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Victor
I don’t pay attention to anything, especially when Ethan is around to do it for me, so it’s not until thirty minutes into our flight that I realize we’re flying west instead of east. We’ve barely gotten to altitude and the plane is already descending with a low thrumming of engines. Even after two weeks of safety, I feel myself getting scared.
He looks up from his book with a slow, warm smile when I grip his arm. “Did you finally notice?”
“Where are we going?”
“It’s a surprise.” When he sees my expression, he rests his forehead against my temple. “I promise it’s good.”
I huff and slump in my seat, crossing my arms. Not that there’s much room to slump. I’ve never flown coach class on a public plane and it’s not an experience my long legs and wide shoulders are enjoying. Especially not smooshed in next to Ethan’s bulk. “I don’t like surprises and I don’t like you.”
He just laughs. Since his bags all got lost at the airport, he had to buy a whole new wardrobe of Italian clothes. The summery linen shirts I picked out look good on him.
“Welcome to Athens,” the flight attendant announces as we land.
I wrinkle my nose at him. “What the hell?”
Pursing his lips, he shrugs and ignores my eye roll.
It’s eight-thirty in the evening when we make it out of the airport, into the mystical purple glow of sunset against the pale stone buildings. I try to hear where Ethan tells our cab driver to go, but he’s too quiet.
When we pull up to a low, white building with a sweeping roof, my stomach turns itself inside out. “Ethan.” I wrap my fingers around the headrest in front of me, like no one can pry me out of the car. “Ethan, no.”
His hand steadies my back. “It’s ok. Just hold on to me.”
I watch him pay the cab fare and we walk across the sun-browned grass toward the front door of the Olympic Aquatics Center, home of the pool from the Athens Olympics. I recognize the architecture from when I was just a little kid gawking at the big swimmers on TV.
Relief floods me when I see the dark front doors. “They’re closed. Let’s go.” But he tightens his hand on mine and leads me to a side door. When he knocks, a woman with a lanyard on her neck sticks her head out and looks at his ID. She nods and opens the door for us to come inside. “Take your time.”
He must have used my clout to get us in here after hours, because she doesn’t look surprised to see me.
Our footsteps echo down the hall until the building opens up into a hushed, towering room with banks of seats leading up the wall on either side of the Olympic-sized pool. Flags hang from the ceiling, swaying in the air conditioning, reflecting their colors in the water below.
“Jesus Christ, Ethan.” I pull my arm away and back up against the wall, sitting down and pulling my knees up. “I can’t.”
He doesn’t push me, just sits down next to me and waits in silence. I watch the pool, the way the pristine lane dividers bob and snake gently through the bright blue water. I’ve never seen anything so beautiful.
Ethan
Finally, his shoulders relax a little. I hand him the swimsuit and goggles I pulled out of his luggage. “You ready?”
He shakes his head, but he pulls down his shorts and tugs on the suit. Swinging his arms, he walks toward the pool and stands there with his toes on the edge, staring across at the huge windows at the end of the room and the dusk sky beyond. He looks back at me imploringly. “What the fuck am I supposed to do?”
I smile, quoting something he once told me. “Your body knows.”
Pulling on the goggles so I can’t see his eyes anymore, he steps onto the starting block above the center lane. I come and stand next to him, put a hand on his thigh. “I’m gonna be right here waiting for you.”
He makes a small groan in his throat.
“Show ‘em how it’s done, baby.”
I don’t know anything about dives, but I know his is perfection, art in motion. Everything he does in the water is a revelation. He could have been the greatest swimmer of all time. To me, he always will be.
He tears through the water with his explosive butterfly stroke, racing his heart out like he’s surrounded by the best competitors in the world. My chest aches to see him, his body a deep ripple below the surface on every turn, an explosion of droplets every time his shoulders break the surface.
At the end of his last length, as he grabs the wall and pulls off his goggles, I hear the sound of clapping from the doorway. The woman who let us in offers one last burst of applause, smiling shyly, then disappears back to her office. Victor stares after her, then looks over his shoulder at the row after row of empty seats.
“I couldn’t get us to Rio,” I say, “but I hope this counts.”
