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“We aren’t going to try to talk you into coming home or making any career choices. We just have some things to discuss with you, and I don’t want to do it here, and I don’t want to risk going back to our hotel room and being interrupted,” she clarifies.
Dad’s expression clearly shows that he has no clue what she wants to talk to us about.
“All right, we can go to my office to talk,” I agree.
Mom lets out a relieved sigh. “Good. Let’s enjoy the cheesiest cheeseburgers in the world.”
We have a delightful meal. It’s the first one I can remember sharing with them in a long time. Just the three of us enjoying each other’s company.
It isn’t until we are back in Morris’s truck that I’m filled with anxiety again. I’m sure Mom wants to discuss my future plans. It’s always the topic of choice.
I park the truck in front of the hotel, and we make our way inside and follow the corridor that leads out to the lodge and my office.
I unlock the door, click on the lights, and lead us inside.
Mom and Dad take their seats in the chairs facing my desk, and I pull my desk chair around to sit with them.
“Okay, we’re all here, and we have complete privacy. What do you want to talk about, Mom?” I ask.
“I want to discuss what happened in Lake Placid and why it happened, and I want the honest-to-God truth,” she declares.
That’s when the floor drops out beneath me.
“It was a mistake,” I whisper as I drop my head.
“Zoey, look at me,” she commands.
I lift my eyes to hers.
“What happened?”
I shake my head as tears begin to fall down my cheeks.
“Zoey? Christine? What’s going on?”
Mom looks at him. “What’s going on is that I’m going to get to the truth. For so long now, you and I have been fumbling around, trying to imagine why our daughter would throw everything away. Well, it’s time to shut up and listen and let her tell us.”
He turns from her to me.
“I’m sorry I disappointed you, Dad. That you spent so much money on my training all these years. That you moved and you and Mom had to live apart, all in the hopes that I would be famous one day. I’m sorry all that sacrifice was wasted on me,” I say.
“Wasted? Baby, you’re my little girl. If you said you wanted the moon, I’d do whatever I could to snatch it from the night sky and hand it to you. I’m not disappointed in you. I’m just disappointed that you gave up on your dream,” he says.
“Sometimes, dreams change,” I mutter.
He leans forward and takes my hand. “Really? What’s your new dream, then?”
I squeeze his hand. “I want to lay some roots and maybe start a family. Ski when I want to. No chasing accolades on the pro circuit or going after Olympic medals. I’ve even considered coaching,” I admit.
“You know you can have roots and wings. It doesn’t have to be one or the other,” he notes.
“Yes, it does. Eighty percent of the life of a professional skier is lived on an airplane. You know that.”
He nods.
“Coaching, huh? That’s usually the path for someone who’s at the end of their career, not at their peak,” he says more to himself than to me.
“It doesn’t have to be. I want the kids with big dreams to have someone they can count on. Someone they can trust in their corner. Someone who will look out for them.”
