Page 25 of Falling

“You think so?”

I nod, meeting her gaze. “I don't want to get your hopes up, so nothing is set in stone, but it could work.”

Just thinking about spending more time with Miles sends a rush of excitement through me. I never know what I’m going to get with him. It feels like there’s always some element of surprise when we hang out, and I’m guessing that pretending to date is going to make that become more regular.

“Are you seeing someone?”

My mom’s question makes me jolt. “Where did you get that from?”

She grins, her lined dimples popping out. “Your cheeks are pink.”

I stumble over my words, gesturing to the pool and the gray sky. “It's hot.”

“Not that hot.”

Telling her directly that I’m dating someone is like begging to get shot in the foot.

She’s always been protective over me, but when I started dating Augustus, those chains slightly loosened. She adored him. He was charming and funny, he always made jokes at the right time, and he was what my mom thought to be the perfect boyfriend for me. He was a pretentious ass, but I think that’s what my mom loved about him.

He pushed me too. Sometimes, it was a little too far, but I learned to brush off the sly comments he’d make about weighing too much to lift or when he would tell me all my favorite colors to wear weren’t flattering on me. I ignored them because I had to do what it took to win, and having him as my partner was my best shot at that.

He was the best male skater in our team for duos, and I have been skating with him since I was fifteen. Our on-ice chemistry was palpable and everyone knew it. When our relationship turned into something more, I liked the idea of having a boyfriend. I liked the affection and the attention, but deep down, he wasn’t anything special. He neverdidanything special, and I was stupid and broken enough to settle for that. My mom doesn’t know how he treated me in private and she probably never will. I’m happy with her thinking that he was the love of my life and that losing him was the most devastating part of the breakup andnotlosing the championship. I’d much rather have a shiny medal to add to my shelf than a boyfriend.

“It’s nothing serious,” I tell her, and she hums. “If it gets serious, you’ll know.”

She hums again, tilting her nose up, and she changes the subject. “Have you spoken to Gianna recently?”

“Why don’t you just call her Gigi, mom? Gianna sounds so formal,” I say, laughing. It’s become a running joke between us. My mom calls her Gianna, and Gigi still calls me Amelia. It’s silly and stupid, but most things are with us.

“Fine. Have you spoken to Gigi recently?” she amends, and I smile. “She and Diana came over for dinner the other night, and they were wondering if I’d heard from you.”

“You do know they both have my number, right?”

She shrugs, taking another sip of her wine. “Well, it wouldn’t hurt if you called them sometimes. They think you’ve forgotten about them.”

The guilt festers in my stomach. I know how busy I’ve been since starting college, but since Gigi doesn’t go to public school anymore, it’s been harder to hang out with her in person. We try to call a few times a month, but we’re both so busy. Coming to visit my mom just reminds me of how we used to hang out as kids and how having dinner with the Kowlaskis wasn’t as irregular as it is now.

“I haven’t forgotten about them. I’ve just been busy,” I say, pushing my hair out of my face. I tug on the ends of it, a nervous tick I haven’t been able to get rid of. “I’ll call Gigi on my way home.”

“You should. She misses you,” my mom says softly. That just hurtsmy heart even more. She turns to me, her blue eyes boring into mine. “I’ve missed you, too. I feel like we don’t see each other that much.”

And she’s gone straight for the kill.

“I know,” I whisper, dropping my gaze from hers. “When I’ve got this skating thing under control, I’m going to try harder, I promise.”

“Good because not having your sister here has been hard for me. I miss my little girls.”

My throat pinches, and I don’t know what to say.

Our views on my childhood are very different.

When I think about how it was when I was a kid, I think about competing in skating competitions when I was four years old. I think about missing out on schoolwork and seeing my friends because I was always training. I think about being swamped with homework because I couldn’t catch a break even when I wanted it. I think about having to wake up at three in the morning to drive out of state to a competition. I think about burying my head inside a paperback and wishing I could live inside a fantasy world instead. I think about having to worry about my diet at six years old. I think about not having anything in common with my friends until halfway through high school and forever feeling like I dedicated my whole life to something that could disappear the second I get into an accident like my mom. It’s like I’ve been skating on a fault line for years and at any second, I could fall through the cracks.

And I instantly feel guilty because all those memories gave me what I have today. It built the strength that I have and the talent that is going to get me to where I want to be. I refuse to let myself believe that this was all for nothing.

We change the topic, and my mom goes on a rant about Mike and the vacations they have coming up. She talks about her job like it’s the best thing in the world, and I wonder if I’ll ever get to a point in my career where, despite all the bad things that have happened, I can still see the good in the everyday.

Still, her comment pricks at me, and the guilt makes a home in my chest.

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