Page 3 of Breaking Away

Right. I was only hired because Anna is my mother’s best friend’s daughter. Not to mention there’s a second photographer with proper credentials walking around and taking photos. But only so not a moment of the party is missed, Anna told me when he showed up.

Sure. Okay. My paper-thin confidence knows better, though.

I’m a self-taught photographer who can’t land a real job on her own. My parents and fiancé tell me this is a fun hobby, as if they are so proud of me for keeping myself occupied when I’m not busy being their daughter and a perfect partner.

I should do more,I keep telling them, but my mom doesn’t agree, because I’mperfectas I am.

My dad reminds me that my grades didn’t get me into college. That if I didn’t excel academically in high school, college won’t suddenly turn me into a scholar, or doctor, or engineer, or lawyer, or any of the careers he thinks are worth it. Basically anything where facts matter and money is guaranteed.

He’s… not wrong about me not excelling. My brain is a water slide when it comes to memorizing information. I’ve tried, but I can’t fix it. There are days when it feels like my mind is wired in a completely different way than those around me. Historically speaking, subjects like math and science were always my worst marks.

Back at the party, I get on my knees to get a shot of a toddler booping noses with a Yorkshire Terrier who has been terrorizing ankles around the bar. I also capture an old man in a three-piece suit shaking his cane as he rants. Rich people are stuffy, but I’m sneaking in moments of them not being so stuffy.

Still, my palms sweat as I take more shots from this angle.What was I thinking, agreeing to do this?

Everyone will laugh when they compare my work with the professional’s pictures. Maybe I should have listened to Tyler.

He’d whined that I was missing his game today, and almost convinced me to quit this gig—until my mother took him aside and whispered things I’d overheard the gist of. She said working at Anna’s party is a great learning experience for when I become a wife like Anna, throwing parties for my own family.

I get up and walk past the finger food. Wasabi-flavored okra, pickled shallots, foie gras foam. Not a sausage wrapped in pastry in sight. A real crime, if you ask me. There’s also an entire table of desserts laid out, but parents are keeping their kids away as if afraid to ruin the display. Passing by, I stuff a cookie into my mouth, covering myself with a fake cough.

While I shake off the crumbs, Anna and her husband speak to their guests, getting ready to cut the cake. She’s tucked into his arm and he’s delivering a toast, talking about how all his accomplishments wouldn’t be possible if he didn’t have his wife in the background. Thathisdreams are nowtheirdreams, but they wouldn’t at all be possible without Anna focusing all her attention on their marriage and home. That he’s able to be the man he is because of her sacrifices. Anna dabs her eyes as if she’s about to cry. Then she cups her belly, saying they have even happier news. Anna isn’t only the best wife, she’s about to become the best mother.

People clap. My pageant smile threatens to fall and not because the other photographer is pushing me out of the way.

It’s because I’m looking at an image of my future, one where I’ll be the supporter to my famous hockey husband, and my steps are dragging.

Nonetheless, I keep shooting pictures, forcing myself to remember I’m lucky. At the end of this hockey season, I’m marrying someone who loves me. Tyler is my high school sweetheart and also very much out of my league.

This isn’t a matter of low confidence over looks, but facts about skills. Talent. Success.

Tyler was our high school’s prom king. He picked me, a girl not smart enough to be typically nerdy or sporty enough to be his athletic equal. The only reason we started dating is because I lingered around jocks since my dad was their coach. Somehow, we got close.

And now, as the Blades captain, he’s near the top of his career, and I’m still in the backseat of mine, wondering how to crawl to reach my steering wheel. There’s an anxious buzzing in my head when I think about my future…

No, it’s a buzzing in my pocket.

Tyler is calling me. I realize his game must be over. Since I’ve been pushed to the fringes of this party and nobody looks like they want me here, I slip away to answer the video call.

On my phone, a bloodied face fills the screen.

I rush to the arena because my fiancé lost a fight. That’s not what he told me, but as soon as we hung up, I looked it up online.He definitely lost. And the situation is already viral.

1 On 1 Brawl Erupts Between Vancouver Defenseman Dmitri Lokhov and Seattle Captain Tyler Smith.

I watched the video three times, not understanding it. Tyler was talking to Lokhov and then skated away… only for Lokhov to go after him?

What could they have been talking about? What put that furious look on Dmitri Lokhov’s face?

My car-share pulls up to the arena, and I shiver as I get out. Not because of the damp humidity thickening the air as purple storm clouds broil overhead. No, I’m remembering the last time Lokhov and I had a conversation.

We went to the same high school, but weren’t close. He was on the same hockey team as Tyler, but never paid me any attention. His flat eyes always skipped over me, disinterested and cold, like I was an irritating nuisance who shouldn’t be allowed around the team.

Not that his silent, grumpy, intimidating attitude made him less attractive to admirers. More than half the student population wanted to date or fuck him, and I swear he got into a relationship with…Sam, was it?… just to stop the harassment. Or maybe he really loved her? I don’t know.

What I remember is the night of prom. I was so sick, I couldn’t leave my house. But I didn’t want Tyler to miss out on anything because he was destined to be crowned prom king, so I insisted he go with his friends.

Later, in a feverish-haze and pumped full of medicine, I found the energy to pull on a dress and wear some makeup, so I could show up to see my boyfriend’s big moment. But when I got to the gym, Tyler wasn’t happy. My face was sweaty, and I looked one drink away from hurling. He called me a cab, saying he didn’t want to worry about me while he was having a good time, but that he loved me and I lookedsobeautiful even like this.

---