As if he knows he’s on my mind, my phone lights up with a picture of us posing as a couple. I grab it quickly, heart racing.
“Hey! I’m glad you called. I forgot to mention you should pack thermals; my parents want to go snowshoeing, and I thought you might like that,” I say, not bothering to hide the sun in my voice.
Next time Caden walks into our apartment for a study date, it’ll be as my boyfriend, and not much studying will be happening.
“Yeah, so listen, Nat.” Caden hesitates.
“Uh oh. What’s wrong?”
“Remember how I was trying to speed up my Russian Twists?”
“Mmhmm.”
“Well, good news is, I nailed the move.”
“That’s awesome!” I hold up two winter hats: one cute and stylish, the other infinitely warmer but utterly dorky. Tessa points at the cute one, and I toss it into my suitcase. I could always rely on Caden to keep me warm if needed.
“Bad news is, I pommel horsed too close to the sun during my dismount and I—uhm, I fractured my tibia.”
My racing, giddy heart stutters a beat. Caden’s trained for the Olympics his whole life; this injury might shatter his dreams, and even if it doesn’t, it’s going to make the next few months before the qualifier hell. “Are you okay?”
“No—Nat, I fucking broke my leg,” he says with a bitterness in his tone. Caden’s never sounded like this while talking to me and I swallow hard, forcing down the pain cutting into my chest. I know all too well what Caden is going through. When I was thirteen, I was one of the best figure skaters in my age group in the world. The Olympics weren’t just a dream, they were my future.
Then, my period started, and the pain and bleeding led to missed practices. Soon, I traded competitions and figure skating costumes in for hospital visits and neck-tied gowns, and the future promised to me was ripped away.
This is going to be one of the lowest points in Caden’s life. My focus needs to be on him.
“Where are you? How can I help?”
“I’m home,” he says, much softer. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have snapped.”
“Okay, I’ll come over?—”
“No, Nat. I’m home, home. Like in Michigan. I’m having surgery at U of M.”
“Oh.”
“Which means—” He hesitates again, and I can feel the weight of his unspoken words fall on my shoulders.
I glance at Tessa, who’s now listening intently, her expression grim.
“You won’t be able to come home with me for Christmas,” I finish, shoulders dropping in defeat. “And last year we used the ‘he broke his foot’ excuse.”
“I’m so sorry, Nat. But listen, I’ve got a plan,” Caden says, suddenly far perkier than is called for given the situation.
If my three year friendship with Caden has taught me anything, it’s that Suddenly-Perky-Caden-Sinclair is a very dangerous Caden Sinclair.
Last year, Suddenly-Perky-Caden-Sinclair convinced me to get a tattoo of figure skates tied in a pretty bow over three of my excision scars on my abdomen. I sobbed in the chair—not because of the physical pain, but because of the mental pain I finally released with the action.
My tears gave him too much confidence in his ideas.
“No, it’s okay. I can figure something out. Just worry about yourself.”
“Honestly, I really don’t have much going on besides sulking in this hospital bed. So, I started thinking?—”
“We both know you shouldn’t do that, Cade.”
“Ha. Ha. Just trust me, okay? I’ve got you. They’re bringing my lunch in. I gotta go.”
