Kiss and Cry

I breathed through an emotion that felt a lot like grief. “Mom, please listen to me. I’m going to do this interview alone. You’re not coming.”

She opened her mouth, but then sighed. “Fine. Will you still be having dinner with us after the free skate?”

“No. We’re going for breakfast the morning after. We went through this. Dad and the girls agree. If I win tomorrow, I’m going to be too busy and tired. If I don’t win—”

“Of course you’re going to win! Why would you even say that?” She wrung her hands. “You can’t let Sakaguchi beat you. What have Manon and Bill been telling you? You know they favor him.” Her breath puffed in clouds in the cold air like exclamation marks.

The shuttle pulled to a stop, the doors folding open with a whoosh. I stepped on and said to my mom, “I’ll see you all for breakfast in two days.”

The doors closed, cutting off her response. It didn’t matter. I’d heard it all before, and I’d hear it again unless I entirely locked her out of my life. Maybe one day I would, but it was easier said than done.

At the studio, they got me right into hair and makeup, and soon I was settled by the big window across from Janice Harvey, the older reporter who did the fluff pieces and human-interest stories.

She dressed in pantsuits and kept her red hair in a practical bob. She was almost sixty now and had big nice-mom energy, like at any second she’d offer you home-baked brownies. I’d always liked her.

She softballed me questions about the dream of competing at the Olympics and the thrill of being here and all that stuff. Until she said, “Let’s talk about your relationship with Henry Sakaguchi.”

My heart skipped. Whoa. Was Janice ambushing me? That wasn’t her style, and the network had never been overly keen on talking about my sexuality. “Um… Uh-huh?”

“It’s not uncommon now for top competitors to train in close quarters. Would you say you’ve become friends over these months?”

Relief flooded me. Okay, this seemed to be the typical kind of questions. “Absolutely! It’s such a family atmosphere at the rink.”

Actually, that was more true of the Ice Chalet than anywhere else I’d ever trained, but talking about hugs and puppies and how everyone is so friendly in training and on teams was the bread and butter of figure skating bullshit PR.

Janice tilted her head sympathetically, and I knew what was coming before she said, “Your beloved coach, Walter Webber, sadly passed away in December. Did his loss hit you hard?”

I flashed on sobbing against Henry in the rain and breathed through a wave of feelings. “It did. Mr. Webber was such a legend, and he made me the skater I am today. But more than his coaching, he was an amazing person. Kind and patient, and he impacted so many people in the skating world over the years. I’m honored to have been his student.”

“It must have affected your training?”

“Yes, but I can’t say enough how wonderful Bill and Manon were to take me on. They’re continuing Mr. Webber’s legacy of empathy and expertise.”

Janice smiled. “You know, many people have praised you for being a mentor to younger skaters in training and on the US team. Korean national medalist Ga-young Park told us: ‘Theo will make the best coach one day.’ Is that something you’ve considered?”

I blinked in genuine surprise. “Wow. First off, Ga-young is so sweet. I’ve loved training with her in Toronto. She’s a future champion, mark my words. And… No, I haven’t really thought about coaching.”

Janice smiled. “Still focused on an Olympic gold medal first?”

“Yeah, my mind’s here in Calgary.” I laughed along with her. “One thing at a time. It was amazing to win silver with my incredible US teammates in the team event, and I’m hoping I can go out there and do my best in the individual competition.”

“But have you thought at all about the future? You’re twenty-five now. Will you continue competing after this season? Will it depend on the results here?”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

I paused, trying to come up with the appropriate generic athlete answer. I could imagine my mother willing me to say that of course I was going to continue competing, and even if I’d be twenty-nine at the next Olympics it wasn’t unheard of, and I loved skating so much, blah, blah, blah.

But in that moment, blinking under the bright studio lights as Janice waited for my response, the Olympic rings looming over us on the studio wall above the window, one word filled my mind. It filled my heart and soul if you wanted to get cheesy about it.

No.

I found myself saying, “Actually, win or lose here in Calgary, my competitive career is ending. I’ve won every other competition out there, including two world titles. It’s been incredible. But I’m very excited about new challenges and the freedom of skating in shows without rules.”