Not Your Fault

Kris offers to drive since his massive truck blocks my Mustang in the tiny driveway next to my house. Nathan never drove, or rather he always tried to get out of it, either by asking me to go to his house or offering to meet me at restaurants so he wouldn’t have to drive five miles out of his way to get me. When we did go somewhere together, he argued that my car was cleaner than his was and that it got better gas mileage so we should take mine. I always obliged, and secretly wished I had a man who drove me around like all my girlfriends seemed to have. So when Kris says, “I’ll drive, hop in.” I am happy to oblige.

I climb into the passenger seat and relax against the cool leather seats while Kris battles rush hour traffic on Highway 14, Mixon’s busiest road. When traffic slows to ten miles an hour and there’s nothing but brake lights ahead, Kris groans in frustration and taps the steering wheel with his fingers. I look over him and offer up a sympathy puppy-style sad face.

He winks at me and takes a hand off the wheel to squeeze my leg.

A girl could get used to this.

Mixon Skating Rink is on the outskirts of town where there’s pretty much nothing except some dirt racing track that I know nothing about. I know the owner of the rink, a sweet elderly woman named Ms. Webb, inherited the land many years back when it was a farm and decided to turn it into a skating rink instead. The isolation of the area is probably why they had to close down in the first place, although the old rink was never fancy to start with. It was just a great way to hang out with friends and be as far away from my parents as possible.

Riding down these back roads brings back more nostalgia than I can handle, especially with Kris in the driver’s seat. All the memories of my adolescence almost overshadow the anxiety I feel about Cat being stranded at an abandoned building in the middle of nowhere. Murders and shady drug deals happen in places like this. I can’t imagine Cat partaking in a drug deal—or, murder for that matter—and maybe her car just broke down or something, but still. What was she thinking by coming out here?

“Wow,” Kris says under his breath as he slows the truck and turns into the long driveway that leads to the old skating rink. I look up from my cell phone screen where I had been absentmindedly watching it in case Cat called me again. The sight before my eyes has me repeating what Kris just said.

The rickety metal building and gravel parking lot I remember as a teenager is no more. In its place is a new metal building that’s twice as wide as the former one and the vast parking lot is now smooth white concrete instead of grass-covered, pot-holed bits of gravel. Mixon Skating Rink is a remodeled no-expense-spared entertainment venue.

Kris parks in one of the only empty parking spaces and we both stare at each other, still unable to fathom why this place is…this place. “When did they do this?” I ask as we make our way to the front doors.

Kris shrugs. “I haven’t been here since we were teenagers, but I thought I heard something about them wanting to remodel. It used to be a total shit hole.” He holds open the door for me and a blast of pop music and children’s voices crash into us as we step inside. “Guess they had an investor with big pockets.”

I breathe a sigh of relief when Cat meets me at the door, dressed in short shorts, a hot pink tank top and a pair of roller skates. Her arms reach out and slap against the wall to stop herself as she rolls toward me. “You’re here!” she squeals in a much different tone of voice than she had used when she called me just minutes ago.

“I thought you were being murdered,” I say, taking the voucher she gives me for a skate rental and shaking it at her. “How dare you.”

“How dare I what?” she says, holding her arms open wide as she gestures around us. “How dare I plan this awesome surprise party for you?”

My mouth falls open. “What?”

She wasn’t joking. To the left of the new skate floor is an open area with video games, a concession stand and picnic tables. One table in particular is covered with a Hello Kitty plastic tablecloth and a dozen hot pink balloons. A homemade banner that says Happy Birthday Delaney hangs from the ceiling, hovering over a beautiful three-tiered cake made of cupcakes.

Susan and her husband are here along with a dozen of Cat’s friends who are kind of my friends by association. My teenage cousins and my Aunt Carol rush over and give me a hug before returning to their game of air hockey. I scan the rink of skaters and spot my Uncle David skating backwards on a pair of rented roller skates, hands clasped behind his back as if he’s some kind of professional skater.

All I can do is stand here in shock.

A hand touches my lower back and then Kris whispers in my ear, “I thought your birthday was the twenty-second?”

“It is,” I tell him. Cat rolls her eyes. “I had to have the party a few days before your real birthday or you would have suspected it, duh.” She throws her arms around me in a hug. “Oh, and I’m glad you brought Kris,” she says when she pulls away. I think she even winks at him.

I turn to Kris with wide eyes. “I can’t believe she did this.”

He gives me a sideways smile. “Well…it does sound a lot like Cat.”

We waste no time in strapping on a pair of skates and hitting the brand new wooden skate floor. I haven’t skated in years, but it’s not something I could ever forget how to do. Kris, who is more bulk than grace, needs a few laps to get the hang of skating around in a circle.

Apparently the skating rink did close down a few years ago because of the failing economy. Ms. Webb passed away shortly after from breast cancer and now her daughter, a younger-looking version of her, owns the new rink. She tells me that the dirt track down the street has become so popular after hosting a national dirt bike race had put them on the map, and that their popularity had led to interest in building a new skating rink. The owner of the track had helped the younger Ms. Webb take out a loan and build this place, and now they’re co-owners. I’m excited to see the rink full of customers with smiling faces. I may not have kids now, but one day I hope my children can find the same happiness here that I did as a kid.

It’s good to see my family, especially my cousins who are all teenagers now and have better things to do than out with their family. Susan says she can’t skate because she’s too drunk, and Kris, after busting his ass for the third time, suggests that maybe he should pretend to be drunk too, so he can hang out on the sidelines and quit embarrassing himself.

Although I’m not sure why being drunk is any less embarrassing than crashing to the floor in front of two seven-year-olds when the lights dim during a Wil-I-Am song. Which is exactly what Kris just did.

I skate up to him and come to a sudden stop right in front of his face. He cocks an eyebrow as he sits up on his knees in the middle of the skate floor. “Is someone showing off their amazing skating skills?”

I put my hands on my hips and spin in a circle, making the move look effortless. “Whatever do you mean, Mr. Payne?”

“That’s it. You’re coming down with me,” he says. I have just enough time to wonder what that means when I feel a hand grab onto mine and pull. My legs buckle and my skates shoot out from under me and I fall flat on my face. Luckily, Kris catches my face with his body and we lay splayed on the floor while everyone skates around us.

“That was rude,” I tease him as I pull up on my elbows and place a kiss on his cheek.

“Do you think it’s weird that no one has mentioned us being together?” he says.