by Erin McRae
Then you’ve got nothing to lose, he told himself as he got ready to take the ice. He unzipped his jacket and handed it to Brendan, then slid off his skate guards. No title to defend. No reason not to show them all of who you are.
Aaron’s nerves evaporated as soon as his blades met the ice. Maybe it was his own cliched pep talk; more likely it was the feel of the ice under his blades. This was where he was meant to be. This was what he had trained for. This was what he was meant to do.
Aaron took his starting position, took a breath and—as if he was readying himself to jump off the dock on Whisker Island into the waves—closed his eyes. The music started.
Even halfway through Aaron knew this was the best he’d skated this program all season. The audience to whom he’d been just a vague name a few minutes ago were now at the edge of their seats, clapping to keep time with the music and exhaling in relief every time he landed a jump. The applause, when he finished, sounded like the roar of the waves on the shore in a storm.
IT TOOK FOREVER FOR Aaron to get out of there. After he'd placed third and actually cried—but only a little and into Brendan's shoulder so nobody saw—there was the medal ceremony and testing and the press conference and the gala and so many interviews, because this was Russia and people actually cared about skating here.
Katie sent a congratulatory text, and he was grateful to be able to respond in kind. He wasn’t up for a verbal conversation right now. His family has blown up his phone too, of course, and he texted back and forth with them on the ride back to the hotel with Brendan, Charlotte, and Huy.
Huy invited Aaron to grab food with him and a bunch of other people, but Aaron begged off. After the whirlwind of the day he wanted to be alone to process. So while Huy and Charlotte ran off to enjoy the city, Aaron dumped his gear in his room and then slipped back outside as quick as he could, before he was waylaid by other skaters or their fans.
He turned up his collar as he went; used as he was to the cold in general, December in St. Petersburg was no joke. The wind was biting and only a few other adventurous souls were out on the streets. He walked along the Neva, up past the Winter Palace and the Summer Garden—a whole year in less than a mile. It seemed fitting under the circumstances.
As he passed beyond those most central tourist locations, his legs somehow unwilling to give up this day, Aaron heard a barking. He reached on instinct for his phone. But his volume was still off the way he always had it at competition. Keeping his phone silent was common courtesy to the other skaters, and also, no one needed to hear his seal alert. Besides—The notes? The words? The sounds?—of the barking weren’t quite right. Like a sensible person, Aaron looked around expecting a dog. He didn’t see one.
As he continued to walk, the barking seemed to follow, and Aaron checked his phone more than once; perhaps he had turned it back on by accident after the time he had checked before. But he had not, and the sound was most assuredly coming from the river.
It continued to propel him forward along the embankment until he came to a set of steps that led towards the water. Aaron started down them. He took the first few too quickly, then slowed considerably when he realized they were slick. Falling into an icy river in Russia was not the headline he wanted on the night of his greatest triumph.
He took another cautious step down and squinted into the dark. Something bobbed in the water below. Please don't be a dead body, please don't be a dead body, please don't be a dead body, Aaron's brain unhelpfully supplied. He fished in his pocket for his phone, turned the screen on, and held it up. Below, in the water that he was now far too close to, a pair of large brown eyes blinked back at him before dipping beneath the water.
He took another step down, his free hand trailing along the wall. The rough stone was icy under his fingers. Suddenly the eyes reappeared and the whole of the creature he'd seen rose out of the water and up onto the steps.
It was a seal. Because of course it was.
It and Aaron regarded each other for a moment before the seal barked, jerking its head.
Come closer, come closer.
Aaron did, offering a hand to sniff the way he would to a nervous dog. "I don't think you're supposed to be here, buddy," Aaron said softly.
The seal barked, launched itself from the step to the water—smooth and splashless—and then clambered back up again, this time touching its nose briefly to Aaron's hand.
"What do you want? I don't have any food. Is that what you do... lure people down here to feed you?"
The seal seemed indignant at Aaron's suggestion, and repeated its leap into the water and return to the step.
"Are you lost?" Aaron crouched lower. He didn't dare take another step down, unless he wanted to lose his shoes in the water.
The seal, which was massive, butted its head against Aaron's hand as he stared out into the dark wondering from which direction it had come. The seal continued its contact, seeking affection, Aaron presumed, in a manner very similar to a dog. He wondered if he should call a wildlife rescue, assuming that was the sort of thing one did here.
But then his eyes adjusted and his heart—which had already had the strain of so much joy and victory—nearly stopped. For his friend pressing its head against Aaron's hand was not alone. Out in the river beyond the steps, the sleek domes of two dozen or more seal heads bobbed. And their eyes, benign and gentle, watched him to a one.
A part of Aaron—the part of him that no longer lived on the island that he was from—understood the moment like a horror movie. Any mainlander would have run at this point, slipped on the stone steps, hit their head, and sunk beneath the murky water forever. But he was, for all his best efforts of pretending, no mainlander.
He looked down at his friend, who no longer pressed up into his hand, but watched him, knowing he knew finally, its question.
Aaron shook his head. "I can't go with you," he said. "Not yet."
The seal bounced up and down on the step, a sort of nod as its flippers slapped against the water. And then with one last press of its head to Aaron's fingers it was gone. So too were its friends when Aaron looked out into the water.
Only then did his legs start shaking. Terror or a long night of pushing his body to the limit on the ice, he didn't know, but he needed to get back. Carefully, he turned around on the steps and climbed them, up to the normal world of the embankment. Had anyone seen the seals? Or heard them?
An older man leaned against the safety rail smoking a cigarette. Against his judgement, Aaron summoned what little Russian he had from just being a figure skater in general—it was always good in this profession to have what Russian and Japanese there was time to learn.
"Ty videl?" Aaron asked in his clumsy Russian. Did you see?
The man looked at him, nodded, and replied in English. "They came for you."
AARON RAN ALL THE WAY back to the hotel, half-convinced he had imagined the whole thing by the time he slammed the door to his room. But he had half-a-dozen weird and urgent messages on his phone from his sister and his hands smelled like the river. He pulled off his clothes and practically flung himself into the shower. He was so happy for the heat and the soap and the very clear view of his perfectly human legs that he sat down on the floor to marvel at them.
“Oh my God, what is wrong with you?” Aaron muttered to himself as he thunked his head back against the tiled wall. Then he laughed. He’d just had the most important and successful performance of his competitive career to date and he’d responded by wandering around a city he didn’t know petting errant wildlife? For that alone he deserved every peculiar thing that would ever happen to him.
“All right, Aaron Sheftall, time to get your shit together.”
He climbed to his feet, turned the shower off, and wrapped himself in the hotel-provided bathrobe before dealing with his messages. The ones about the competition could wait.
He texted Katie first.
Aaron: When you do things that scare people—off the ice—is that generally a good sign o
r a bad sign?
Then, his sister:
Aaron: Sorry. I was taking a walk and met a friend, that’s all. You need to recalibrate your nonsense.
Not that Aaron necessarily believed that. He didn’t know what he believed right now. But he knew it was the rational thing to think.
Katie replied first.
Katie: Good. For me at least. What’s going on?
Aaron felt some of the tension loosen in his gut.
Aaron: I’ll tell you when I get back. Still thinking about it. How messed up is it if I text Zack?
Katie: Depends on what you want from that choice.
Aaron: Fair answer.
He flopped onto the hotel bed, folding his arms under his chin and looking out at the lights of the city below. He could see the dark, unlit line of the river, compelling even as he was warm and content and human here in his room.
Aaron turned his thoughts firmly to Zack. What did he want from Zack? What could he say to him? What response was he at all likely to get back? He was trying to figure that out when his sister decided to weigh in.
Ari: Liar.
Aaron stared at it, wanting to be annoyed. But he couldn’t be, because that was the answer—to his skating, to the mess with Zack, to the weird encounter with the seal.
Aaron: True.
Ari: Are you going to explain?
Aaron: Not now, no.
He’d always been a liar hiding in plain sight. He was always trying desperately to fit into a skin that was not his own—as a skater, as a boyfriend, and as whatever singular creature the mythology of the place he was from insisted he must be.
He thumbed through his phone for Zack’s number.
Aaron: Thank you for making me see myself. I know that’s on me more than on you, but I may have just changed my world at this comp, and since you started this story I wanted you to know how I’m finishing it.
He tossed the phone aside onto the pillows next to him. Before he knew it, he was asleep.
Chapter 24
AFTER AARON’S FREE Skate
Zack’s Apartment
AFTER HE HAD SAT WITH Katie and watched Aaron’s incredible skate—and his astonishing third-place finish—Zack went home and slept for hours. Even more than early-morning hockey practice, the emotion of watching the Grand Prix final had worn him out entirely
He woke in the late afternoon to the insistent chirp of his phone. He groped for it on his nightstand, expending something from Matt perhaps. Instead, a text from Aaron flashed on the screen. What time is it in St. Petersburg? Zack did mental time zone map. Midnight, or just about.
The message was thoughtful and clear and asked for nothing even as it left one hell of an opening. Zack knew it deserved a reply of some sort. But he was going to need some time to figure out both what he was feeling and what he wanted to say about it.
He silenced his phone and tossed it down on the bed, then made himself get up and get something to eat. He’d skipped lunch, and his body was suddenly remembering that he was starving.
By the time he’d finished eating leftover takeout from the day before, he decided that a text back to Aaron was that a text wasn’t sufficient. Aaron reaching out, in the moment of such a triumph, deserved more than that. Even if they weren’t holding a space for the other for later. Maybe especially because of that. Aaron never hesitated in asking for what he wanted, and he wasn’t asking for anything here except to be listened to and be seen. Zack could give him that.
He hit call on Aaron’s number. The phone rang...and rang...and rang. At about the eighth ring Zack realized that it was now about two in the morning in St. Petersburg. Aaron really should be asleep. And if his phone hadn’t rolled him over to voicemail yet, for whatever reason, it probably wasn’t going to. Which was annoying, for his purposes. He had to settle for a text, lest Aaron think that Zack had misdialed or been upset at his message. Upset was the last thing Zack was.
Zack: Hey. Hope I didn’t wake you. You did great tonight. Which you know, but I want you to know that I saw you. If I don’t talk to you before, safe travels home.
He hoped, desperately, that his words would leave some sort of opening for a reply and that they weren’t just going through the motions of some peculiar closure.
Chapter 25
MID-DECEMBER
Katie and Brendan’s farm
AARON AWOKE FROM A dream about swimming in a warm summer sea to a blaring alarm, a sky that was still dark, and about a hundred more notifications on his phone. Levering himself out of bed, everything hurt—the exertion and excitement of the last few days was finally taking its toll.
He couldn’t stop thinking about the seals. As he packed up his things and got ready to meet everyone downstairs for the ride to the airport he could still see their gleaming eyes peering at him through the darkness and feel the warmth of the one he had—wildly unwisely—pet. The images were almost enough to drive out the memory of the cheering crowd and the weight of the bronze medal around his neck.
Almost, but not quiet. He’d just won the most important medal of his life. He had and was continuing to blow away everyone’s expectations. All that was left now was Nationals—and he knew now that he could do there what he needed to do.
Plus, even if he did make the Olympic team, it wasn’t likely he’d ever have a day like the one he’d just had. Seals in Boston, after all, would be much less remarkable than in St. Petersburg.
He wished, as he took the elevator downstairs to the lobby to meet everyone else, that he could find a way to say goodbye to the ones here.
He didn’t look through his notifications until they were at the airport waiting to board. Most of it was excitement from his family and friends, but there was one name that leapt out at him - Zack’s.
He read Zack’s text at least three times before he was able to absorb any of its meaning; his feelings were too intense. Katie had asked him what he’d wanted out a potential exchange with Zack, and it had been, he now realized, this, exactly this: To be seen by him, and to have their connection not be wholly severed. In all, it was a lot for ten in the morning at Pulkovo Airport with his bronze medal in his pocket and the memory of the seals.
Their flight was called, and in the flurry of gathering bags and boarding passes Aaron didn’t have a chance to reply. Not until he’d settled into his seat between Charlotte and Brendan did he pull his phone back out to type.
Aaron: Thank you :) About to get on an intercontinental flight and my coach is right next to me so I can’t call you back rn. Also training is gonna be a lot when I get home. There’s a dinner at the farm next week. Come with me, we’ll hang out
Zack: What’s the occasion?
Aaron: Trying to be people, not just skaters
Inviting Zack to the farm for dinner when they hadn’t so much as spoken in months was probably a lot and the kind of thing Aaron should have spent more time thinking about first.
Oh well. He was currently feeling too much to have much brain power left for thinking. And really, what was the worst that could happen?
Zack: Are other not-skating people going to be there?
Aaron: Probably. There will be people in from out of town and stuff. There’s a whole crew. It’s fine
Zack: Okay. I’ll go. On one condition.
Aaron: What’s that?
Zack: Tell Katie first. For real this time.
Charlotte paused in tucking her things in the seatback pocket. “Why are you laughing?” she demanded.
THE NEXT WEEK WAS A haze of gym time, ice time, and time spent reviewing the footage Katie shot of him, looking for places to improve. The Christmas break was coming up, but in an Olympic year that meant maybe a handful of days off to visit family, which for Aaron was more complicated than not. Winter weather meant the risk of getting trapped on the island if he were to go home. Which was terrifying with Nationals in the first week of January; when it came to selecting the U.S. Olympic team, Nationals was everything.
The work, when it
could be, was a pleasure. But much of it was hard, unpleasant, and even boring. But that was the price of excellence, of getting to compete, and of taking a whole audience along with him. Aaron came home every night bruised, sore, and so hungry that he went through what felt like twice as many groceries as usual.
When the night of the dinner at Katie and Brendan’s came, he spent ten minutes looking for a clean shirt that wasn’t practice wear before giving up and throwing on a t-shirt from a junior training camp. It was the farm, after all, and even if Zack was going to be there, well. He’d seen Aaron looking rougher than this. Plus, they’d all probably wind up visiting the cows anyway.
His phone barked in his pocket as he walked out to his car.
Ari: You still haven’t told me.
Aaron: Busy now!
Ari: Stop ignoring me.
Aaron: I’m getting in the car, can’t talk right now!
He left his phone in the back seat as he drove so he wouldn’t have the least bit of temptation to glance at it. Which turned out to be the right choice, because it barked at him the whole drive to the farm.
What the fuck am I doing? Aaron wondered as he took the highway out into the country. He’d had very little time in the last week to form a strategy for tonight or even think much about it.
His phone barked as if in reply. If the seals were trying to give him an answer, Aaron couldn’t interpret it.
“Thanks, guys,” he said aloud. “Real helpful.”
Arf!
His phone was such a menace.
When he parked at the farm, he quickly surveyed the other cars, but he didn’t know what Zack was renting these days and thus had no idea if he’d arrived yet or not. Finally, Aaron snatched his phone off the backseat once he had parked at the farm. One of the very many texts from Ari was:
Ari: I know something happened.
“I’m an elite athlete. Something’s always happening, Ari,” Aaron muttered as he stalked up the walk to the front porch. His life was plenty weird enough without his sister making it weirder.
