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.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Not-So-Impossible Orange Dreams
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.