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Good for them. I guess.
Ever since I came back to Ridley, I’ve pretty much gone cold turkey off keeping up with figure skating news, something I used to be a total junkie for.
This morning, though, I felt an inkling of curiosity. I decided to check out what’s been going on in the scene lately. Watch some videos.
I still love the sport. I saw a video of an incredible pairs routine that took my breath away from a recent regional competition.
I feel like a couple months ago, I wouldn’t be able to appreciate it. I wouldn’t be able to enjoy the beauty of the form, grace, and execution of the pair I watched today. I’d only focus on how bad it hurt to know that I could never be the one doing that again.
And I can’t lie. It still did hurt. Those thoughts still crept into my mind.
But sorrow wasn’t the only thing I felt. I still enjoyed watching it.
I don’t want to totally give up figure skating just because I can’t do it myself anymore. I don’t want to no longer be able to watch it, appreciate it, enjoy it.
And now, I’m starting to feel like I don’t have to.
I’m more comfortable at parties, now. I’m more comfortable in a car, and I’ve even got behind the wheel of Hunter’s car two more times for short trips in the last week.
Now, I can watch figure skating again without sadness and regret totally ruining the experience for me.
I’m healing.
Does that mean I’m healed?
No. I’m still a little anxious at parties. Being behind a steering wheel still makes me nervous and a little jittery. And today when I read up on what’s been going on in figure skating and watched those videos, now and then I’d feel a sinking disappointment in my chest.
I’m not totally healed, mentally, emotionally, or physically. Maybe I never will be. But I’m getting better. And I’ll keep getting better.
I hear the door open downstairs, then Casey walking up the stairs, and then her pushing my bedroom door open behind me.
“Hey, Casey,” I say, noting the annoyed look on her face.
She plops down on my bed. “Your boyfriend’s teammate is so annoying.”
Something strange happens in my stomach at the word boyfriend. A floaty, somersault-y feeling. I don’t hate it.
Even though the word definitely doesn’t describe what’s going on between Hunter and me.
I mean, Hunter’s not a one-woman man. He sure as hell never has been for as long as I’ve known him. We’re just …
Whatarewe doing? And how long are we planning on doing it for? And just how exclusive are we?
The thought of Hunter hooking up with another girl pops into my head. It makes jealousy prickle all over me, makes my chest feel hot and tight.
I don’t like that thought. Ireallydon’t like it.
Does he feel the same about the thought of me with another guy? Or doesn’t he really care?
“Shane?” I ask, trying to shake off those thoughts and questions.
Casey rolls her eyes just at his name. “He tried to hit on me at the coffee shop. I asked him why he’s so stuck on me. He told me it’s because he’s intoolder women.”
I crack up, imagining Shane’s wiggling eyebrows while saying that. “Well, you are a senior, and he’s a junior …”
“Blagh.” Casey sticks her tongue out with disgust. But the way I’ve seen her cheeks color when Shane’s around tells me disgust isn’t the only thing she feels about him.
“Maybe he needs a more experienced, mature woman to expand his sexual horizons,” I joke, holding back giggles.
