Page 14 of Love and Other Penalties
“How long what, Mom?”
“Don’t play games with me, Ivy. How long have you been involved with that hockey player?”
Heat floods my cheeks. “His name is Finn, and we’ve only been?—”
“I don’t care what his name is.” She moves closer, looming over me. “I care that you’ve been lying to me. Sneaking around. Jeopardizing everything we’ve worked for.”
“I haven’t jeopardized anything.”
“Haven’t you?” Her voice rises. “Look at yourself. Injured because you were playing around instead of training seriously. Distracted, unfocused, skating like an amateur.” She gestures toward my ankle. “This is exactly what happened four years ago.”
The comparison hits like a slap. “This is nothing like four years ago.”
“Isn’t it? You got distracted then too, and where did that get you? Face-first into the ice at Nationals.”
I press my lips together, because I could say I’m blasting off to Saturn to meet and marry an alien hockey player, and she wouldn’t hear me.
“Ivy, you cannot afford distractions. Not now. Not ever.” She paces across my small living room, her heels clicking against the hardwood as she leaves the rug. “Someone has to protect you from yourself.” She pulls out her phone. “I’m calling other training facilities. We’re moving your sessions.”
“What?” I struggle to my feet, my ankle screaming in protest. “You can’t do that.”
“I can and I will.” She lifts her device to her ear, though it’s barely six o’clock in the morning.
“The qualifier is in two weeks, Mom. I can’t change facilities now.”
“Then you should have thought of that before you decided to play house with a hockey player.”
“I’m not playing house.” My voice shakes with anger as all kinds of things inside me snap and start to rearrange themselves. “I’m trying to have a life.”
“Your life.” She tosses her hair over her shoulder. “Is skating.”
“No, Mom.Yourlife was skating. Mine is supposed to be more than that.”
Her face goes white, and she actually lowers her phone “How dare you?—?”
“How dare I what? Want something for myself? Want to feel normal for five minutes?” I take a step toward her, ignoring the pain shooting through my ankle. “I’ve given you everything. My childhood, my teenage years, every relationship I’ve ever tried to have. But I won’t give you this.”
“This—this—what? Thisflingwith some boy who doesn’t understand what you’re capable of?”
“He does understand.” My voice cracks. “He believes in me. He thinks I’m good enough just as I am, not because I might win a medal someday.”
“Believing won’t get you to the Olympics.Believingdoesn’t win a gold medal.”
“Neither will your constant criticism.” The words tumble out before I can stop them. “Do you know what it’s like to never be good enough? To have every mistake magnified, every success minimized? I’m tired, Mom. I’mso tiredof trying to earn love that comes with conditions.”
“Love?” She laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “This isn’t about love, Ivy. This is about greatness. About not wasting the gift you were born with.”
“What if I don’t want to be great? What if I just want to be happy?”
The question hangs in the air between us. My mother stares at me like I’ve grown a second head, her expression morphing from shock to anger to defiance to a horrible sense of disbelief-slash-acceptance.
She picks up her purse, her movements sharp and angry. “When you’re ready to be serious about your career, call me. Until then, don’t bother.”
She’s halfway to the door when she turns back. “And Ivy? When he breaks your heart—and he will—don’t come crying to me.”
By midnight,I’ve made six dozen cupcakes and I’m no closer to answers than when I started. I’m frosting the last batch of lemon meringue treats with perfect spirals that remind me of what I hope I look like when I do a flawless sit spin when the back door opens.
“Who’s there?” My father’s voice carries through the kitchen, followed by the sound of Mae’s distinctive wheezing before she adds, “We have weapons. Show yourself.”
