Page 49 of Her Goal
Yes, I’ll be teaching Hudson some figure skating basics.
No, I will not be discussing what happened at the party.
The arranged marriage declaration did not happen. The whole party was a figment of our collective imaginations. I’ll simply pretend it’s not happening and it will go away like the other messes in my life.
Then I remember the slice of cake from Valentina’s pregnancy party wrapped in cellophane that Mami insisted I bring to him. Yeah, the Smiths move fast when it comes to celebrating. Wait too long and they’re already on to the next event. I contemplate sitting on it or mushing it into his chest, but he’s already on the ice when I arrive and I don’t want the ice resurfacing technician to blame me for cake crumbs on the slick frozen sheet.
I leave the cake with my bag and lace up before gliding onto the rink. Hudson goes still for a long moment as if remembering why he’s still here or like he’s seeing me for the first time, I can’t be sure.
Cheeks already pink from hockey practice, he drinks me in with his eyes.
I say, “Let’s stretch.”
“I’m warm,” he argues like at the first lesson.
“Stretch,” I order.
“Only if you do it with me, Mrs. Roboveitchek.”
I set my jaw. “Why would you say that?”
“You know why.” He licks his lower lip and quirks an eyebrow.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“It’s all over social media.”
“As if figure skating lessons weren’t already awkward enough, now this? Ought to be a real treat at work,” I mutter.
“A treat? Your mom texted and said you were bringing me a slice of cake as a reward for my hard work—now that I’m part of the family.”
My eyes bulge. “She texted you? How did she get your number?”
“Chuck, I think. He probably got it from Jack.”
I swipe my hand across my forehead and start to lead us through extra hamstring and hip stretches followed by dynamic warmup exercises.
Bumping my shoulders up, I play dumb. “I don’t know anything about reward cake.”
He mock pouts like I just ruined his day.
I narrow my eyes, daring him to say another word about the cake, so help me!
He tucks his hands in his pockets, gazes up at the ceiling, and whistles as if to say,Nothing to see here. And there shouldn’t be, but the fact remains that my family did publicly arrange our marriage. But I tell myself to keep scrolling. That’ll never happen, just like I’ll never have smaller feet, an organized living space, or a real boyfriend who appreciates me for who I am.
Instead, I run us through inside and outside edge work, including forward, backward, and alternating moves.
After denying that my parents are arranging our marriage for the last three days, like an avalanche, it reaches a critical mass and I fear the topic is going to come tumbling out of my mouth in three, two, one.
“It’s madness. They’re loco, right?” I look at Hudson. My eyes bulge cartoonishly. “Please say it’s nuts.”
He shakes his head while at the same time saying, “Yeah.”
“I need cake. Now.”
“I thought you brought it for me.”
“Abuela wants you to look after those abs. She and Jess’s grandma have formed an alliance. Septuagenarians for hockey abs.”
