Extreme

by Lark O'Neal

  And just then, they slam into my legs, screeching and jumping. I could not ask for better therapy and sink to the floor to gather them up, kissing their necks and cheeks. “Play dolls with us!”

  My sister Samantha comes into the room. “We’re going to eat, girls, then you can play with Kate.” She hugs me, kisses my cheek, holds me at arm’s length. “You’re not a crier and I can tell you’ve been crying a lot. Do you want to talk now?”

  I have to look away to hide the tears that well up again. “No, let’s eat. I’m tired and probably hormonal and nutty, so food is a good place to start.”

  “Your doctor recommends a glass of wine, too. We have the prettiest rosé and I always have to drink alone these days.”

  Paula gives her a ripe smile, rubbing her baby bump. “It’s worth it.”

  We all shuffle into the dining room, which has a big glass brick wall that lets in scads of light, although the sun is setting now. I feel starved for sunlight, as if I need to lie in a sunny window like a cat for a few weeks.

  “How was Iceland?” Paula asks, passing the tortillas.

  “It’s strange. And beautiful, and dark. I saw the Northern Lights.”

  “Wonderful.”

  I ask about the baby, and all is going well. Sam talks about the clinic, and the girls chatter about a book they love and their friend Jeremy. It’s a comforting swirl of family and conversation and good food. My shoulders don’t feel so hunched now, giving me space to breathe.

  “So what’s up, Kate?” Sam asks as we linger at the table alone. “Is this about your fight with Mom?”

  “Um. No. She’s cut me off, but that’s the way it goes. I’ll just have to make it work.”

  She pulls her head back in surprise, blinking. “Well, well, well. I thought for sure you’d come here to see if I’d help you sway her.”

  “Yeah, I might have gotten around to it, except this other thing happened and I’m really freaked out and confused and I don’t know what to do.”

  “Tell me.” She pours a little more rosé into my glass, and I have to admit it is very nice. Light and sweet.

  “I met someone. In Iceland.”

  She just listens, nodding. Her eyes are always so kind, so exactly what you want when you have a problem.

  “His name is Gabe and he’s wonderful.” I pull out my phone and thumb through to find the photo I shot…just this morning? Seeing his face and mine together, so happy, my stomach flips again and I pass her the camera. “It was such a great connection.”

  Sam smiles, her rich smile, the good smile. “I love how happy you look. And he’s not your usual pretty boy.”

  I frown and take the phone back. “Are you kidding? He looks like an Italian painting. Botticelli or something.”

  “I didn’t mean he wasn’t good looking, just that you tend to go for a different type.”

  “Like Tyler? Yeah, he was in Iceland. I found him.”

  “And it didn’t go well.”

  “It was okay, actually. He’s still pretty screwed up, but he’s trying to figure himself out, and that’s good. He’s sketching a ton, working on that.”

  “That’s good.” Her voice is noncommittal. None of them approve of Tyler. Not anymore. “Go back to Gabe. How did you meet?”

  “At the airport in Reykjavik. Right after I landed.” I think of the way I imagined telling people I’d met him and the loop of imagination and reality makes me dizzy. Rubbing my forehead, I continue, “we hit it off, and he invited me to go to the Blue Lagoon and then, one thing led to another. I spent the whole time with him.”

  “And you like him.”

  “Oh, wow.” I cover my face with my hands, afraid she’ll see just how much more than like it is. I’m afraid she’ll read the whole sexy story on my cheeks. “That’s an understatement.”

  She tugs my hand away from my face. “Tell me why.”

  I take a breath. “He’s smart, really smart—he’s a geophysicist, a graduate student, and he studies volcanoes.”

  “In Iceland?”

  “Yes, but he grew up in Hawaii and his dad is a science teacher and—” I shake my head. “Ok, that’s not important. He’s really smart. He’s cheerful and funny and he really likes me.” Absurdly, I’m starting to cry again. “Like, he thinks I’m beautiful.”

  My sister reaches for my hand, and just holds it, listening so kindly.

  “It all sounds so small when I say it out loud. Maybe I’m just infatuated and it will pass and I’ll wonder what I was thinking.” I wipe my nose with my free hand. “I don’t know. I haven’t enough sleep and I feel so off-balance and I—” The tears just keep falling. It’s completely stupid.

  “He sounds pretty great.” Her brows crease in a quizzical smile. “I guess I’m not understanding what the problem is. He’s terrific and you are very attracted to him and he likes you back.”

  “Yes. All those things. But he lives in Iceland and riding keeps me on the road all the time. Why couldn’t I have met him a few years from now?”

  “Ah. That is challenging.”

  “I just don’t want to get into some big loop where all we do is miss each other and Skype and—drift away and then somebody’s heart gets shattered.”

  She nods. “It could happen that way. But what if he’s worth it?”

  “Oh, I totally know he’d be worth it!”

  My sister laughs softly. “I think you have your answer.”

  “That I have to have a long-distance relationship?”

  “Or something. It sounds like you don’t want to leave it behind, so maybe trying to figure out how to keep seeing each other.”

  I think of his face, of his eyes staring so deeply into mine, and his mouth on mine and the way he felt when he held me, and more tears are pouring out of my eyes and I whisper, “I’m so scared.”

  Instantly, she’s enfolding me. “It’s okay, honey. You’ve just fallen in love, that’s all.” She strokes my hair. “I really can’t wait to meet him.”

  “But what if I end up like Tyler, so lost I’m like a half a pair of shoes?”

  “We all roll the dice. There are no guarantees of happiness no matter what you choose.”

  “I’m such a baby, aren’t I?”

  “You’re growing up fast.” Smoothing my hair once more, she stands. “I’m going to check on the girls. Maybe you want some privacy?”

  For long moments after she leaves, I hold the phone in my hand. My heart is racing and I still feel scared to death, but if I just pay attention to my own reaction, I know I’ve been an idiot.

  Rather than text, I call him. The phone rings and rings, and then goes to voice mail. His low, rumbling voice says, “This is Gabe. Leave a message.”

  I take a breath. “Hi, Gabe. It’s Kaitlin. I’m sorry I was so unreasonable. I stopped by New York to see my sister and I’m staying here tonight. Call me when you get this.”

  I look at the clock, and realize it’s past midnight in Reykjavik. He’s probably sleeping.

  Which is suddenly the only thing in the world I want to do.

  Chapter TWENTY FOUR

  Gabe

  When I turn my phone on as we’re taxiing down the runway toward the terminal, there are a handful of texts from friends and one from my dad.

  And an actual voice mail from Kaitlin. Who is in New York.

  I am in Denver.

  It’s the most quixotic thing I’ve ever done, getting on that plane to follow her, not only to Denver but then to Aspen, where I’d planned to state my case, make the grand gesture. Convince her to take a chance.

  Take a chance. The Abba song is on a loop in my head, the song that made me ask her to go to the hot springs that first day. It’s an ear worm in my head through the long flight while I dozed and shifted and tried to tell myself this wasn’t completely stupid.

  I mean, I know it’s over the top, but I have to try. Grand gestures are meant for that kind of moment.

  Now I’m in Denver and she’s in New York. It’s nearl
y ten here, which means it’s the middle of the night in Iceland, and midnight in New York. Too late to call her back.

  Damn.

  I’ve had maybe 14 hours of sleep over the past week, most of it in one chunk while Kaitlin read in my apartment. I slept fitfully on the plane here, but the back of my eyelids feel like I’ve been in a windstorm in the desert, and my thoughts are cloudy, without hard edges. Staring out the window, I wonder if this is a sign.

  If we try to make this work, this is how our lives will be—maybe for a long time. Time zones skewed, wrong sleep schedules, trying to catch each other between training runs and work schedules, with maybe a long weekend once a month if we’re lucky, probably a lot less.

  My gut aches. Maybe she was right all along. This is no way to live. Instead of loving each other, taking the beauty of this time we had with us into the future, we’ll end up at odds. Exasperated. Irritated.

  No.

  She was right. And everything in me wishes she wasn’t.

  Whatever happens, I have to sleep. Tonight, I’ll stay in a hotel and fly back to Iceland in the morning, and she doesn’t even need to know I’m here, that I did this idiotic thing, planned out a complete romantic pitch like something in a movie.

  Swallowing the lump of emotion in my throat, I tuck my phone in my back pocket and file off the plane with everyone else.

  Chapter TWENTY FIVE

  Kaitlin

  Bright winter sunshine is flooding in through the windows when I get up. For a long, long stretch, I lie on my back, arms and legs flung out and let it pour over me. It’s heaven.

  My phone gives a tiny buzz, a notice that I have a text, and I roll over lazily to pick it up. There’s a whole long line of messages, and with surprise I see the time is nearly ten am—I’ve been sleeping for more than twelve hours.

  Also heaven. My body, which has been quite engaged in activities I don’t usually engage in, feels a little sore, but ready to get moving again. Cautiously, I test my wrist, then my shoulder. Nothing. As I roll on my hip to sit up, it murmurs, but not really as much as I was expecting. Is it possible that sex is good for healing? The thought makes me laugh as I scroll through the texts. A couple from my coach, three from my training partner, and three from my mother. I keep scrolling, hoping for one name in particular. Happily, there is one from Madeline, and there, at the bottom of the list is one from Gabe. I swipe to read it.

  Hey, sorry I missed your call. I was sleeping and now it’s the middle of the night in New York. Give me a call any time. I’ll be around.

  I bite my lip. It’s so…dry. Nothing juicy or sexy or flirty at all.

  No. I’m not doing that to myself or to him. Maybe he was tired or on his way to work or whatever. I don’t want to overthink every single communication. It’ll just make us both crazy.

  Checking the world clock, I realize he’s now probably at work, so I just send him a text. Sad to have missed your call. Slept a really, really long time. :) :) :) Can’t wait to hear your voice.

  The text from Madeline is long and sounds just like her. I read the book you gave me. AMAZING!!!!!! I CRIED MY EYES OUT! And is it just me, or does Olivia really look like the author?

  We made it to London. OMG Simon! His London “house” is a mansion and he’s a freaking lord or something. It’s fun, tho. WYWH!

  It makes me smile. I text back: I’m in NYC with my sis. SUN IS SHINING. Miss Gabe!! Miss u guys. TTYS

  Funny how I feel so different, as if I have returned from Iceland with a different set of limbs or something. Having the talk with my sister helped me to see what I really want, and I am determined to make my own way without my parents’ help, and suddenly the world feels big and new and exciting. In the shower, I scrub away the last of the exhaustion, and head downstairs to the kitchen, where I hear voices.

  In the doorway, I stop dead. My mother is sitting there, dressed in a trim blouse and dark slacks, her red hair cut in an exacting bob that swings precisely one half inch above her shoulders. She is beautiful and as I come into the room, she’s laughing with Paula, and what I most want to do is give her a hug.

  Instead, I slide into a seat at the breakfast bar. “Hi, Mom. I guess Sam told you I was here.”

  “No, actually. I just came by to bring some fabric samples for the nursery and Paula told me you were here.”

  “Oh.”

  “Tea, Kate?” Paula asks, her hand at the small of her back.

  “You sit down. I’ll get it.”

  She waves me back into my seat. “I’m going to take a nap in a few minutes, so let me make the tea.”

  An awkward little silence falls in the room. “How was Iceland?” my mom asks finally.

  “Good. I mean, the volcano was kind of freaky, but I saw the Northern Lights and I met some interesting people.” I shrug, like it was no big deal.

  “Did you find Tyler?”

  “He was there. Seems okay. He went on to Venice with a bunch of backpackers and gap years.”

  She shakes her head. “He’s a little long in the tooth for that, isn’t he?”

  “I don’t think he’s really over the hill at twenty-five. And besides, he’s an artist. Artists live by other rules.”

  “Some of them. Paula seems to have no problem living a normal life.”

  Behind my mother’s back, Paula lifts one dark eyebrow.

  “You know I’ve always felt terrible for Tyler and his siblings. They had a wretched childhood. I do wish him well.”

  Paula gives me the tea and waves on her way out.

  “I know you do,” I say.

  My mother says, “Have you had time to think about the situation here?”

  Sliding my mug close, I dip the teabag up and down. “I have, Mom. And I’m going to figure it out on my own. I really need to do this.”

  A frown draws down her eyebrows. “I wish you’d reconsider. This is going to make your life so much harder than it needs to be.”

  I remember my dream, the desire to make her understand what riding is to me, how important I think it is. “If I were a poet, would you think that was important?”

  “I don’t know,” she says. “I suppose that would depend on what kind of poet you were. We do need poets in the world.”

  “I agree. I love poetry. And art. Where would we be without paintings?”

  She laughs because we are both museum fanatics.

  Holding the mug of hot tea between my palms, I imagine Gabe standing behind me, encouraging me to be myself, tell the truth. “This friend of mine said that when I’m on the slopes, it’s a poetry of the body.”

  She blinks. “That’s lovely.”

  “I know that I’m not like everyone else in this family. And I’m so grateful that you’ve been so supportive for this long. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

  “Kaitlin—”

  “Hold on. Let me finish, please.”

  She folds her hands, and I realize we are in exactly the same posture.

  “The only thing I want to do is this, snowboard. I’m really good at it, and I really love it, and it might not be serious from your perspective, but I hope that you can respect my choice to devote my life to the things I think are important. And I think you were right—I should do it on my own.”

  For a moment, she only looks at me, her face impassive. Then she gives a nod, that decisive, clear-headed nod I know so well. “All right. It is your choice.”

  “Thanks. Can we stop fighting now? I hate it.”

  She laughs. “Me, too.”

  * * *

  My coach is anxious for me to get to Aspen and has sent a zillion texts about a series of storm systems that are moving in. Great for riding, bad for travel, and he wants me on a plane pronto.

  As I’m on the way out the door, with my pack over my unsore shoulder, my mom says, “I’ve set you up with an emergency fund. It’s not a huge sum, but I don’t want to worry about you having enough to eat.”

  I laugh and give her a hug. “I’ll be fine.”
/>
  I manage to get a direct flight to Denver mid-afternoon, and text my coach to let him know I’ll grab a shuttle to the mountains in the morning. My training partner is ready to start practicing.

  Life is back in motion.

  In the taxi, I read through the commentary on sports sites, comparing and contrasting all of us for the upcoming games. I’m on top, gratifyingly, but some are speculating that my injuries might cause problems.

  By the time I’m boarding the plane, I still haven’t heard from Gabe, and there’s a low level fret going on along my spine. Something feels off-kilter.

  I hold the phone until the very last second, and the flight attendant has to give me a mean look before I slide it into my pocket. I think about Emily and Hunter, texting even though she was in the air and wonder if this airplane has Wi-Fi.

  It does.

  I think about it, phone in my hand. Already, the time zones are a challenge. Our schedules are going to be at odds. Maybe I need to just put my focus where it belongs. On competition, training, the world I love so much.

  Let it go, I tell myself.

  Let it go.

  Chapter TWENTY SIX

  Gabe

  I slept an astonishing twenty hours, waking up only a couple of hours ago. I’d hung the Do Not Disturb sign on my door before I passed out, and I guess the hotel took it seriously because now it’s dinnertime again and I missed my flight back to Reykjavik and my belly is howling with hunger. My phone is dead because I brilliantly forgot to bring the charger and I was too exhausted last night to go back out to get another one.

  The room has rolled over since I didn’t check out—a little bit shady if you ask me, but what the hell—I have no idea when I can get on another flight. If I get stuck again, I have the bed. The news is filled with winter storms over Chicago and a storm moving toward Colorado, so who knows when I’ll get out.

  I’m depressed as I head into the airport. After such a wild few days, filled with such—fuck, I’ll say it: happiness— I feel like I’m wandering the pits of hell now, lost and alone in the green light of the airport, with thousands of other irritated, stranded travelers. When I’ve booked another flight, for a ridiculous amount of money, I wander upstairs to a mezzanine and order a hamburger and a beer. It’s weird to have a dead phone, but illuminating, too. I watch the crowds, coming and going. I’m right above the arrival area, and families are greeting soldiers, kids are hugging grandparents, lovers are flinging themselves into each other’s arms.