occupied by parents that were interested in watching their children skate. I knew I would rarely see my mine there. The Zamboni was already making its way on the ice, so I knew I had to hurry if I didn’t want to be late.

My eyes finally landed on a sign pointing out the direction of the change rooms. I briskly walked down the stairs to find the senior woman’s locker room and quickly put on my skates. By the time I got back into the lounge the skaters were taking to the ice.

I stepped into the arena and as quickly as the cold air hit my face, so did the realization that I missed being there, on the ice. My eyes welled up with tears of relief that this part of my life wasn’t over, my love for figure skating wasn’t lost. The chilled air from the rink filled my lungs and I immediately felt exhilarated.

Ryan stopped in front of me with one foot spraying snow towards the low boards just as I was about to step onto the ice. Like any girl my age, I was undeniably drawn in by his rugged good looks. He had presence. His six o’clock shadow was worn 24/7. He was wearing a black hoodie and matching workout pants normally seen in a gym. When his dark eyes locked onto the tear making its way down my cheek, his eyes darkened transforming his expression into one of concern, “Are you okay?”

Embarrassed he noticed, I quickly swiped it away, “Ya, Just happy to be back on the ice. It’s been six weeks, but it felt like a lifetime.”

“Don’t worry,” he reassured. “We both know its your first day back after an injury. Coach Hicks won’t expect you to do triple axels until tomorrow, maybe the day after. He’s going to take it easy with you,” he joked. “Seriously though, you should start warming up, he’ll be out on the ice in a few minutes.”

Ryan left me to go warm up. I watched him as his long strides covered the ice. His strength and speed were beautiful to watch. I feared I wouldn’t be able to keep up with him. Cautiously, I placed my foot on the ice, with the other one following. I slipped them back and forth a few times limbering up my ankles.

I started stroking around the ice, first slowly and then picking up speed. Everyone on the ice was staring at me with curiosity because I was new to them, Ryan’s new partner, someone they would be skating with on a regular basis. I know the same thing would have happened if the situation were reversed.

My established comfort was slowly returning. After four forwards and two backwards laps around the ice, Ryan motioned for me to join him at the edge, “Mr. Hicks, this is Dalia, Dalia, Coach Hicks.” I immediately recognized him from competitions after seeing his face. He was about half a foot shorter than Ryan, and unmistakably gay, no gaydar needed. His students LOVED everything about him with the exception of his temper for which his reputation preceded him.

“Pleased to meet you,” I greeted.

“The pleasure’s mine,” he smiled. “Now I want to see how you look together on the ice. Ryan stroke around with her, remember in competition you are never to be further than six feet apart from each other, so get comfortable being in each others space. Ryan make sure you take on her pace not YOURS. When you’re out in the real world and I mean especially competitions, I want you guys holding hands and looking like a couple. Its imperative you sell yourselves if you want to be successful. You want all of Canada behind you and people like couples with chemistry! Got it?”

“Sure Mr. Hicks,” he pulled off his hoodie leaving only a tight Wife-beater T-shirt covering his chest.

I gasped with shock seeing him standing practically naked before me, “That’s what you skate in?”

He looked at me a surprised by my moxie, “Yes, I get hot,” he explained. Oh.My.God. He didn’t have to tell me that. I think I was beginning to get hot myself. I felt flush warm cheeks.

Coach Hicks joked, “Can you blame me for being Gay Honey?” I had to chuckle at his comment. Now it was Ryan’s turn to get embarrassed, he turned away. The rest of the session was exactly the way Ryan said it would be, easy. When we were getting off the ice and covering our blades with our guards Ryan asked me, “I take it your mother told you I’ve been registered to go to your school?”

“Yes, she did.”

“So then you know I’ll be driving you.”

“I do, if it works for you?”

“It works for me, just fine,” he answered.

When I got to the locker room and started unlacing my skates, I reflected on the practice session. I could tell that Coach Hicks and Ryan were being careful at working me in slowly, not wanting to cause any re-injury, or any deconditioning, which was very comforting.

The Zamboni took to the ice forty-five minutes before we were expected to be in homeroom. The issue was it took approximately twenty-five minutes just to get to school from here. We met at the parking lot almost simultaneously.

He opened the main doors and led me to his black Mercedes sports car, “Wow,” I complimented.

“Mom won it in the divorce settlement,” he explained. “It doesn’t replace my dad, or make him leaving okay.”

“I’m sure it doesn’t,” I empathized. “He cheated on her?”

“More than once, he blamed mom on neglecting him because of the skating. Nothing was HIS fault.”

I buckled myself in and remained quiet most of the way to school.

We arrived to find the parking lot free from people because we were running so late, “Do you have your schedule yet?”

“No.”

“I’ll take you to the office, but I’ll have to leave your there or I’ll be late for homeroom.”

“Sure, thanks.”

Supportively, I took his hand and walked him up the cement stairs into the school, showing him where the office was and then ditching him to make my way to homeroom.

Angry Adam