Mike was stumbling around, Mike was bugging her about her skates, Mike was getting under her skin even in her own bloody head. Mike, Mike, Mike...
She twisted around, fighting the sweaty sheet. Mike, who had probably never even laced a pair of skates on. She'd have to ask... no, if she'd asked, he'd turn it into another one of those take me skating, because it is the best for you' things.
Daya tossed the pillow out of the fold-out bed—Mike's fold-out bed, aargh!—and pressed her cheek to the still reasonably cool sheet. The numbers on the clock face blinked relentlessly. Each flash—a cruel reminder that she had squandered away her seven hours of sleep.
At 4:31 am Mike's shower started up.
She hopped out of bed and walked over the discarded sleepy tee-shirt to open the closet's door. Sleeping naked felt weird. Maybe that's why she couldn't fall asleep, but Mike—damn it!—Mike kept his place sweltering. She stared inside the closet, blinking away the sleepless night.
The suitcase glittered in the corner, taking up almost half the space, the stupid thing...
If she stepped on the ice again, would she look as unsure of her footing as Mike had been in the med-center? For the second time, she had to see him falling.
The first time, it surprised her. Yesterday, she caught him, although he could have born her down with his bulk. And she didn't want to let go when the only danger remaining was him falling out of the chair. The tears welling in his eyes knocked breath out of her like a hit to her solar plexus—and she had seen more people crushing down than most.
For goodness' sake, Mike, Mike, Mike... forget Mike.
Her hand reached out to the suitcase. Would I fall if I jump?
She'd never taken a break this long before. Her flexibility was there, and she'd never stopped with cardio and strength training, but could she still jump? She did it on dry land, but dry land was different.
As if in a dream, she pulled the suitcase's handle. It resisted, the wheels stuck on a wrinkle in the carpet. She jerked it free, lifted it on her unmade bed and clicked the locks open. Nestled inside, the skates gleamed at her, white and silver, untarnished.
The blades of glory, my ass.
The edges, the groove through the middle, the pick at the end, the heel, the demanding curve of the white boot, and the mesh cut-outs that hinted at wings.
Her skates, so special, so orphaned.
She ran her finger along the metal of one blade. It felt sharp. They were like a bridal dress from a cancelled wedding. No point of keeping it, no heart to throw it away, nobody to pass it on to. Unless Rajni or Veer could skate, they were almost of an age when you could see—nah, after all Shanti had done for her, she'd never bring her own kids to the skating rink.
At least if she were in Shanti's shoes, she wouldn't, not after watching Mike fall.
Forget Mike! she ordered herself for the hundredth time. Could her little niece and nephew skate?
Could I? Curse Mike for teasing skating out of its grave in the farthest corner of her soul. She dropped her face into the palms of her hands. How she wanted it... the skating that is. Not Mike falling in love with her for Christmas. Skating, she'd think about the skating.
Heartache... Dancing on My Own... white light, and the expanse of whiter ice. Opening pose from kneeling to project being beat to the spectators, rise, rise, rise and rush away.
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Winners Don't Have Bad Days (Watty 2020 Winner, Romance)
ChickLitWhen a total stranger knows what eats you, maybe they are your one true love. Even if you don't know it yet. || On Friday the 13th, two twenty-something, Daya and Mike, end up in a mutually beneficial arrangement: she is his caregiver after he break...
