December 31, 1982
Ben glances over the crowd, looking for the one person he wants to be with at this party. He doesn't see her anywhere but he knows she's here. He saw her arrive with some other girls awhile back.
They didn't even want to come but their friends had insisted. They needed to celebrate, it was the new year, things were going their way. It would do them good to cut loose a bit, now that Nationals were behind them and Europeans still six weeks away.
No one can train all the time. Even their coaches know that.
That is why, once a year, Maz opens her home to all the skaters from the school and they are allowed to eat all the holiday foods they can manage and drink until they are slurring their words and making wild boasts about their placements for the coming year.
Maz's flat seems like a castle, a portal from another time. It is stuffed to the gills with skating memorabilia, a sizeable real fir yolka crammed into one corner, the serving platters overflowing with three households' worth of caviar. It sits on the corner of the building and has a balcony that wraps around with sliding doors leading out from the kitchen and the living room. One door or the other keeps getting left open and the flat would be drafty if it were not overstuffed with all of them.
They feel like royalty in her care.
And why shouldn't they, Ben muses silently as he sips his drink? He can't see their host anywhere but he knows Maz is probably holding court in the living room. Without her fur coat she is a tiny slip of a woman, her joints gnarled and twisted with overuse and age.
They are reigning Russian champions, an enviable position to hold going into the championships in the spring. It was two parts their hard work to relearn skills after Rey's growth spurt and one part luck with their closest rivals taking an unexpected fall on their throw element. They're all friends, or so the state media would like everyone to believe, but he and Rey clutched each other's hands with unbridled glee in the private waiting area as they watched the replays, realizing what it meant for them.
Yes, they deserve to be treated nicely for once, and with each drink he cares less who knows that he and Bazine are still an item. His uncle's admonition did nothing but make him dig in his heels further. He refuses to submit every part of his life to what his family wants.
Really though, the federation makes it too easy. They were assigned to the same competitions all fall so there was plenty of time to see each other. It's the only time they're not training from dawn till late afternoon, and there is ample opportunity to slip away unnoticed in a crowd. Her partner is more than understanding since he has a man on the side, and Rey… well, she didn't rat him out to Luke at least.
He finally spots Bazine on the balcony, her eyes bright and cheeks flushed with drink. A gaggle of junior dance girls surround her like ladies-in-waiting and Baz doesn't disappoint. She looks every inch the queen tonight in a red knit dress that hugs her lithe figure with white marabou trim fluttering at her wrists as she gestures while talking. She is perfect for her discipline the same as he is for theirs, blessed with an ideal body and imbued with a sense of drama so prized in ice dance.
At fifteen minutes to midnight they obediently take slips of paper from the basket Maz passes around to write their secret wishes for the new year. She tops their glasses off with a wink and distributes lighters and matches to set their wishes free in flames. The ashes will be drunk, consumed to become part of their bodies so that they may come true.
Ben considers carefully what he wants. 1983 is a big year ahead of the Games and he renders his desires in a confident block print. Two things for their career, one thing for himself, and one for his family. He's not completely selfish, after all. He wishes for his mother's continued health and for his father… for his father to come home from wherever it is the military has him now. The war in the east against the Afghans has been dragging on for three years already and last they knew, he was helping counter-insurgents smuggle weapons into the country to fight the mujahadeen. His mother lights a candle for Han Solokov every Sunday. He hands off his pen to a junior skater and folds his paper into quarters, obscuring his writing and minimizing the surface area he must channel into his drink.
He wonders what Rey might have written. The last time he saw her, she was cornered in the kitchen by a junior singles boy closer to her age. The boy has been making eyes at her all season, but Rey seems to have a laser focus on their training. He doesn't get her; she's at the age where one falls in love, makes mistakes, makes up and breaks up. It's not Ben's thing, but he judges the younger man to be handsome enough.
The guests surge towards the balcony and before he's ready, someone begins the countdown. He can't reach Bazine now, and they lock eyes over the others before she turns away in disappointment, her arms slung around the shoulders of those next to her.
Fifteen, fourteen, thirteen, twelve…
No matter. He'll make it up to her later, after their walk around the city when they're alone. His mother and Luke spend this evening together so they'll head back to his place and have it to themselves. Their whole relationship is built around scarcity and him making things up to her from slights both real and imagined.
He torches his paper over a candle on the table and when the flames begin to lick his fingertips, he drops it into his glass where it goes out with a fizzle, the black ashes floating on the pale golden champagne.
Eight, seven, six…
Ben joins the countdown when someone bumps him hard enough from behind to slosh his drink on his hand and he turns in astonishment.
"Seriously?" It's out of his mouth before he realizes it's Rey, who seems to have tripped on her high heels on the rug and is staring up at him with her mouth open in horror.
Four, three, two…
"Oh my gosh, Ben, I'm sorry," she stammers, brushing her own champagne from her sweater. Drops coat her sternum and there's a little puddle beading on Maz's antique Oriental rug beneath their feet.
He grabs a napkin from the table and presses it to her chest without thinking. Her hand covers his for a split second before he snatches it back.
"Sorry!" He exclaims and he feels his cheeks flushing.
One… Happy New Year!
"Happy New Year," she whispers and her eyes dart to his mouth before meeting his again.
All around them their teammates are hugging and kissing but Ben has the strangest sensation in his middle as he looks at her. Blame the drink, blame the holiday but before she can react, he leans in and captures her lips in a kiss. He means it to be a quick peck but it draws out, his stupid mouth mashed against hers and when she parts her lips in surprise their tongues touch for the briefest instant.
She pulls away first and her fingertips go to her mouth in shock.
"Happy New Year, Rey," he manages before he turns away, before he does anything else he can't live down.
He gulps the rest of his champagne and pushes his way out onto the balcony.
