Page 29 of Breaking Away

Around her, I forget that hockey is my only priority, and that can’t happen.

12

KAVI

“Isthat what you’re going to wear?” asks my mother, in a tone that means it shouldnotbe what I am choosing to wear.

I look down. Oversized white t-shirt, black biker shorts, and sneakers. Once I throw on my thrifted denim jacket—also oversized—it’s the perfect airport ensemble.

Lifting my shirt up, I sniff, not smelling anything other than lavender detergent from the hotel’s laundry services. “It’s what I wore on the flight to come here. You said nothing then.”

“How about this?” She pulls out white, gorgeous frills. A dress you wear to post aesthetic pictures of yourself on social media. Perfect for a picnic, or, if dawdling through a winery, ideal to billow under your bum as a cushioned seat with all the skirt fabric. Before I can blink, matching wedges are brought out. They’ve got ribbons that tie at the ankle.

“Did you buy this today?” While my mother had walked around the neighborhood, I spent the day editing photographs from her friend’s anniversary party. The friend who hasn’t reached out to ask for the pictures yet. The one who had another photographer covering the party.

“I thought of my daughter and bought her something nice.”

That’s actually really sweet. Maybe she wants to take my mind off the fiasco that is my life right now. “Thanks, Mom.”

After hugging her, I unzip my luggage and put the dress and shoes inside. Like always, I packed two weeks of clothes for a two-day getaway because I spend way too much time staring at my clothes with no idea what to wear, thinking I’ve got nothing good even as I keep buying new stuff.

An alarm on my phone goes off, reminding me. We’re still in Vancouver and our flight back home to Seattle leaves soon. Time is of the essence! We should already have left the hotel.

If my dad was here, he would be freaking out, but he flew out with the team yesterday on the jet. Mom and I are booked on a normal flight today, first class. It’s how it’s always been whenever we travel with the Blades for their away games. Supporting them from a distance. Separate, but together. Cheerleaders, hanging out in the background.

“Kavleen, no.”

Looking up, I see my mom’s face has dropped.

“I think you should wear it now,” she insists. “It’s a beautiful dress.”

“Yes, it is. But planes get cold. And you know I love to be comfortable. That means wearing pants or shorts.”

“Wear it for me?”

Imagining myself in the fussy material as I sit in a cramped airplane seat makes my skin itch. “I would rather not, but I’ll save it for a special occasion, promise.” I prop my suitcase back up. “Plus, there’s no time. If we don’t leave right now, we might actually miss the flight.”

Going to the door, I wait for her to follow.

She’s distinctlynotfollowing.

“What is it?” I ask, starting to feel anxious.

“I—I didn’t want to say anything, but you’ll want to look special when we land in Seattle.”

The hairs on the back of my neck stand up. “… Why?”

“Don’t get mad,” she says in a rush. “But Tyler is going to pick us up at the airport. And I know you two are fighting, but he promised he got something planned that will show you how sorry he?—”

My luggage falls to the ground. The heels of my palms grind against my eyelids. There’s this sensation of my throat wanting to close. I need to scream or cry orsomethingto clear it up.

My mom’s saying there’s no pressure (really?!) but also how we shouldn’t throw away our relationship without a sit-down conversation.

Without a word, I go lock myself in the bathroom. Outside the door is a soft scuffling sound, a few moments later.

“I’m not choosing him over you, though I know that’s what it feels like,” my mother mumbles. “Just—the team finally has a bit of a break from playing, and all Tyler wants to do is see you. You can show up, even if it’s to yell at him, right? Because what’s there to lose if you do?”

What she really means is,What other options do you have?

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