Esther knocked on the adjoining door as soon as she returned to her room. Emanuel issued a muffled response from the other side and opened up moments later. "Jay is on her way, then?"
She nodded, and he stepped aside to let her come in. "Are you already getting ready for the gala?"
"Of course. As your coach, I should look presentable."
Esther cocked her head and watched him carefully gel his hair. Emanuel was always presentable—he was fussy like that—and being a coach meant he was usually wearing a suit anyway. But the gala was a little bit lax, and while some of the others might've been taking the opportunity to let loose, it seemed that he'd chosen to take it to a different, no less intensive height. He'd chosen a very form-fitting, long-sleeved black v-neck, one that showed just how in-shape he was for his age. His trousers were cut likewise; his shoes were sharp, and probably Italian leather. There was a strong smell of aftershave emanating from the bathroom: Emanuel was the sort of man who was dark enough to have a distinct five o'clock shadow by the appropriate time, regardless of how attentively he shaved in the morning. This particular occasion was apparently worth the afternoon touch-up.
She flicked her eyes to the side; glanced into his open closet and looked pointedly at the suit there. It's not like he's going to be wearing this to the banquet. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you were trying to impress somebody."
"I suppose it's a good thing that you do know better," he replied, primly, picking up a bottle of cologne, tilting his head up and spraying once over his throat. "In all our time together, when have you known me to express interest in anyone, man or woman?"
Esther sniffed at the air. "is that…bergamot?"
"Yes," he said, pleased. "You have a good nose, too. I'm not surprised." Giving himself a once-over in the mirror, he seemed satisfied. He turned to her, then. "Come here, let me look at you."
Esther complied, let him place his hands on her shoulders and do just that. "I feel like I've barely seen you since we got here."
Emanuel offered a bittersweet smile. "I'm your coach. You've been with friends. As it should be." He turned from her, revitalizing into his usual self. "I assure you, I still loathe being in this country, and I'm glad we'll be leaving it tomorrow. With any luck, we'll get better assignments next year. I'd even take Canada over this." Esther chuckled and shook her head at him, about to ask him if he knew about Worlds, but he fell silent and turned back to her. "You know…I want to say again, how proud I am. Not just that you won the silver medal, but of how far you've come. I remember the girl who fainted at my rink, and I can barely believe that you're the same person." He paused, thinking. "But then, I suppose you aren't. You've been reborn."
They faced each other in quiet happiness, until he glanced at his watch and told her, "You should get ready for the exhibition. I like to see all of the performances."
"The exhibition is a bit of an event, for the coaches," he informed her, in the car. "Of course, many of us were skaters, once. We get separated by our events, so the gala is a reunion, of sorts." He turned to face her. "And of course, we do like to show off our skaters." He grinned. "How are you feeling about the routine?"
Esther had chosen the music, and Emanuel had done the choreography. It was a meeting of their minds. "I'm excited to show it."
Emanuel turned to their cab driver. "Esther is a skater. The best I've ever trained."
"You might be a little biased, Coach."
"Well. You know, she's also shown promise as a choreographer. So well-read, too. Speaks half a dozen languages, plays almost as many instruments, sings beautifully. An excellent cook."
"Emanuel…"
They reached the Sears Centre with plenty of time to spare—considering, especially, that the women were the second-to-last group to go on, just before the men. Emanuel started looking around as they entered the stands. "You should go on. Find your friends."
"Okay," she said, looking as well. Did you really mean all of that, she thought to ask, but just as she opened her mouth, they were intercepted by one Celestino Cialdini.
"Emanuel!" Esther watched with swiftly-lifting eyebrows as he wrapped an arm around her coach's shoulders, and as Emanuel regarded him with a bizarrely complex expression, one that suggested both casual warmth and careful formality.
"Celestino."
"It's been too long, it feels like forever. Come on, we're this way—" he paused to point out to Esther, "I saw Phichit over there."
Esther spotted them from afar. "Right…thanks." She watched Celestino steer Emanuel away, thoroughly intrigued, but filed it away for the time being. She headed over and up towards the group, slowing once she realized that it looked a bit bigger than usual. Suzanne and Olivia were there, leaning on the railings and talking to Leo. She wondered if it was too late to turn around and sit with Emanuel, eavesdrop on whatever was going on with him and his coach friends, but Suzanne spotted her. "Hello! Esther, come over here, it's been so long!"
"Yep," Esther agreed. Not long enough, if you ask me.
"Things have been so quiet at the rink since you left." Three years ago. "Maybe I should be thanking you. Your parents are finally paying attention to the rest of us!"
And that worked out so well for you, fifth place. Esther forced her sickliest sweet smile. "Sorry. They can be a little…restrictive."
"Actually, I think they've loosened up." Suzanne went to sit down. Olivia took the place next to her, with Leo and Guang Hong filing in at the end. Chuenchai beckoned her up into the row above, where she sat with Phichit. Esther slid gratefully in next to her. "They've learned to loosen the reins. Maybe it's because I'm not their kid. You know?" She turned in her seat. "Olivia and I have been having the time of our lives. I just love the city, you know—each one has its own character, and they're just so easy to get lost in. We come here to make art, but it's off the ice where we find our inspiration."
Esther fought the urge to roll her eyes. Suzanne and Olivia didn't look like they were having sex, which left Suzanne's other modus operandi; what she called "an exploration of a faraway place as an anonymous visitor, one whose presence is, by nature, ephemeral and impermanent—a status that lets you to truly feel the essence of a place, to partially fuse with it and bring a piece of it back with you."
Esther called it sightseeing.
As Suzanne busied herself with talking to Leo, Esther settled into her chair. She let off her quietest irritated sigh and dug for her phone.
E: When are you coming to the gala?
O: On my way. Why?
E: Suzanne is here, and I'm trying very hard to be nice.
Esther sighed and slid it back into her pocket. Suzanne turned around again, looking positively devious. "Esther, do you remember when we both went to the summer camp at Leo's rink?"
Hey, Suzanne, remember when you tried to go to the 2013 US Championships banquet with your tits falling out of your dress, and my parents gave you the closest thing to one of my lectures I've ever seen anyone else get? "Yes."
"That was so much fun. Remember the night we snuck out on the roof with the peach schnapps?"
Esther hadn't drunk any of it; she'd tried to content herself looking at the stars, sitting on the edge of the group and feeling more and more an outsider as the game of Never Have I Ever had gone deeper and deeper. "Maybe we should stick to general interest. Not everyone was there."
"No, I love hearing these stories!" Olivia countered.
"It was so funny," Suzanne touched her shoulder, "We all had the biggest crush on Leo."
Esther looked up, frowning. Wait—
"Nobody was as bad as Esther, though. She was so in love with him. It was really sweet. I convinced her to tell him—he wasn't interested in me, but maybe he would've liked her, you know?"
Esther's throat felt like it was closing up: she swallowed, tried to breathe in, but it shook as hot tears welled in her eyes. Suzanne had been the ringleader of the girls that had convinced her to confess to Leo. She had come across as an older, wiser friend, encouraging her to be honest and have no regrets. And it turns out, you were only willing to do that once he knew he wasn't biting. How many of them had he turned down before her?
Quickly, she stood up. "Excuse me," she snapped, leaving before anyone could ask her why. She rubbed angrily at her eyes as she reached the arena entrance, and nearly crashed into Otabek.
"Hey," he said, looking puzzled. "Are you all right?"
Esther refused to meet his eyes. The hot flash of anger was departing, leaving her to crumple. "I hate her," she said, shakily, pressing the end of her jacket sleeve to her face to soak up the tears.
Otabek had a sudden, fierce look in his eye. "What did she say?" He pulled her into the tunnel, fully out of view of anyone in the stands around them.
"It's so stupid," she sniffed, "I shouldn't even care anymore. She told everyone about how I liked Leo when we were doing a program at his rink, and she was the one who told me I should tell him I liked him, but she tried to come onto him first." Anger was beginning to take precedence again. "She's just so insufferable, and it feels like I'm the only one that sees it that way, everyone else just loves her."
"Do you want to go back?"
She thought about it, took a deep, quivering breath, and nodded. "I'm done letting her run me out of places." She wiped her eyes again, and led the way back, this time, with Otabek in tow. She resumed her place, and he sat down next to her.
"Otabek!" Leo turned in his seat. "You finally made it out! Good to see you again."
"Hi, Leo."
"How have you been, man? I saw you moved back to Almaty."
While the two caught up, Esther chanced a glance at Suzanne. She (and Olivia, for that matter) paid her no attention—both of them were looking at Otabek, though where Olivia was intrigued, Suzanne was interested. Esther's fingers tightened, where they were tucked into the crooks of her elbows. I don't think so.
"Where are the other ladies?" she asked, forcing the two's attention back onto her.
"Yu's staying in her room," Guang Hong shared. "She wasn't feeling well."
Not feeling well about the results, more like. Tactfully put. Unlike some people. "How about Nava and Sophie?"
"I don't know about Nava," Olivia told her. "She might be coming later, like Sophie."
Suzanne had already stopped paying attention. "Otabek Altin, is that really you? You guys, Otabek used to train at our rink—what was it, three years ago? You look so different." Before anyone could respond, she'd climbed over Olivia, Leo, and Guang Hong so she could come up and take the seat on Otabek's other side. "I barely recognize you!" She wrapped brazen hands around his bicep, squeezing. "I guess you've done some growing up since then. But then, Esther always did keep you to herself while you were there." She shot a teasing look around his chest. "You'd think her parents' undivided attention would've been enough."
Otabek gently disentangled his arm. Suzanne settled back into her seat, undeterred. "If I had known you were here, I would've come to see the men." She leaned forward, into his personal space. Otabek budged. "Did you watch the ladies?"
"I went to watch Esther." Esther covered her mouth, hiding a smile. On her other side, Phichit and Chuenchai were goggling at the exchange.
"Did you see me? I've been so excited about this routine. Gabriel and Leah have been dying to do their Swan Lake short program, and this year I was finally ready. Isn't it just amazing?"
"Tchaikovsky in figure skating is a cliché," Otabek observed. "A performance has to present a truly compelling interpretation of the material to rise above it."
"Exactly!" Suzanne plowed ahead with confidence. Esther stifled her laughter into her hand. Phichit and Chai turned in to each other, whispering. The lights began to lower, and the fanfare began.
"I think they're getting ready to start," Esther observed. Otabek, not that he'd been facing anywhere remotely near Suzanne's direction, turned ostensibly toward the rink, but mostly towards her. She smiled at him, feeling warmth blooming somewhere under her heart. Is this what it feels like to be someone's first choice? His arm came up behind her and rested on the back of her chair. The warmth turned to a frantic beat.
The gala began with the ice dancers. Esther had always admired them for their grace, but it was never something she felt she could do. Pairs had never been attractive to her—whether that was because her parents had done it, or because she'd never met anyone she could imagine skating beside…she looked out of the corner of her eye at Otabek, but he was focused on the performances.
It's the skirt rule, she decided.
Pairs followed. "You guys have got to see Ciao Ciao's old performance videos," Phichit intoned, as the bronze medalists prepared to take their places. "Skating in the eighties was wild."
Esther wondered if Celestino and his partner had ever placed above her parents. I hope he kicked their asses. In front of everyone. At Worlds. She thought, again, of how strange it was, that she'd barely seen them for the entire competition. Perhaps it wasn't too early now to suppose they might leave her alone…but what luck have I ever had to make me think that would really happen?
The top pair finished their performance—it was the ladies' turn. "I've got to go get ready."
"Good luck, Esther," Chai said, and the others echoed her. Otabek stood and stepped all the way into the aisle to let her through. They exchanged a wordless look, and she left him with Suzanne to head rinkside.
"How's Ciao Ciao?" she deadpanned, as she met Emanuel, looking nearly as grim as she felt.
"As cheerfully oblivious as ever," he replied, brightly.
"What the hell is going on between you two?" Esther prodded. "I mean, he was in pairs, so it's not like this is a rivalry thing—"
Nava was taking the ice. "I'll tell you later."
Nava's exhibition was as energetic as Esther had come to expect, but this was a more positive, exuberant display. It suited her extraordinarily well; perhaps, one day, her performance would grow into it.
Then, it was her turn. "Go on." Emanuel took her jacket and sent her off with a pat on the shoulder. Esther took the ice, spreading her arms for the crowds. I wonder what brilliant exhibition I kept Suzanne from showing off today. As she took her place, assumed her pose, and waited, she took a final, deep breath: I hope you're watching this.
Her costume, for this routine, was almost exceedingly simple: a black, long-sleeved leotard that bared her shoulders. That was, at least, what it looked like, as the music began and propelled her into motion. The blacklight filters were slid into place, revealing the whorling spirals of glittering stars, splashed across her like a nebula.
It got the reaction they'd been hoping for: a gasp rang through the stadium, and sent the crowd higher. Suzanne had always been her competitor: for medals, her parents' attention, and, apparently, boys. In Suzanne's mind, there was no one better-suited than she to display the elements of classical figure skating.
Maybe she's right, Esther thought, before she took off for a triple axel that almost cleared the fence. I always did think my way was better.
She finished with a flourish, bowing to the audience as the normal lights came back on, skating out to the edge. She met Emanuel there, but her brows knitted at the neutral look he wore. "Was it not good?"
"It was fine," he said. "Just…different, from how it usually is. We can talk about it later."
Sighing, Esther returned to her friends, more confused and irritated than she had been to begin with. Otabek greeted her with a small smile as she sat down beside him once more. She didn't return it, and he didn't say anything, just engulfed her hand in his and gave it a gentle squeeze.
Olivia's routine began right after that, but Esther didn't remember anything, because he kept holding her hand, didn't let her go until Guang Hong was about to go out for his.
"Good luck," she whispered, as he stood to go take his place. He just flashed her a thumbs-up, finally evoking a small smile.
The flash of good humor faded quickly. Suzanne slid into the seat he had just vacated, leaning in to whisper with Esther, as if they were best of friends. "Puberty hit him like a truck, huh?" The beginning of Guang Hong's routine effectively silenced her, but it gave Esther a full two to three minutes to sit and stew. When he had finished, while the ice was being cleared for Otabek, Suzanne turned to her like she was ready to gossip again.
"I don't think you said more than four words to him while he was in Boston." Esther's voice, to her own ears, sounded perfectly level; cold as the ice she kept her eyes fixed on. "Back then you probably thought he was a stuck-up loner who never had any fun, but now that he's hot I guess you think frowning is sexy." She faced her, now, lowered her voice so it was only the two of them. "Otabek has huge, dorky glasses that he wears at home, when he takes his contacts out; he keeps plants on his windowsill, he has the same thing for breakfast every day, and I know he must look exciting from the outside, but someone like you is going to be bored of him in an instant."
There was no way Otabek could be remotely interested in her—Suzanne was flighty, always running off in search of her newest fancy, and Otabek was like her, searching for stability, a safe place to land. He didn't like Suzanne, but it didn't change how unwilling Esther found herself to ever allow him to be hurt.
"So don't try your bullshit on him."
Suzanne looked utterly dumbfounded. Esther just turned back to the ice, folded her arms and waited for Otabek's routine to begin.
She knew it for what it was, at the first stroke of the piano keys. Unbidden, a smile crept over her. Yes. This was utterly Otabek. With the pressures of competition shed, he was more relaxed, just slightly—his characteristic terseness was present, but the tightness of the music fed into it, made it look more natural, more like a part of his performance. At the end of two and a half minutes, Esther finally felt as if she could breathe again, and was silent with the same confused, formless jumble of thoughts that he always left her with.
She made her decision, standing and making her way down to the rinkside. She didn't see him down below. He must have gone to the locker rooms already. It was Leo's turn to perform, though, so she stayed there.
Leo's exhibition routine was his best work yet. She laughed in recognition when the music started, spent the time shifting peppily from side to side as she watched him go. Leo had been put in the world to be a force for good, and in times like these, it showed so clearly. Just watching him was enough to dredge her up and out of her cloudy mood, have her smiling again. His performance capped off the gala—he hugged his coach first thing off the ice, and when he spotted her hanging nearby, he had one for her too. "Leo, that was amazing! I think that one is my favorite so far."
"I'm glad you like it," he replied, a little bashfully, "It was inspired by you."
Esther gaped at him, wiped blank by the admission. "It…was?"
"Yeah!" he nodded, as if it were obvious. "You came back. After everything, you decided that you weren't going to let it stop you, and…look at you now." He grinned. "How could someone not be inspired by you?"
Esther had no proper response for that, except to hug him again.
"Hey," he said, quietly, as they broke apart, slinging an arm around her shoulder to keep them close. "I'm sorry about what Suzanne did earlier. Talking about that in front of everyone. It wasn't cool."
"Yeah, well…you don't have to apologize. She was the one who did it."
He shook his head. "But I didn't say anything. I think…Suz can be really fun to be around, but she doesn't always think about how the things she does might affect other people. I didn't really understand that until now. I could tell you weren't happy when she was there, and I guess what I'm saying is, I get it now. I'm sorry I didn't before."
"Oh, Leo…" Esther hugged him, for the third time. The others found them, and though Guang Hong, Phichit, and Chuenchai approached immediately, Suzanne and Olivia hung back. Esther felt a brief stab of embarrassment: in the moment, sharp words had seemed appropriate. Still, she found she didn't feel much like apologizing.
She turned, and saw Emanuel hanging by the door, looking her way. "Hey, I gotta go," she spoke, breaking into the chatter. "See you guys at the banquet?" They sent her off with a chorus of agreement. Esther fell in step beside Emanuel, and together they exited the building and met their car at the curb.
When the door was closed behind them, their seatbelts buckled and the ride back to the hotel began, Emanuel spoke. "Skating from anger is never a good idea. It can make you sloppy, it can break up your presentation, but most importantly, it makes you prone to mistakes." He gave her a serious look, one that reached deep in her and froze her lungs.
He's disappointed in me.
He looked back ahead. "What happened?"
Esther sighed. "My parents' student. Suzanne. She's…"
"Like her teachers?" he guessed.
"Not exactly. But…she's not really my best friend."
Emanuel kept his arms folded over his chest. "If you're going to keep skating, this won't be the last time you run into Suzanne, or whoever else your parents end up bringing to competition. You can't let it affect your concentration."
A flash of irritation surged through her. "It was just the exhibition."
"Don't tell me you're satisfied with having done less than your best," he retorted. It stung, nothing if not for its veracity. She opened her mouth, wanted to say something just as cutting, but came up empty—and so, she faced away from him, watched her window for the remainder of the trip. They took the elevator in silence, and returned to their rooms.
Ten minutes after this, Emanuel knocked on the adjoining door. "It's open," she called, flatly. She had laid on her bed when she entered, and her back was to their shared wall, so she didn't see him as he entered, crossed the floor and sat on the end of her bed.
"I'm not unhappy with you," he told her. "You've done a wonderful job at your first competition in three years." He paused, perhaps waiting for a reply. Esther didn't move. "I push you because I'm your coach. I know what you're capable of and I want everyone else to see that. They don't have the benefit of practice after practice, like I do. They don't know you like I do." His hand alighted on her elbow. "What happened between you and Suzanne?"
Esther sighed, shifted until she could sit up beside him. "She's a year older than me. I liked her, at first, and we were sort of friends. We're total opposites, though; if she said go, I'd say stop; she's fluid where I'm fixed, and the other way around. I guess that doesn't necessarily mean you can't be friends with someone, but I think she saw herself as kind of a mentor, and I…didn't. I was just looking for a friend." Emanuel nodded, but remained silent and attentive. "Anyway, she was rebellious. My parents would always tell us to watch her, because she'd sneak away to…fraternize, with skaters from other teams. Raiding the liquor cabinet, dressing inappropriately, showing up late because she was off doing her own thing…stuff like that. She tried to pull me into it, but…I wasn't comfortable with it. I wanted to be like her; living life for myself, never caring about what other people thought, so I'd go with her, and it just made me feel horrible. So I decided to stop hanging out with her. She pestered me for a while, but eventually, she lost interest."
Emanuel exhaled, slowly. "She sounds like a nightmare."
Esther chuckled weakly. "Yeah. I mean…she's talented, no doubt. Just…a handful, in person." She shook her head. "I wanted people to pay attention to me like they did to her. They were always interested, she could entertain like no one else. But…I'm just not like that, I guess. People were only interested in me when I skated, and then they'd ask me about it, but…I don't know how to explain it. I just…do it. And then they figure out I'm a terrible conversationalist who can't give more than three-word answers unless I've had days to think about it beforehand."
"Hmm," Emanuel wrapped an arm around her shoulders and squeezed. "At least I can trust you alone with reporters."
To her surprise, Esther found herself laughing. "I wouldn't get too comfortable." She paused. "I'm sorry. For…sulking. I knew it wouldn't be easy, seeing them again, but…I don't think I realized just how hard it would really be. The more I think about the last three years, the more I talk about them—about my whole life, really…I go back and forth blaming them, and wondering if I really can blame them…"
She trailed off. Emanuel squeezed her shoulder again. They sat in silence.
Enough of that. "All right, spill it. What's the deal with you and Phichit's coach?"
"Celestino?" Emanuel said, sounding surprised. "Oh. Yes. Well, as you might have guessed, our careers coincided. There was a brief period in the '89-90 season where we were…well. I suppose you would say 'involved'."
Esther stared at him, mouth agape. "You," she said, disbelieving, "and Celestino? You were a thing?"
"It was nothing formal," he stressed. "We were young, and had a passing impression that we cared for each other. I wasn't even sure what I felt, but everyone else around me was having whirlwind flings at one competition or the next, so I supposed I should try it out too."
Esther found she couldn't look at him anymore, fearing, oddly enough, that he'd be able to divine how deeply she empathized with a single look.
"It didn't go anywhere. Obviously. I realized that I wasn't interested in sex, and romance wasn't very compelling either. So we parted ways, friends."
"So," she dared to turn back to him, "You're asexual?"
"Yes," he said, simply.
"Oh." Esther looked down at the rug again, suddenly brimming with questions. How did you know? Was it because you didn't like it? Or was it because it felt wrong, even though you did? Did you ever wonder if it was because of him, that it'd be different with someone else? Instead, she just swallowed. "I kind of figured."
"Oh?"
"Yeah. You're not the first one I've known. I seem to meet a lot of them, for some reason."
Emanuel chuckled at her. "Well. I need to go prepare for the banquet. You should too. I have a few potential sponsors I'd like for you to meet, but I won't take up all of your time, I promise." He closed the door behind him, and left her to herself.
The silence quickly proved too loud: Esther dug for her phone and put on a playlist, singing along as she showered, blow-dried her hair, and pulled her dress from the closet. She'd chosen it a few weeks before; she hadn't even been looking, but had passed it in a window display and stopped for a longer look. It was knee-length, form-fitting, long-sleeved and black, and completely backless (which, thankfully, left her with no zipper to fight with). She checked her reflection in the mirror, not quite able to believe it was her.
Emanuel came over to adjust the fit of her dress, sit her down in the chair and give her the light application of makeup they'd agreed on. It's gross, and I'll only tolerate it for performances, she'd said. Somehow, he'd managed to convince her to let him do her eyes, brows, and lips. He stepped back to look critically over his work. "Perhaps just a bit of highlight on the—"
"No," she said, getting up and going for her shoes.
He opened the door for her on her way out, which she rolled her eyes at. Put on a dress, and suddenly every man in a five-mile radius wants to personally ensure you don't break any nails… She made a point of pressing the elevator button. It arrived; they entered together. "You look stunning," he told her.
Esther turned away, embarrassed. "You're not so bad yourself."
The doors closed; the lift bore them down.
Emanuel had chosen a black suit for the evening; a departure from the charcoal and navy he'd worn for the performance days. His tie was black too—she wondered if he'd planned on matching. As they exited at the lobby, he offered her an arm, and she took it. It has to be his European sensibilities talking, she decided. Besides, it was easier to walk into the ballroom when she didn't have to do it alone.
She looked around until she spotted a group off to the left, conversing in a tight pack—the boys in dark suits, Chuenchai standing out in a dreamy blush pink evening gown. Emanuel patted the hand tucked into the crook of his elbow. "Go on, say hello. I'll find you in a moment."
Esther smiled gratefully and made a beeline for the others, touching Leo's shoulder to break into the circle. "Hey, guys."
Chuenchai gasped and walked a quick circle around her. "Esther, your dress!" She returned to her front and clasped her hands. "You have good taste on and off the ice."
Right. This is what girls do, when we go out; compliment each other's outfits. "Thank you. I like yours too."
"It's a good look," Leo agreed, slotting in at her side for a one-armed hug. "I'm glad you're here."
"Me too. Coach is going to get me to make the rounds soon, but he let me say hi first. After that, I think I'm free. You all look great." She looked around them, spotted a few figures hanging back by the wall. "Hey, Guang…is that your rinkmate?"
"Uhh…oh, yeah, that's Yu."
Leo nudged at his side. "Go get her. No reason for her to be by herself."
"Give me a minute." Esther excused herself and made a beeline for the other wallflower. Nava was hovering near the door, fiddling with her hands. "Hey, there."
"Oh," Nava brightened considerably. What I would've given to have someone talk to me at one of these… "Hi, Esther."
"First Senior banquet, huh?"
She nodded.
Esther inclined her head back towards the others. "Come on, let me introduce you to some people."
Nava followed her gratefully back, and kept up admirably well with everyone's names. Chuenchai complimented her dress, too—it was a blue and silver gown, and it was truly lovely. "I remember you!" she said, when Guang Hong introduced Yu. "From Juniors." So far, Esther had only seen Yu look severe, but for the first time, she seemed to soften at Nava's offered hand of friendship.
Once the requisite compliments had been exchanged, she scanned the immediate area. "Has anyone seen Otabek?"
"He was just here. I think he said something about going for a drink…"
Esther followed everyone's eyes, and found him standing near the end of the refreshment table, holding a small plastic cup of water, cornered by Suzanne. Even at this distance, he looked bored.
"Excuse me." Esther headed their way.
"Otabek," she broke in, as she came close. He turned to her, looking terribly grateful. "Suzanne."
Suzanne said a brief "hello," and left them. Esther sidled into the space where she had been standing, and faced Otabek more fully, drinking in the sight of him—his suit was an attractive dark soot grey, cut perfectly to his physique. He looked terribly handsome, and smelled, attractively, of sandalwood. "Hi," she said, quietly.
"You look beautiful," he told her.
Esther felt her breath catch, and before she could think: "So do you."
That was when Emanuel found them. "There you are." He shot a curious glance at Otabek before he touched her shoulder. "Right this way. I'd like you to meet Joan Allen. She's a representative for Champion…"
Thankfully, making polite small talk was a particular, cultivated skill, at this point in Esther's life. When Emanuel took up the conversation with whoever it was, she would peer over her shoulder, back at Otabek. The first few times, he was watching her, and she'd have to look quickly away, but Leo soon approached him, and they started talking to each other.
"Still with me?" Emanuel said, after the third or fourth or fifth conversation—she'd lost count fairly quickly.
"What?" she looked up.
He chuckled. "All right, you've fulfilled your obligations. Go on, have fun." Esther smiled gratefully, and turned towards her friends. "Not too much fun!" he called, to her retreating back. She quickened her steps in response, skirting the dance floor to reunite with the others.
"Coach says I'm free," she announced, returning to the fold. She still marveled at how quickly she was accepted; how welcome it was to be included. She wasn't there long, however—not even long enough, in fact, to catch the thread of the conversation—when there was a light touch, placed respectfully over the covered portion of her shoulder. She caught a whiff of sandalwood as she turned her head—Otabek. Up close, his eyes were mesmerizing.
"Would you like to dance?" he asked, in a low, soft voice that penetrated beneath the music playing; surrounded her like a blanket. The rest of the world fell away. Esther hated dancing—in truth, it was one of the things she wasn't good at, no matter how much people pointed out that it wasn't too different from skating. How could that be true when skating came so naturally, and dancing made her feel like the clumsiest person alive? But Otabek wasn't really asking her if she liked to dance, he was asking her if she'd like to dance with him. The answer, she found, was an instinctive, immediate, "Yes."
He took her hand and led her to the floor, neither hesitant nor domineering. There were only a few others on the floor; the night was still young. Esther swallowed her anxiety with a nervous giggle, and actually swallowed as his free hand snaked around to rest on her lower back. His palm on her bare skin felt like a searing brand; made her gasp quietly into the space between them. She flushed, fixed her eyes on his flawless Windsor knot. Then, he was moving: she looked down, tried to sync her steps with his. "Look at me," he murmured, and she found herself helpless to resist him. Their eyes locked, and she couldn't look away, and somehow, they were gliding.
She was lighter than air, but her heart was a heavy weight in her chest. "Wow." She shook her head. "I…I just. I'm not normally good at this. In fact, normally, I try to avoid dancing at all costs."
"That's a shame," he said, in that same low, warm tone, a smile hinting at the corners of his mouth and under his eyes. "Are you sure you've just never tried it?"
"Very sure," she replied, recalling the seemingly-endless waltz lessons that had been a part of her education.
"Maybe all you needed was the right partner."
Holy shit. She was lightheaded with how they circled the floor, drunk on the smell of sandalwood and the heat of his palm splayed over her skin. Whose bright idea was this backless dress, anyway? "You're really good at this." He led confidently, in spite of her, and she followed him without fear. He stopped to let her spin out, and the tension in their joined hands brought her back, so he could dip her low.
"You're better than you think you are," he retorted.
After that, they spoke no more, favoring the movement of bodies over words. As they danced, Esther forgot about everything else, everything that wasn't Otabek's dark, ember-spark eyes, the elegant arch of his brow and the scattering of small freckles over the slope of his nose. For perhaps an eternity, it was all she knew, until Leo came up at Otabek's elbow. "Hey, mind if I cut in?"
Otabek looked reluctant, but after a brief look of assent from Esther, he let her go. "Of course."
"Hey, you," Leo grinned, taking Otabek's place. A moment to gauge the beat, and they fell back into the music, with a few missteps along the way. Leo was by no means a bad dancer, but the transition was still jarring. "I was afraid we were gonna lose you guys the whole night."
Esther looked over her shoulder, spotted Chuenchai laughing as Otabek spun her. Just beyond them, Phichit and Guang Hong were grinning as they swooped about the floor; Nava was trying to teach Yu some kind of step. She looked back to Leo, found him with a knowing smile.
"Stop that," she swatted at his shoulder, flustered.
"You and Otabek, huh?"
"There's nothing…" she stopped short at the eyebrow he raised, flashing an embarrassed, elated smile. "I don't know. I'm happy enough to be his friend again. It's still so soon…"
"I know you," Leo said, "And I know him. And you're making the rest of us look bad out here."
"Oh, yeah?" she laughed. "What about you and Guang Hong? I know you, Leo, and you're not fooling anyone." Esther claimed a victory when the normally-unflappable Leo flicked his eyes aside, blushing. "Aha. At least I can say I just met Otabek again."
"All right, all right," Leo conceded with a good-natured roll of his eyes. "I think you're full of it, but I'll give it to you." He gave her a sudden, determined look. "Just promise me something, Esther. Let yourself have this."
She frowned. "What do you mean?"
"You might not see it yet. Maybe you do, and you're just playing it safe." Leo shrugged. "I want you to let yourself have a chance at being happy. In all the years I've known you, I've never seen you look like you did just now, when you were dancing with Otabek."
Esther blushed, fiercely. "Okay," she agreed, after a moment, "But only if you promise me the same thing, because in all the years I've known you, I've never seen you look like you do when you're with Guang Hong."
Leo chuckled, flushing again. "Yeah," he said. "Okay."
"I'm gonna hold you to it," she said, and before he could reply, they were trading partners again—Otabek and Esther shared a look as they brushed elbows—then Phichit had her, and he danced with all the infectious enthusiasm he poured into his routines, because as soon as their hands were set, he was beaming: "Let's go!"
Dancing with Phichit left her breathless and laughing, and it was only when Chai asked for him back that he could be persuaded to let her go. She stood at the edge of the floor, thinking of going to the table for water, when Otabek appeared with the same gentle, polite touch at her shoulder. She looked at him and smiled—it was like coming home. "Hey."
"Can I get you water?" he asked her.
She nodded, gratefully. He left her there, and she stood and watched Leo and Guang Hong dancing together, happier than she could remember being.
Someone sidled in on her left side; tall enough that she couldn't see beyond the arm of a suit. She didn't care to look until a familiar voice sounded: "Esther." Her heart contracted with something she would later recognize as fear.
She looked up, taking in golden blond hair and icy blue eyes; the same ones that stared back at her from the mirror. "Dad?"
For a long moment, they just stared at each other. Esther waited, hardly daring to breathe, for what he wanted—she was about to ask him, when he finally broke the silence.
"I wanted to speak with you," he said. "Congratulations on your medal."
"Why?" she found her voice, took a deep breath and shook her head. "Why now, why do you want to…talk to me? The message was pretty clear when you sent all my shit." She turned and walked away, folding her arms tight and taking quick, deep breaths.
"Your mother was furious." He followed her. She cursed under her breath, squeezed her eyes shut. "You're the most important thing to her."
She stopped.
"You never knew this," he continued, quieter—unnecessarily, as they were some distance now from the floor—"She did want to have more children. She miscarried; three times."
Esther stood and tried to work out how she felt about it. It was a long moment before she realized that it was nothing. Three almost-siblings: would their lot have been any different from hers? Would hers have been any different for them being there?
"It doesn't matter," she heard herself saying. "It doesn't change everything you put me through. You and her both." She turned around, found it was easy to look at him, now that she knew the depths of her apathy. "Don't think you get a free pass, just because you weren't always the one holding the gun. You always stood back and let her do what she was going to do. And then, you'd come to me later and talk to me, like you are now, getting into my head and messing with my perceptions of what happened until I wasn't even sure what was real or not."
"She didn't send me here," he said, quietly, with as much pain as she'd ever heard in his voice. Her European father—when she was younger, he'd always seemed so stoic and strong, a constant presence. It wasn't until she was older that she truly learned of his temper, how wildly he could vacillate between affection and anger, no excuses, Esther; that it was better to stay on the good side of his moods. Her mother's disapproval was a constant, but her father was easy to love, so long as she was willing to lose herself in the process. I suppose we both manipulated each other.
"I don't care. I blame you as much as I blame her, and I don't want to see either of you ever again."
Suddenly, Emanuel was behind her, his hand on her shoulder. "Esther, there you are," he broke in, with false cheer. "I believe they're looking for you back at the floor. Might I borrow Mr. Wagner here for a moment?"
"It's fine," she said, a measure of the ice melted out of her voice for him. "I was just leaving."
As she walked away, she turned back, spotted Gabriel returning to Leah's side. People had always told her she looked just like her: the same dark hair and skin, features close enough for coverage to call her Leah Markowitz come again. Feeling sick, she looked away, hoped against hope that it wasn't true.
She returned to the side of the floor, where Otabek was standing with a cup of water. She took it gratefully, and downed it in three swallows. "The one banquet I really need to drink at," she groused.
"Are you all right?" Otabek took her empty cup.
Esther looked at him, and let off the last of the tension with a small sigh. "Doing better now."
They returned to the floor; this time, Otabek dared to pull her closer, bringing his hand to rest between her shoulderblades. Esther wrapped her arm over his, curling her hand over the strong curve of his shoulder. They couldn't dance as well; it was more like swaying, but sway they did, happily, through song after song. He might as well have been her entire world, and much like watching him skate, she felt as if she could have done it forever.
She didn't remember saying goodbye and going back to her room, but she must have, because she woke up the next morning in her bed. Slowly, she sat up, her memories of the previous night filtering through like a dream. She smiled.
Guang Hong, Phichit, Chuenchai, and Yu came by early to say goodbye. "Let's do this again soon!" Phichit gave her a tight hug—Chuenchai's subsequent one threatened to buckle her ribs. "You should come to Bangkok, I really mean it!"
She hugged Guang Hong goodbye, too, and she shook Yu's hand. "I'll see you at the next competition," she gave her the most meaningful look she could muster. There's always another competition. The look Yu gave her in return looked like understanding—she nodded, and walked a little straighter as they headed down the hall. They waved as they rounded the corner, and then they were gone.
She would be fine. She had friends, rinkmates, a good coach to see her through—all things Esther hadn't had, when she'd fallen down. Just another thing to thank dearest mother and father for.
She pushed the thought away. There was packing to do—her flight left in a few hours, and would put them back home at a good time to go more or less straight to bed, which would be a boon for resetting their internal clocks. I can already hear Emanuel complaining. Suie will be there, though.
She was nearly finished when Emanuel knocked on the door to summon her to breakfast. He spent a minute muttering over the pastry selection before resigning himself to cereal, a scoop of the fruit cocktail, and a container of yogurt. Esther chuckled at him, and went with the same thing. Most of the others had gone already, sending their goodbyes into the group chat—Leo had promised to see her off at the door. She had just pulled out her phone, thinking to ask Otabek when he was leaving, when she heard a voice nearby. Turning in her seat, she spied Nava, trading a few words with her coach at the desk. "I'll be right back," she rose, hurrying across the tile.
"Hey, Esther," Nava beamed to see her.
"Are you headed out?"
"Yeah. I've got to go through Canada to get back to Tel Aviv." She shifted on her feet, thoughtful, and then, her eyes burned with determination. "I'm going to do well at the NHK Trophy. We'll meet again in the Final."
We will. If not this year, then someday. Esther thought about her words from the victory ceremony, and she smiled. "Don't get me wrong. I won't be content to take silver forever." She held out her hand. "I'm looking forward to it."
Nava took hold of the offered hand and gave it a hearty shake.
"Behatz lochoh, Nava."
"You too, Esther."
She returned to the table and slid into her seat to find Emanuel looking at her. "What?"
"Nothing," he said, smiling and shoving a spoonful of yogurt into his mouth. Neither said anything more: even this, a quiet breakfast held in a hotel lobby, resembled their usual ritual and made them both eager for home.
E: When are you leaving?
O: My flight out is at 12:35.
E: That's really close to mine. It's at 1:00.
O: What's your gate?
E: K12. Yours?
O: K13.
By the time they cleared customs and found their gate, Otabek was waiting across the corridor. Esther crossed straight into his arms, resting her head in the crook of his neck with a sigh. "I'm glad it worked out this way," she murmured.
"I would have come to say goodbye."
"I know."
They sat in two seats together, sharing a pair of earbuds. He let her listen to a few things he'd been working on; then, she hooked her chin over his shoulder while they looked over their friends' Instagram posts. Esther sat up, suddenly. "Hey, I've got an idea. Wait here." She crossed the corridor, returning to a bemused Emanuel long enough to retrieve her medal. "We should take a picture. We match."
Otabek dug, obligingly, in his carry-on for his medal, slipping it around his neck. They were both, fittingly, in their team jackets as well. "You take it, you've got longer arms." She pressed close as he held the camera out, and smiled. She leaned on him again, watched, with some surprise, as he queued it up as an Instagram post. He paused, thumbs hovering over the keyboard for a caption. "Do you follow me?"
"I don't think so."
"It's private," he explained, as she looked him up. His icon was a picture of him, from the back—undoubtedly him, but only someone who knew him could have been certain. She sent him the request, and looked back just as he hit post. Esther pouted at him, and put her phone away. Evidently, there was something in there that he didn't want her to see just yet.
"Do you know what I wished for?" he asked her, "At the pier?"
She quickly forgot about it, in favor of pushing at his arm—not that he budged an inch. "You can't tell me that. If you do it won't come true." For a moment, she sat, then she turned to him. "What was it?"
He mirrored her, meeting her eyes. "That we would both get to the Final."
Esther's heart skipped several beats. "Me too."
Otabek lowered his eyes. "I can't promise that I will. But I can promise that I'll call this time."
Suddenly, his flight was calling for boarding. "Is it already time?" she checked her phone. 12:15.
Otabek stood, offering her his hand. Hesitating, Esther took it, allowed him to pull her to her feet. He hugged her again, tighter than before, and she closed her eyes and breathed him in, hardly daring to believe that he was really there, after all the time and everything they'd been through, her Beka.
Her eyes opened. I haven't called him that yet. Not since…
"I'll tell you when I get in," he promised. He drew back, and froze, staring at her as if he wanted to memorize every contour of her face. Esther stilled, lips parting: her breath came short, her heart pounded.
The moment passed. She smiled, weak and shaky from the sudden, inexplicable adrenaline rush. "Bye, Beka. Safe trip home." With one final squeeze of his hand, she turned and walked back across the concourse, returned to Emanuel at their gate. She looked back and watched as he went to the end of the queue, which was proceeding smartly up to the desk.
The flight to Stockholm was quiet—she had forgotten how draining competitions were, and took the time to enjoy the relative silence. They had dinner during their layover, and boarded for the subsequent connection home as the sun set. Within three hours, they were home at last.
Suie came bounding to the door as soon as it opened. "Hello, Suie-lutin," she cooed, setting her luggage aside to scoop him up and scratch behind his ears. Suie purred like a motorboat, tiptoed up onto her shoulders and allowed her to drag her suitcase and bag back to her room. She sat on the bed, collapsing on her back once Suie leapt onto his pillow. "I'm so glad I'm home."
"Emanuel," Esther called, returning to the front room with Suie trotting in her wake. "I think you're right. Europe is definitely better."
"I knew you'd come around." He was making tea—he held the tin up to her, eyebrows raising. She squinted at the label—chamomile—and nodded. "We'll do a light training regimen starting Wednesday, and we'll start again with your normal schedule on Sunday."
Esther chuckled. "Back to business already?"
"A silver medal is a start." The kettle began to whistle; he plucked it from the burner and poured hot water into two cups.
"That it is." They stood and watched the tea steep in silence. Esther tugged at the tab of her bag, watching the pale brown seeping into the water. When he pulled his, so did she, blowing carefully before she took a sip.
"Are you going to tell me about that young man at the banquet?"
Esther nearly choked. Swallowing, she sputtered, coughing a few times. "Who, Otabek? We're friends, we go way back…my parents used to train him."
"Mm-hm." Emanuel sipped delicately at his tea. "How long ago was that?"
"Three years. Give or take."
"I see."
"We hadn't seen each other in a while." She smiled down into her teacup, tilting it gently to watch it swirl.
"I could tell." Whatever secret look he had, he hid behind his cup. "You looked like you were meeting for the first time, and like you'd known each other all your lives, all at once."
Esther cocked her eyebrow at him. "Are you waxing poetic on me?"
"I'm French, Esther."
"I know. You wouldn't let me and the city of Chicago forget it."
Emanuel chuckled at her. "Don't mind me," he said. "I'm just being a concerned coach. I'm glad that you have friends on the ice. They're some of the best parts of this life."
"Yeah." She nodded. "They are." She took a sip of her tea. "Speaking of…being a concerned coach. Thanks for…intervening, with my—"
"No need to mention it." A long pause. "Unless…you want to?"
She stared into the depths of her chamomile. "No, I don't." Another long silence ensued. "It's crazy," she spoke, finally, if only to make a sound. "I'd forgotten…how much. You know? It all feels like a blur now."
"It'll get easier as you get used to it again. Although, you did have a lot going on in the last few days." He looked pointedly at her teacup. "Are you going to drink your tea?"
She picked it up. "Yeah. I'll take it with me."
"All right. I'm going to bed. You should too." He patted her shoulder as he passed, pausing in the entry to the hall. She watched him, expectantly, his head framed right next to her bronze on the wall. "I really am very proud of you, Esther. For everything. I…next time, let's outdo ourselves."
Moscow was four weeks away. "We will."
Emanuel smiled, and vanished.
Esther picked up her teacup, and headed back to her room. Suie followed, her little four-legged shadow. She sat it on her bedside table, shuffled into her bathroom to brush her teeth. Returning, she put on her pajamas and stretched out over the bedspread with a sigh. Her phone buzzed, and she picked it up, peering at the list of notifications. One stuck out to her.
BEKA: I made it back safe.
She unlocked her phone.
E: Me too.
B: Can I call you tomorrow?
E: For sure.
Her thumbs hovered over the screen, started up again, froze.
It's silly. We just saw each other, but—
She erased the message, and pressed the home button. On a hunch, she opened Instagram, checked her notifications, and found otabek_altin has approved your follow request. She opened his account, and looked at the top picture: there they were, together, and while she was smiling for the camera, he was looking at her.
Happy to reconnect with old friends at Skate America this year. Next time, let's match with gold.
