Page 178 of We Can't Be Friends

“We’ve established that.”

“You need to believe it. You also need to know that skating didn’t take him from you, and there’s no reason you had to give it up. Do you miss it?” She nods. “If you would have said no, we would have turned around and left, but you didn’t.

“I think you’ve been scared these past nine years. Enjoying skating would mean you moved on, forgot about what happened. What happened will never leave you, Chloe, but that doesn’t mean you must suffer—especially at your own hand. I brought you here to help heal a part of your grief. I want you to be free of the shame, guilt, and pain you feel. You’ve held onto this burden all alone, but it’s no longer only yours to bear. I’m here to ride it alongside you and take this step with you.”

She licks her bottom lip. “Okay.”

Hand in hand, she steps onto the ice.

CHLOE

You can do this, Chloe.

I repeat the mantra, and on the tenth time, I swear it’s Aaron telling me I can. Almost as if he’s giving me permission to relinquish the guilt I’ve held onto.

Cal was right about one thing. . . Okay, a few things.

Grief isn’t linear, and neither is healing.

People move on. People forget.

It’s okay for me not to, and it’s okay for me to miss him.

For the second time since Aaron died, I don’t feel trapped by what happened, what I’ve allowed myself to believe was my fault.

For the second time it’s because of the man standing like a giraffe walking for the first time in front of me.

“You don’t know how to skate, do you?”

“No. I should have told you sooner.”

“Take me home at the end of the date, and I’ll teach you,” I proposition him, hand on my hip.

“Dais, you were already coming home with me.”

Suddenly, I’m second-guessing myself. “I might be rusty though. . .”

“Take a lap. I’ll be right here.”

You can do this, Chloe.

Dropping his hands, I turn–okay, we can still do that.

It’s like putting on pants, one leg at a time, but this time it’s one skate at a time. I push off on my right. Then the left. Repeat.

I stop.

Closing my eyes and breathing. Remembering how much I loved this: the feeling of fresh ice beneath my skate. Untouched. Possibilities.

Pushing off my right skate again, my left follows, repeating this process until I make it halfway around the lap. My muscle memory is coming back to me, fast and fluid.

Three-quarters of the way, I can’t fight off my smile anymore.

I let loose.

Pure joy takes over my mind and body.

“Rusty my ass!” Cal shouts as I pass by, speeding up on my second lap. My smile grows, taking up my entire face.

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