Kiss and Cry

But she did give me another hug before I had to run the gauntlet of waiting reporters and cameras. Making my way down the line, I gave stock answers about how unworried I was about the Olympics, and oh yes, it was great having Theo Sullivan pushing me in training, couldn’t be better.

In the end, he didn’t have a great free skate either, though he beat me by 9.63 points. I could admit that I’d let the performance go and probably hadn’t deserved the program component scores I received, but Theodore’s PCS were still unfairly high.

All I could do was make it through the medal ceremony and required press conference. I’d been told often that I had “resting bitch face,” but I’d given up trying to smile all the time years before. My skating could speak for itself, though it hadn’t said anything complimentary today.

Theo waited atop the podium with a huge grin when I skated out to thunderous applause. I bowed to the audience, who really were too kind and loyal to me even though I was a disgrace.

As much as I’d have loved to ignore Theo, I stopped in front of him and held out my hand. He shook it, then bent down with arms open because he was terrible.

I had no choice but to hug him back or appear churlish. Appearances were vital in skating. I had to be seen as a gracious loser even when I seethed with frustration and anger—most of it directed at myself. I stiffly embraced Theodore.

“Tough break with the Lutz,” he said, his breath tickling my cheek as we parted.

If I’d spoken, I’d either have snapped in fury or—even worse—burst into tears. So I nodded and skated around the back of the podium to climb up to the silver position I’d managed to hang on to by my fingernails. Wang Zhan had won bronze, and he was thrilled by it, grinning madly and hugging us, practically bouncing onto the podium.

Suddenly, it struck me that I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt such joy at a medal, even a gold. When I’d captured my last world title, the overriding sensation had been relief. Satisfaction, yes, but joy? I watched Wang Zhan with a pang of envy, wondering if Theodore was joyful. He was always grinning in that infuriating way with his perfect, beautiful smile, so he must have been.

“You can do better.”

“Mom!” My mother huffed at Obaachan and drew me into a hug, and I allowed a moment to breathe in her favorite tropical perfume that smelled subtly of coconut and made me think of summer. “We know you did your best and we’re always proud of you.”

I stepped back and nodded, though I preferred Obaachan’s honesty. We understood each other. I hadn’t done my best—not remotely—and what did I have to be proud of?

Perhaps that I hadn’t completely imploded and could still make the final, but this silver medal was going in the garbage. Either that or I’d wear it to practices to remind me of what not to do.

Dad hugged me too in the quiet corner of the arena concourse. The women’s free skate had started, though there were still some people milling around and buying revolting-looking pizza. Arena food was uniformly disgusting and overpriced, and I wouldn’t touch it if I was starving.

None of us were particularly tall, but Obaachan was so short I had to stoop to embrace her. She pinched my waist with a familiar, sharp little twist, and whispered, “You’re in your own way.” She stood back. “Annabelle won’t like it.”

I winced and agreed. Annabelle, my choreographer, was visiting Toronto from Montreal next week to go over programs with multiple skaters in the area and make tweaks. She would not be pleased at my butchering of her work today. Since I hired her and could easily not work with her again, she would go about it delicately. But I deserved the criticism.

“How’s Ojiichan?” my father asked. “Is he wearing his hearing aids?”

I sighed. “No. He says he doesn’t need them.” Which we all knew wasn’t true. But I didn’t mind it too much. When I visited him at the retirement village, we often sat in peaceful silence for hours doing crosswords.

“He’s always been stubborn as hell,” Dad said. “Did I ever tell you about the time when I was five or six and—”

Sam groaned as he arrived with Etienne. “Yes. You’ve told us a million times.” He hugged me. “Don’t freak out. It’s better to bomb here than later in the season.”

Mom huffed. “He didn’t bomb.”

Obaachan made a noise that was decidedly dubious. As Sam spoke to her, Etienne quietly said to me, “Tough skate. You’ll bounce back at NHK.”

I nodded. Bouncing back was the only option. “How was the rhythm dance?”

His handsome face brightened. “Awesome. We moved up a slot and we’re in the final flight tomorrow.”