Page 39 of Faking All the Way
I nod, pursing my lips to one side. Words sit in my throat, all the things I could say—shouldsay, maybe. But I don’t know how to start that conversation, and it doesn’t seem like my father does either.
Stepping forward, I reach down to pet Murphy one more time. The cat purrs and moves his head so that I get the spot behind his ear, never opening his eyes.
“I’ll come by again in a couple days,” I say. “Check on things. Make sure the radiator’s still working right, and that you’re taking your meds.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I know.”
I turn to leave, letting myself out so that he won’t have to get up again. As I head to my car, there’s a lot churning in my head, and I run a hand through my hair, scraping my nails lightly over my scalp as if that will help clear my mind.
I pull out my phone once I’m in the car and text Kat to find out where she is now. She responds almost immediately with the address of a bookstore, so I guide the car in that direction.
The drive doesn’t take too long, but when I pull up outside the bookstore, she’s already waiting on the sidewalk with several shopping bags clustered around her feet. She waves as I pull up, pointing to the trunk, and I nod and press the button to pop it open. Her cheeks are flushed a pretty pink from the cold, and I watch in the rearview as she loads her bags into the car.
The second she gets into the passenger seat in a whoosh of cold air, I feel myself grinning over at her.
“Successful shopping trip?” I ask as she buckles her seatbelt.
“Very successful. I got almost everyone on my Christmas list checked off.” She rubs her hands together, blowing on them. “I found some great stuff at that bookstore. They have this whole local authors section that’s really impressive for such a small store.”
“What’d you get?”
“A cookbook for my mom, a history book about Virginia for my dad, and an art book to give Sam whenever she gets back from Antarctica.” She lists them off, clearly pleased with herfinds. “Plus, I may have bought a few things for myself. But that’s beside the point.”
I chuckle. “Of course. So, are you excited for this?”
“To break my coccyx?” She shoots me a blinding smile. “Oh, definitely. I’ve been looking forward to it all day.”
She says it so matter-of-factly that I burst out laughing. “You’re not going to break your coccyx. I promise your ass will be safe with me.”
The flush on her cheeks deepens immediately, turning an even darker shade. I can feel my own face heating a little, and I clear my throat. I didn’t mean that the way it sounded, or at least, I didn’t mean to say it out loud like that. But now that the words are hanging between us, I can’t take them back.
“Good to know,” she says, her voice slightly higher than normal. She taps her fingers against her full thighs, looking out the windshield. “So, the rink is in a park on the other side of town. I can give you directions.”
“Sounds good.”
She guides me through the winding streets, pointing out turns as we go. Christmas decorations are everywhere, making it clear that the residents of Maplewood take the holidays seriously. There are lights strung along rooflines, inflatable snowmen in yards, and massive wreaths hung on doors.
“Turn left here,” she says after a while, and we pull into a parking lot next to a sprawling park.
The rink is bigger than I expected, and it looks like a temporary structure that probably gets set up every winter season. It’s surrounded by trees that have white lights strung up in their branches, and there’s a small warming hut at one end where people can rent skates and buy hot chocolate, from the looks of it.
When we arrive, there are maybe a dozen people skating—families with young kids wobbling around the edges, a couple ofteenagers showing off in the center, and an older couple holding hands as they move slowly but confidently.
“I haven’t been here in years,” Kat admits as we head toward the warming hut. “This is actually really cute.”
“See? Skating is fun. Just wait, you’ll see.”
We rent skates from the teenager working the counter, and I help Kat find a pair that fits her well. Then we head to one of the benches scattered around the edge of the rink to lace up.
I can see her getting more nervous as she tightens her laces, her movements becoming slower and more deliberate. She keeps glancing at the ice, worrying her lower lip between her teeth.
“You okay?” I ask as I finish with my own skates.
“Just remembering the last time I did this,” she says, pulling her laces a bit tighter than necessary. “I was seven, and I’m pretty sure I spent the whole time falling down. My butt was bruised for a week.”
“That’s not going to happen this time.”
