When I’m strapped safely in my car, I allow myself to break down. To cry out all the tears I’ve held in since this whole situation happened. It feels like I have the weight of the world on my back. If this thing with Miles doesn’t work, I could be completely ruined. I will have to dive into something else that I’ve only ever done as a side piece. As an escape. Falling into that is scary.
Even though my creative writing is part of my course it’s not equal with skating. I skate basically every day of the week and I only take four creative writing classes. It’s figure skating eighty percentage of the time. If I had to do a full major, I don’t know where I would start.
I let myself cry until I’m back into my old neighbourhood. I ignore the urge to go to my dad’s house and breakdown again in front of him like I have a million times before. Instead, I cross the road to Gigi’s house and it’s instantly as welcoming as it has always been. Walking up her porch feels like second nature. We spent so many summers on her lawn and her backyard, playing with the sprinklers outside and making forts in her bedroom.
“Wren, what a surprise!” Dianne exclaims when she opens the door wider to let me in. I’ve always wondered if any of Gigi’s family age. Her mom is a stunning blonde woman who reminds me so much of a Polish Blake Lively and she’s looked the same since I was born. I tried to clear my face while I was in the car to look presentable, so she doesn’t blink twice when I shrug off my coat and my shoes. Mr Dixie, an overweight ginger tabby cat runs in between my legs and then saunters down a corridor. “Gianna! Emmy’s here, kiddo!”
I walk further into the hallway, instantly comforted by her cosy bungalow. I don’t come here as often as I should. Gigi doesn’t like loud environments, like me, so we only have a few safe places for her; her house being one of them.
Each wall is filled with pictures of baby Gigi and all of her replacement Mr Dixie’s over the years. At first it was a secret that her mom replaced Mr Dixie after his first disappearance, but Gigi knew. She was way too smart to know that the cat she had since birth had run away from her. More than once.
Their house is filled with all sorts of achievements and awards from Gigi’s childhood. Since she’s an only child, her mom never misses an opportunity to celebrate her. It’s not long before my best friend materialises in the hallway in her Twilight pyjamas with a paperback in her hands. Her dark brown hair is in two low space buns with her navy headphones hung around her neck. When she sees me, she smiles shyly.
“You should have texted before you came over,” Gigi sighs.
“I know. I’m sorry to spring this up on you but I was in the neighbourhood, and I wanted to hang out,” I reply, twisting my fluffy socks in the carpet.
“You still could have texted.”
“I know, Gigi and I’m sorry. Can we hang?” I ask. Dianne nods and ushers me closer to her and the corridor. Gigi huffs and walks closer to her bedroom. We’ve been doing this song and dance for as long as I can remember. I’ll show up, Gigi will tell me to have called first and then we hang out. Even when I do call first, she’s still surprised when I turn up, yet she stays in her pyjamas.
“Why were you in the neighbourhood?” she asks when we reach her woman-cave. Her room is filled with Marvel posters and moon lamps. It’s probably the safest place I have ever felt. There’s something about the dark blue and purple and slight smell of violets that make this place feel like another home.
Gigi sits across from me in one of her many beanbags while I sit on her plush mattress. She is the epitome of a warm fuzzy feeling you can only get around certain people at particular times. With her, you’re lucky enough to get that feeling all the time.
“I was visiting my dad,” I lie, not ready to get into another misunderstanding about my relationship with my mom. Even though she’s seen the way we operate first-hand, she still believes that we can just make up and move on.
“You’re lying. You’re dad’s not here this week. If I get some pierogies, will you tell me?” Gigi asks, twisting her fingers through the strands of hair that have fallen in her face. I forgot how close my dad still is with her family.
“Deal.” She sends a text to her mom who arrives within a few seconds with a comforting plate of pierogies. She watches me eat one first, moaning when I swallow. She smiles before picking one up herself. “I might be kicked off the skating team and I’m freaking out.”
“What do you mean you might be kicked off the skating team?”
“No one is interested in it anymore and because NU is so shitty, we can’t even afford to pay for it ourselves without the donations,” I mumble around chews.
“And you can’t do anything about it?” Gigi asks, her words almost sounding like a statement.
“Well, no. I’mdatinga popular hockey guy to get people interested in me again but-”
“So why are you freaking out if you’ve got a plan? You should only be freaking out if you don’t have a plan,” she cuts me off, shoving more food into her mouth.
“Because it’s a shitty situation, Gigi,” I explain. She chews thoughtfully, not saying much while a few minutes pass.
“How have I dated more people than you?” she asks, and I burst out laughing. The way her mind works is so fascinating. “I wasn’t trying to make a joke. I’ve managed to get into multiple relationships with both men and women at the same time it has taken you to date two guys.”
“So, what, G? What are you trying to prove?” I ask when I can talk without laughing.
“I’m not trying to prove anything. I’m just stating a fact,” she replies, taking a sip from her water bottle. “Anyway, who is this popular hockey player?”
“Miles Davis.” Her face pauses for a second, her dark eyebrows knitting together before softening. Her eyes widen suddenly.
“I know him,” she whispers, pulling out her phone to scroll through it. She turns her phone to me and there he is. A perfectly ridiculous picture of Miles wearing his jersey in a group photo with the rest of his team. I have to smother the stupid grin pulling across my face.
“How?” I whisper-laugh.
“Just because I don’t go to college with you guys, it doesn’t mean I don’t have a social life. A lot of my readers are from NU, and you know how I get when I fixate on something,” she explains flippantly. I don’t push her on it anymore. We’ve always worked like this. “What’s he like?”
“He’s nice but he…” I draw out, not sure whether or not to tell her. As much as I trust her with my life, maybe it’s best for me not to tell her that it’s fake. I have a feeling she wouldn’t understand. “He’s nice.”
