Below us, Nina is arguing with Rafael about sweeping angles with the kind of intensity usually reserved for when we’re venting about our parents.
“You sisters are pretty intense,” Cecilia says, almost absently. “But I do have to say that you are different than I expected. Or…” She tsks, then shakes her head. “Remembered.”
I glance at her. “Different how?”
She gestures vaguely towards the ice. “Less… contained.”
She says it like she’s noticing something she wasn’t supposed to.
I consider that. From up here, there’s no commentary booth. No federation members lingering in doorways, waiting to discuss things with me. No parents. Just noise and bad music and Nina shouting inappropriate things at full volume.
“Is that a problem?” I ask.
“No.” She shakes her head slightly. “It’s good.”
My stomach flutters at those words, at the way she’s looking at me, studying my face with so much care.
A stone thuds against another below us, and Nina throws her broom into the air in exaggerated triumph. Rafael catches it mid-flight, their shoulders brushing as they laugh too close to each other’s face.
Cecilia watches them for a beat. “What’s up with them?”
“Honestly,” I reply, looking at the infectious smile on my sister’s face, “I have no fucking clue.”
She studies that dynamic quietly, then looks back at me.
“What happens,” she asks, her tone shifting almost imperceptibly, “when someone doesn’t need you the same way anymore?”
It comes without warning. And I think I know where she’s heading, but I want her to tell me where her head is at. I trace the condensation on my glass with my thumb as I wait for the right words to form, watching it bead and fall. Below us, Rafael misses a sweep and Nina groans loudly, shoving him with her hip.
“Is this hypothetical? Or are you thinking of something specific?”
Her mouth curves faintly. “Answer the question, Princess.”
I lean back in my chair, letting the wood press between my shoulder blades.
“I think,” I say carefully, “that if you’ve done it right, they’re not leaving you. They’re just… changing shape.”
I hear how much I want that to be true.
She absorbs that, eyes steady on mine.
“And if they outgrow you?” she presses.
“Then you decide where you grow, too,” I reply.
Her gaze sharpens at that.
The noise below swells again, and for a moment we both look away, watching Nina and Rafael recalibrate their positions on the ice without speaking, moving around each other with an ease that feels practiced.
Cecilia’s fingers rest loosely on the table between us. I let mine drift close enough that our knuckles brush, just lightly.
“Are you thinking about Rodrigo’s future?” I ask, and Cecilia stills. It’s a natural reaction, I think, especially since she’s invested so much in him. It’s normal to have these questions, especially at the level these athletes are competing in.
“Yeah,” she says, grabbing another pickle and popping it in her mouth. Her nose scrunches a little as she chews, like she’s still not fully committed to anything, and she nods to herself, thoughtful, somewhere far inside her own head.
I watch her do it.
The way she retreats inward when she’s calculating. The way her jaw sets just slightly when she’s weighing outcomes. “I don’t want to be allemoabout it,” she says, softer now. “If there’s a better opportunity for him, I have to entertain it, obviously. Even if it’s not with me.”
