Bittersweet (38 page)

Guilt pinches my stomach again, prickling up my spine. If I’d stayed here tonight, maybe we could’ve been more attentive to him. Maybe I would’ve recommended a different dish, something he’d like better. Maybe …

“Maybe no one else will remember him, either,” I say.

“Eh, no one around here reads anything but the sports page, anyway.” Dani smiles and looks at me for a long time, silent. Waiting. It’s my turn to talk. My turn to undo the knot of our troubles, to save us like the angel of icing stunt saved the night. One chilly winter doesn’t seem long enough to kill a friendship, but I guess all it takes is one bad day, leading into another and another and another, excuses endlessly regurgitated. Do it often enough and intention stops mattering, too.

I think again of Kara, all the times I could’ve said something to explain, to apologize, to try, but didn’t. I let our entire friendship die because I was too embarrassed about what I’d done, too eager to go into hiding. I still don’t know if Kara and I are on true speaking terms, let alone friend terms. And I have to accept that. It was my choice, after all—three years ago and every day after.

But now, faced with the same opportunity to let it all go? To let another friendship fade into memory while I hide out behind an apron and a mixing bowl?

“Dani, we really need to talk. Not over lunch, not next weekend, but right now.”

She lets out her breath, a big white sigh. “I’m so glad you said that. I have so much to tell you.”

I flash her a devious grin. “Yeah, you and Frankie Torres, huh?”

She nods and looks at the ground. “We’ve been hanging out since that night at the movies. It started just as friends, but then he was calling me all the time, inviting me to the games, sitting next to me at lunch. He’s a really sweet guy, Hudson.”

“I know. You should’ve seen him on New Year’s—when I told him you were in Canada, it was like his puppy died.”

“Seriously?”

“Dude, he spent the entire chorus of ‘Auld Lang Syne’ staring out the windows, pining away. Totally gross.”

Dani returns my smile. “I wanted to tell you that I liked him, but every time I tried to bring it up, you either changed the subject or just … drifted off.” Her smile fades as she meets my eyes, her face crinkled and sad. “It’s like you weren’t even around anymore, Hud. Like you already left Watonka.”

“I’ve been a crap friend, and I’m really sorry. I screwed up. And I totally miss you.”

“I miss you, too.” She steps closer, letting the door close behind her as she stomps her feet against the cold.

“I know I made mistakes this winter, but I’m pissed at you, too. I thought you had my back on the skating thing. But the closer I got to the scholarship, the more you clammed up. I felt like you couldn’t be happy for me—not because you were jealous, but because you didn’t want me to leave Watonka.”

“But I
was
jealous,” she says. “All of a sudden my best friend had all these new hockey friends and plans that didn’t involve me. We didn’t even get to hang out at work because you kept giving away your shifts. I knew how much skating meant to you, but after a while, it wasn’t about skating. It was all about the guys, then all about getting out of here.”

“You
know
I want out. That’s how I feel.”

Dani frowns, shoulders sagging. “Okay. Watonka isn’t the most cosmopolitan place in the world, I get it. But it’s still home—at least for me. So not only was I never seeing my best friend, the few times we hung out, she was trash-talking my home. It was crappy, Hudson. And then today, when you said you didn’t want me at your skating event … It was like I didn’t even know you anymore. Like you were already a million miles away from here.”

I look out past the lot behind Hurley’s, the lights on the highway blurring into two bright ribbons, red and white. For months my single mission was the ice, the competition, winning the scholarship and my one-way ticket out. A hundred, a thousand, a million miles away—nothing seemed far enough. I was so focused on that point in the distance that I didn’t bother looking back, didn’t consider what I’d be leaving behind.

All the people I love, my family and the friends like Trick and Dani who’ve become family. All the little quirks that make even the most barren, frigid places beautiful, that make a tiny gray dot on the map the one place you’ll always call home, no
matter where your glamorous, boring, adventurous, average, ridiculous, impossible, epic, romantic, bacon-infused life leads you.

“I’m sorry, Dani. I
was
a million miles away. But not now. Listen … you’re my best friend. I can’t imagine my life without you in it, no matter how much we fight or who we’re with or where we live. None of that stuff matters. We’re sisters, you know?”

She nods, wiping her eyes on the edge of her apron. “I’m sorry, too.”

“Do-over?” I whisper.

“Do-over.” Dani reaches out and squeezes my hand. She leans in for a hug, but I pull back.

“Wait. There’s one more issue to discuss. Probably the most important one of all.”

“What?” she asks, eyebrows crinkling.

“I’m not sure how to say this.” I put my hand on her shoulder and look deep into her eyes. “Dani, does Frankie … does he know about your obsession with pirates?”

“Are you
kidding
me? Pirates are
soo
last month. I’m on to ninja spies now.
Bedroom Assassin
, by Ella Drake?
Very
sexy.”

“Naked ninja hotties? I dig it.” I smile, and Dani finally gets her hug. Inside, the opening chords of Van Morrisson’s “Brown Eyed Girl” spill out of the old radio, muffled through the door.

“Listen.” I make my voice man-deep. “I think they’re playing our song.”

“Well?” She tilts her head and holds out her hand, corkscrew curls shining under the silver moon. “What do you think?”

“You asking me to dance?”

“In
that
outfit? Hell yeah, I’m asking you to dance, mama. Shake that fine, sequin-covered ass!” She grabs my hands and we jump and twirl behind the diner, the seagull squawking in vain protest as Dani tries desperately to carry the tune. I keep my hands locked on hers and close my eyes, and my off-key, vocally underdeveloped best friend sings it long and loud into the wintry night, snowflakes falling softly on my tongue.

Vanilla cupcakes iced in swirled vanilla and orange buttercream, garnished with an orange slice and shaved dark chocolate

When Dani and I get back inside, only a handful of people dot the dining
room, families waiting for their to-go boxes, kids licking cupcake crumbs from their plates. As I refill the salt and pepper shakers on the counter, I keep my eyes on the front door, betting against the odds on one final customer. One last chance.

But he doesn’t show.

“Hudson?” Mom leans out the kitchen door, hair slipping out of her ponytail, eyes puffy and tired. She nods toward the booth near the counter. On one side, Bug’s curled up on the bench with his backpack, a shoeless foot dangling off the seat. “He asleep?”

“Totally zonked.”

Mom smiles. “He was quite a trouper tonight.”

“No kidding.” I replace the big jars of salt and pepper under the counter and line up the shakers against the sugar dispensers. “A few more years and you can give him his own Hurley Girl dress.”

“I think he’d prefer a Hurley Man space suit.” Mom reties her ponytail and sighs. “Okay, Hudson. Now that we’re out of the weeds, we need to have a little chat.”

“Start by telling me where you went tonight.” Mom closes the office door behind me and takes the seat at her desk. “
Before
the cupcake free-for-all.”

I sit in the small swivel chair across from her, smoothing my hands over the silky skirt of my competition dress. All winter I’ve kept this from her. Now that I have no choice but to tell her, everything I thought I’d be confessing is different. The scholarship, the competition, all those months on the ice at Fillmore—it all means something else now.

I take a steadying breath. Whatever it means, it’s time for the truth. And if I’m finally being honest about my dreams, I have to start by yanking them out of the closet.

“I’ve been skating again, Ma. Training.”

Mom doesn’t say a word as I tell her the entire story: work breaks at Fillmore, the foundation letter, Baylor’s, the Wolves gig, Kara, my guilt about Empire, all the secrets and lies, everything I thought I wanted to achieve this winter. For the
first time since my father left, I don’t hide behind my apron and a mixing bowl. I don’t shy away from honesty just because it’s hard and uncomfortable for both of us. I tell her the truth. The real deal about me, about what I want. About who I am. Who I’m not.

My father was the one who bought me my first pair of skates and set me on the ice so long ago. He made sure there was money for private lessons with Lola and all of the equipment I needed. He came to every event, home and away. And he took me skating when I just needed to run around the rink and be silly, no choreography, no moves, no routine. He rented skates and chased me in circles and bought us hot chocolate when we got tired. Skating was ours, mine and his, and in that moment on the ice at the Empire Games, I knew that my mother could no more fill his empty place in the stands than she could fill his empty place in my life. For all the dreams my father and I shared, nothing was strong enough to keep him here with us. And in his absence, I thought I wasn’t strong enough to carry those dreams on my own.

But I was wrong. I’m strong enough to carry
any
dream on my own. I was just trying to carry the wrong one.

“Dad’s gone,” I say, “and I let him take skating with him. For three years I told myself he ruined it. But he didn’t. He couldn’t. I miss it, Ma. I miss being on the ice. And I’m tired of sneaking around to do it.”

Mom leans back in her chair, eyes glazed with tears. “Baby, I had no idea you were skating again. No idea you wanted
any
of this. You could’ve told me and saved us both a lot of grief. Not to mention money—how much extra cash have you been floating Mrs. Ferris?”

My face goes hot. “Enough to cover a few months of gas bills.”

“Oh, Hudson …”

“I felt like I couldn’t talk about it because you’d get upset, either about the cost of everything, or just remembering stuff with Dad. So when I got that letter, I thought if I could find a way to skate
and
earn a scholarship, I could tell you after. Then you wouldn’t have to worry about paying for college, and I could still do something I love.”

“Hudson, your father and I have a college savings for you.”

“You—
what
?”

Mom reaches for a tissue. “It’s not fifty grand—not even close—but it’s a start. Enough for in-state tuition, anyway.”

“But …” I close my eyes, memories resurfacing. “You guys had the lump sum thing. I remember the lawyer explaining it when we sold the old house. Dad didn’t have to pay anything else.”

“That was for alimony and child support, hon. He’s still putting up for part of your education. He makes a deposit every other month. As much as it pains me to say this—and trust me, it does—he’s not a
total
heartless jerk.”

I fold my arms over my sequins, images of Dad and Shelvis flickering through my head. “I don’t want
anything
from him.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. He’s your father, even if he’s not
around. Helping with college is the least he can do.
Believe
me.”

I stand up and shove my chair back. “No. He bailed on us, Ma. Divorce is one thing, but he totally bailed. He never calls, he barely ever e-mails, and even then it’s just to talk about himself.”

“I know, and it tears me up that he does that to you kids. But college is expensive, and it’s his responsibility as a father to—”

“He’s not allowed to feel like a good father just for writing a check. I’d rather have a mountain of student loans than let him buy me a single textbook.” I slump back into the chair.

Mom reaches for my hands across the desk. “You don’t have to decide about that right now, and I’m not trying to turn this into a conversation about your father’s issues. The point is, you could’ve been honest with me. All this time you’ve been training for another competition, and I was in the dark. I didn’t even know you still had skates. Are you signed up for anything else? More competitions? Scholarships? Lessons?”

I shake my head. “No competitions. But I
do
want to keep skating. Maybe just at a club or coaching little kids or whatever.”

“What about work?” Mom releases my hands and shuffles through the mound of papers on her desk. “You’re still on the schedule this month, and you’ve got a ton of Valentine’s orders coming up, and—”