Page 33 of Summer Love

“This is delicious!” I say.

“I know. Yumi refuses to give up the recipe. Even to me.”

I eat while Miles wipes away the last traces of the lunch service. Captain sleeps on his stool. Somewhere under the counter, Sushi waits.

“So,” Miles says, leaning on the bar. “Tell me everything.”

“Where do you want me to start?”

“Skating. Last time I saw you on TV, you’d just won gold at the Olympics.”

I spear a piece of chicken.

“Yeah. Team event.”

“That’s still huge.”

I don’t say anything. It’s not the medal I wanted. In the individual event, I was first after the short program. And in the free skate, I went for the triple axel. I didn’t need to. I could have played it safe, kept my lead. But no. I fell, and dropped to fourth.

Regrets? Every day.

“And after that?”

The bite of curry goes down a little less easily.

“A month later, at Worlds, a bad fracture in my foot. By the time it healed, it was too late to get back to that level. And I was still in pain. I’m still in pain.”

“Shit, Summer.”

“And besides… I couldn’t stand my coach anymore.”

“That was your mom, right?” Miles says gently. “I remember you used to say she was… tough.”

A short laugh slips out.

“You could say that. I was running on empty.”

I set my fork down.

“That’s how it is. Skating’s a sport where you get a window. If you miss it…”

I shrug, like it doesn’t matter. It always does.

“And… school?”

“Columbia.”

“Fancy,” Miles whistles.

“Less glamorous than it sounds. When I quit competing, the sponsors vanished, and the athletic funding went with them. I still had two years left to pay for.”

“Ouch.”

“End result: a massive student loan, an internship at a marketing firm that barely lets me pay it down, and a second job waitressing nights at a diner on the Lower East Side to cover rent.”

“Waitressing. Like me, bartending. We got degrees for this…”

Miles gives me a knowing smile.