Page 28 of A Lot to Unpack
‘Balance is not something I’ve had, historically,’ I confess. I experience something similar to how I’d imagine it is when your life flashes before your eyes, except for me it’s a speedy montage of all of the times I’ve fallen. From tripping over kerbs to stumbling over thin air, to actually stacking it on the ice – yep, I have previous – it seems unlikely that balance is something I’m going to be able to find tonight.
Inside the ice rink you can tell you’re in a sporty place but, just as Logan said, the lights are low, there’s a disco ball, Dua Lipa is pumping from the speakers. Here goes nothing.
Logan helps me on with my skates and then leads me out onto the ice. For the most part, everyone is going around in a circle, like they’re on a track.
‘We stick to the edges, to start with,’ he explains. ‘That way you can take it slow, no one will knock you.’
‘I’ll knock myself,’ I joke. ‘But okay.’
He takes me by the hand and sort of drags me onto the ice, moving me just slowly enough to keep me on my feet, but I feel like if he lets go of my hands, I’ll drop to the ice in a second.
‘Don’t let go of me,’ I say, my voice wobbling slightly.
‘Don’t worry, I got you,’ he replies, laughing a little.
Logan looks like he skates even more confidently than he walks – which makes sense, as he explains to me how he’s been playing ice hockey his whole life. He asks me about sports I played at school, and I don’t know how to say that my most competitive sport was trying to get out of PE every week, so I just list the stupid girly sports they made us do. At our school, football was only for the boys, netball was the sport for the girls – and don’t even get me started ranting about the fact that they made us play in skirts. Fucking skirts, for sport. When you’re an insecure teen, with stretchmarks on your thighs, trust me whenI say that you carry a lifelong vendetta against the angry woman with the whistle who made you repeatedly attempt the high jump in a pleated blue mini skirt.
‘The more confident you are, the easier it is,’ he tells me – and he’s right, I am finding it easier, and not only the ice skating. I suppose it’s true of everything really, and we’re told time and time again that men really rate confidence in a woman, so after an hour of flirting – and Logan making it perfectly clear that he’s interested – I decide to be brave, to treat this more like an actual date, to take the bull by the horns. Well, the Canadian by the hips.
Look, I’m sure it was suave, sexy and sophisticated in another universe. In this universe, however, it takes Logan by surprise and as he backs up in a panic he starts to flap around – first backwards, then forwards, face down on the ice as he slides across the rink.
I don’t have the skills to hurry over there, and as I watch other more capable people rush to his aid, I try to ignore the ick alarm going off in my head. Well, when someone does something embarrassing, but you already love them, it’s fine. When it’s someone new, yikes, the second-hand embarrassment is contagious.
Oh, boy. I can see from here that his nose is bleeding. The blood is flowing from his face, it’s on the ice – it looks like something way worse has gone on. Not that falling and hurting yourself isn’t bad, but a little blood goes a long way, so it looks more like someone has skated over his fingers and popped them clean off.
‘I’m all right, I’m all right,’ he reassures me as he approaches me, skating steady now he’s back on his feet. ‘You just startled me, is all.’
‘Logan, I’m so, so sorry,’ I say, placing my hand on his shoulder. ‘Are you okay? Do you need to see a doctor?’
‘I’m all right, really,’ he insists. ‘My pride hurts more than anything.’
‘Everyone falls,’ I reassure him. ‘It’s not a pride thing.’
‘I wish I could tell them it was because you took me by surprise, when you grabbed my ass,’ he replies as he examines the fingers that were pinching his nostrils closed. ‘I think it’s stopped – it’s worse than it looks, I just have a sensitive nose.’
Ignore the alarm in your head, Liberty, you crazy person. There’s nothing wrong with having a sensitive nose. You’re clinging to this to find something wrong with this man, like you find something wrong with everyone.
‘Can I help you home?’ I ask. ‘Help you get cleaned up?’
‘Sure, thanks,’ he replies. ‘I don’t live far from here.’
Logan is right, his apartment is walking distance from the ice rink – I guess that makes this his local. I hope he doesn’t feel like he can’t show his face here again. Jokes aside, there is no shame in falling. I’m glad he isn’t truly hurt.
Logan’s apartment is very much the bachelor pad you would expect of a single thirty-something man. I don’t know what he does for a living – we didn’t get that far – but whatever it is, it means he can buy a lot of tech.
‘Nice place,’ I say, turning to face him, only to see him peeling off his t-shirt to reveal his toned torso.
‘Thanks,’ he replies. ‘Hey, I hope you don’t think I fell down on purpose, to get you back here…’
He grins, showing me that he’s joking. The thought hadn’t crossed my mind, until he said it, and now all I can think about is the fact that I probably do deserve to be murdered for my naivety.
I can tell he’s trying to lighten the mood though, and I appreciate it.
‘Can I kiss you?’ he asks.
Oh, boy. I’ve been so, so terrible at the dating game since my split. But I’m here, I do fancy him, and it could be a good way to test the waters. And it’s only a kiss, right? If I mess this up, never mind, I’ll be back in the UK before I know it. I owe it to myself, to try to move on… right? No, I’m not sure either, but it feels like what I’m supposed to do.
I nod my head.
