Payson sat on the back porch and sighed, letting her head drop to her knees curled against her chest. She could see the situation logically, detach herself from feeling.

She had gotten swept up in the emotions of the Training Center. So much had been at stake for those weeks. Years of dreams. Months of strenuous workouts. The reinvention of herself after her broken back. That deep inner need to prove to herself above anyone else that all the sacrifice and pain had been worth it.

Rigo had been the first boy outside of gymnastics with as much drive and determination as herself that she had met. Sure, Damon had been focused on his dream of making it as a rock star, but his relationship with Emily had overtaken that first dream.

Definitely awed by Rigo's focus, Payson had still worried about him becoming a distraction to her, but as their relationship had progressed, he had only been a support. He had texted every day to see how her practices leading up to the Olympics had gone, and at the first hint of a rough day, his ringtone had chimed from her phone. He had realized quickly that his voice could calm the edge off her tight nerves even if it was just a casual conversation that never touched on what went wrong in practice or probed how they felt about it each other.

She supposed that had been the problem. Once they had initially connected, they had never pushed for anything deeper. London had been fun: cheering each other one, finding time to sightsee, enjoying each other's company in the evenings. London had not, however, been defining. They had allowed themselves to live in the moment, not looking ahead to the future. After years of always focusing on one singular goal, those days had been a luxury for both of them.

Payson sighed again. London had not been the problem. It had been after London when Rigo had turned pro immediately. She had gone a tour of champions, and then had been left with the question of what next? She had known she did not want to leave gymnastics behind, but the end of the Champions Tour just reminded that there really was no pro circuit for gymnasts.

They had not fought, just stopped speaking as much. It had happened gradually over those months after the Olympics as Rigo had spent more and more time on the road and Payson had slipped into the role of assistant coach at the Rock. In early March on her way home from the gym she had suddenly realized they had gone a week without speaking and several days had passed without even a text.

The phone conversation that night had been painful. Painfully polite. She had been so careful not to blame Rigo for being away so much. He had never once mentioned how she had never come to see him on the road. Promises they had made and broken.

Hanging up, she had felt an odd mix of sadness and relief. The sadness won out only a few seconds later when she burst into tears that brought Becca running from her own bedroom.

Oddly, that had been the only emotional deluge since the break-up. Payson had dashed a few wayward tears off her cheeks this last month but nothing more. At first she had thought that she had tucked into a safe spot of denial, that a part of her still believed he would call again and life would go back to how it had been. After all Rigo was the one she had chosen to give her virginity. He had been more important than anyone else. It wasn't until an exasperated comment from her mother that Payson had been clued in to the real reason behind the lack of her tears.

"I'm worried about you, Payson!" Kim had said as they had washed dishes one evening. "I don't expect you to be all sunny smiles already-"

"I'm not crying, Mom," Payson had interrupted.

"No," Kim nodded, "but that's just it. You keep everything tight to yourself, and don't let yourself feel what you don't know how to deal with. You learned that in gymnastics, a way to not fear, a way to keep pushing forward without distractions. It worked then, but now you're not crying because you're not feeling it. You've made yourself numb."

Payson had pursued her lips together, a glimmer of anger rising up before she shoved it back down into the same place she had been keeping all negative thoughts. She hated the irony: her mother had just accused her of stifling her emotions and to deal with that comment, she was choosing to ignore how it made her feel. Kim was right, but Payson was not yet ready to deal with it.

She had reacted the same way when her mother tried broaching the subject again a week later and then a third time one more week later. When Payson heard the back door squeak open, a smile ghosted briefly across her face. Kim was reliable. Exactly one week since her last attempt to get her daughter to open up. Payson wondered what phrase her mother would use this time.

Instead she heard a light thump beside her. Payson looked down and saw a bowl with three scoops of chocolate ice cream.

"I know it's a bit cool for ice cream still especially outside," Kim said, "but I always want chocolate ice cream when my heart hurts. There's some mini M&M's mixed in too for something to crunch on." Then the back door creaked again, Kim leaving Payson alone.

She kept staring at the blue bowl, its little scoops staying round and smooth in the cold air. After a long minute, she realized she was holding her breath. Payson exhaled slowly and reached for the ice cream.

As she pulled the bowl onto her folded legs, she felt the first tear slip down her face. Resolutely, she lifted a hand to push the tear away and move on, but then she paused. She took a deep breath and another tear fell. She reached up again but took a hold of the spoon instead of wiping away the evidence of her sorrow.

A half hour later Kim looked up when Payson walked slowly back into the house, her face streaked with tears, the only remains of the ice cream a bit of a brown smear across the bottom of the bowl. She set the bowl down on the counter and then hugged her mother tightly.

"I'm not ok yet, Mom," she whispered, "but I will be."