Kiss and Cry

But in a few more years? Hell yeah.

When Henry cradled sweet old Esmeralda and lifted her up onto the top platform of her cat tree that she couldn’t climb anymore, it made me love him even more. He’d wait patiently for her to want down and make sure she didn’t topple off.

I knew he’d be an amazing dad one day. I was pretty sure I’d be good at it too, and sharing a kid with Henry was a life adventure we’d leap into when it was right.

We answered more questions and moved back to the rink so they could shoot B-roll of us coaching, especially footage with Grace. With our skates back on, we watched her run through her short program, listening to “Moon River” again. We applauded when she landed her Lutz combination.

“That wasn’t so bad, right?” I murmured.

“It was excellent. She has her timing back.”

“I meant the interview, and you know it.” I shouted, “Head up!” to Grace as she whizzed by. She gave a dazzling smile as though a crowd was watching.

“Mm.” In Henry speak, that meant yes.

It ended up taking hours to do all the filming the network crew wanted. We had to get home to feed Esmeralda and her younger sisters Cosette and Eponine. We’d stuck with the Victor Hugo theme. The arena was closing, and I was so ready to get home to our girls, a nice big glass of red, and our favorite weeknight Bolognese.

But I said to Henry, “Want to do your new one before we go?”

His face lit up with one of his still-rare, teeth-exposing smiles. His fingers flew over the laces of his skates, and I went into the booth to start his music. He’d just set new choreography with Annabelle for a show program, and I knew he was dying to practice it.

Alone on the ice, he did run-through after run-through, lost in his own world of edges, spins, and jumps to Ravel’s “Bolero.” If anyone could do that classic justice, it was my warm, wonderful Henry.

We’d be home soon enough.

THE END