Page 9 of Spring Break With A Gold Medalist

It’s been over a week since he’s called me that. Warmth fills my chest and curls lower. Someday I’ll work up the courage to ask him about the—my thoughts stutter on the implications—endearment. Except he said that the day we met, so it can’t mean anything that special.

“I’m not sure I want to share you with the world, Maya.” He releases a dramatic sigh. “But I promised you a movie and a meal. We’d better get going. Parking near the theater can be tricky. You going to be okay with a short walk?”

“I’d prefer not to take the cane.” I don’t need constant support, now it’s more of a security blanket that I’m ready to retire. I did a lot of reps today though, and I’m not sure how long the sensation of normal strength will last.

“You can hang onto me anytime,” Phil offers with arched eyebrows. “As often as you need. Or want.” He offers his crooked elbow. “Ready? There’s two movies starting soon. A psychological thriller or a more family-oriented movie based on a video game. Your choice.”

“To be honest, psychological, scary movies make me want to hide in my closet. I can’t shake the creepy stuff quickly.”

“Video game movie it is. Some of the kids have been talking about this one during practice. They got me interested.”

“Really? You’re not just saying that?”

“I’m not just saying it. As long as you don’t mind that we might see some of those kids there and ruin our reputations.”

He makes me laugh. “What reputations?”

“Being adults, of course.”

After thoroughly enjoying the movie, I decide my knee can take a little more walking so we stroll to a small, Italian restaurant. Best chicken piccata I’ve had in forever. Excellent conversation as well. Phil is easy to talk to and even our silences are comfortable.

On the way back to his car, we pass a group of teenagers hanging out in front of a burger joint. They’re not loud and obnoxious but I still hear their comments about my height. The difference in our heights. My response is a well ingrained defense. My shoulders hunch forward and I slouch, painfully bending my knees to make myself smaller.

Phil stops us and encourages me to face him. “What are you doing?”

I play dumb and hope it works. “Walking back to your car.”

His brows lower over his intense, searching gaze. The set of his jaw firms. “Don’t give me lies, Maya. You were, you are, shrinking in on yourself. Your spine’s curved, your shoulders have dropped. If I lift your skirt, I’m sure I’ll find your knees flexed. What are you doing?”

I don’t know how to answer him without chasing him away so I remain silent, staring at the toes of my shoes. Posture is important in gymnastics. I should have known there was no way he wouldn’t notice.

“Come here, Maya.” He leads me to one of the benches along the sidewalk and tugs me down to sit next to him. With one hand he keeps my palm pressed against his jeans covered thigh and uses his curled finger to tip up my face. “Tell me.”

This is a truth we will have to deal with eventually if I hope he’ll stick around. Now isn’t a good time. I fear later will be even worse. He moves his fingers until the tips curl along my jawline. His eyes are solemn and curious as he waits.

“Did you hear those teens?” I ask. “What they said?”

He glances back toward the gathering. “I was too interested in the woman beside me to pay any attention to that lot.”

“They… were laughing at my height. How I’m taller than you. I’ve always been teased about my height. It was fine for me to have a brother who’s six four, but when I neared the six foot mark myself… I’ve always tried to make myself look smaller. To be a more acceptable height.”

“How tall are you?”

I’m tempted to lie although I’m sure he knows the numbers so I answer honestly. “Officially five eleven. Unofficially a bit more. It’s an average height for volleyball and when I was little, I wanted to grow to be over six feet.”

“And I’m tall for a gymnast. Five nine. There was a time I prayed I’d stop growing. Many doubted I’d be successful in college, let alone be part of an Olympic team. Win medals. Gold medals. I don’t see what the problem is, Maya.”

I wish he’d call me baby doll. Maybe I’ve lost that, too. “I’m taller than you.”

“Yeah. So.”

“People talk.”

He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “Who the hell decided a man needs to tower over a woman and not the other way around? Fuck, look at some of those hockey guys or football players who are well over six feet yet have tiny girl friends or wives. That’s perfectly acceptable isn’t it?”

“I… I suppose.”

“So why is it different when a woman is taller than a man?”

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