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I take her purse, the gym bag, and my phone and put them all in a locker next to the rink. Then I help her make her way out on the ice. It’s the middle of the day, on a weekday, so the rink is not crowded and we only get a few curious stares, all of them directed at her.
The first fifteen minutes, when I’m teaching her the very basics, she falls on her butt pad half a dozen times.
Two little girls on the other side of the rink are swirling gracefully.
“I am getting my ass handed to me by a couple of six-year-olds!” Ruby complains, sitting on the ice.
I look at them, look at her, and nod. “That is accurate.”
“This is ridiculous. If I agree that this date is terrible, can we leave?”
“Ruby, Ruby. I never took you for a quitter,” I say chidingly. I bend down and pull her up.
One of the little girls skates gracefully across the rink and stops right in front of Ruby. She’s dark-skinned, her hair up in two puffy ponytails, wearing a bright red jacket, a skater skirt, leggings, and red skates.
“Don’t be scared,” she says reassuringly. “And don’t feel bad that you look really goofy.” She points at Ruby’s protective butt gear and arm pads. “Everyone has to start somewhere. I had to wear those things when I started skating.”
“Thank you.” Ruby manages a pained smile. “When was that?”
“When I was three.”
Ruby shoots me a look that promises horrible, horrible revenge, and then smiles sweetly at the little girl. “My boyfriend picked these out. Do you think he did a good job?” she asks.
The little girl looks her up and down. “Well, they’re kind of ugly,” she says.
“Yes, Paxton did a pretty terrible job, didn’t he?”
The little girl laughs. “Very terrible. But you know what? If he got those for you, it must mean he loves you like my mommy loves me. Because he doesn’t want you to get hurt. Bye. Good luck.” And she waves at me and skates off.
“Aww, how cute was that?” I smirk at Ruby.
“That’s it,” Ruby says. “I will not be outdone by a precocious grade schooler. Tell me about the inside and outside edge of the skates.”
I shoot her a reproving look. “I already told you.”
“Yes, but I was ignoring you and concocting fantasy scenarios in my head involving you and a giant catapult. There was a cell phone up your ass while this was happening.”
“You’re really fixed on that, aren’t you?”
Ruby’s eyes gleam dangerously. “You have no idea. All I can say is, you don’t want to bend over in front of me anytime soon. Now. Skates. Edges. What are they and why do I have to care?”
I go over it again, demonstrating, and then I take her to one of the lines on the ice, and she actually skates a straight line.
She looks at me with surprise and delight. “Look at me, I’m a badass. I skate at least as well as a six-year-old.”
“Definitely,” I tell her. I look at the little girl across the ice, who is pirouetting like an Ice Capades star. “Just not that little girl.”
Ruby manages to flip me off while skating. That’s progress.
“Now, we’re going to work on backwards,” I tell her.
The hour flies by, and Ruby actually begs for more time. We’re on the rink for two solid hours, and by the end of it, she’s not absolutely terrible for a complete beginner.
I mean, I say that as someone with pretty high standards for skating. I’d say with some lessons, Ruby might actually be fun to skate around on a rink with.
For some reason, a strange picture flashes through my mind. It’s me, Ruby, and a little girl skating on the ice, and the little girl looks just like Ruby but she’s got my hair color.
“We should go,” I say abruptly to Ruby. I grab her by the arm and help her off the ice.
