37. #LosingU, November 2018

Pavel vaulted over the top of the seats in the Edmonton airport's lounge to land next to her. "Day-yah!"

"Don't pull your back again," Daya chided automatically, without taking her eyes from the phone screen.

"My back is peachy. It's your face that's the problem."

She bumped his suede-covered shoulder with her fist. "My face? What, do I have acne?"

Pavel pried her fingers from the phone. "Yes, your face. For Juliet, sure, go ahead, lay on the angst. She was thirteen, her boyfriend died, her brother died, her bunny died. Shakespeare himself also died. All very sad."

She threw her palms up in surrender. "So, what's your problem?"

"What's an okay face for Juliet, is a wrong face for the girl who'd just booked her ticket to the Canadian Nationals through the hard work and titanic efforts. Not to mention her dashing partner."

"Oh, stop bragging, or I'll tell Belousova on you."

"Don't deflect. The point is, what works for Juliet, it won't work for Cinderella. You must look at me with eternal joy at the Nationals. Reach out with it to the judges, the audience and the little green Martians."

"And I will."

Pavel hesitated. "Look, I'd rather you acted sad when you're happy than vice versa.  You should glow with success, and you're not. What's wrong?"

She darted a glance at her phone. Still nothing. As if she would have missed its buzzing. "My boyfriend walked out at the end of our short, and he didn't call me since, okay? I don't understand what's wrong..."

Pavel squinted. "Wait... that's the lone red-head? Big blue parka, horrid posture?"

She nodded.

"The way he looked at us, I thought we should have splurged on the synchronized swimming lessons in case the ice melts. Are you sure he wasn't at the free?"

"Positive. He mentioned about applying to Uni... maybe he got back to UBC... got sick of the long-distance thing." Her shoulders slumped.

He ground his fist into the palm of his other hand. His accent thickened to comical. "Need me to talk to this cowboy man-to-man? Explain a couple things about treating a girl right?"

She eyed the artistically balled fist and the well-tended skin over the knuckles. "Mike is as much a cowboy as you're Russian mafia."

"Am I? Or do I just pretend to be rotten intelligentsia?" Pavel chuckled, then leaned backwards, snuggling her shoulders, lifting her phone up in the air for a selfie. "Want bait photos? You and I, looking pretty, soft light—your cowboy will run barefoot across the wheat fields of Manitoba for you."

"Don't be silly. But take one for Shanti, she'll love it. Honestly, I suspect it doesn't even have to include me."

"She could ask herself, and nicely. Now, gimme a glam Cinderella smile..." The camera snapped a few times.

"There you go," Pavel tossed the phone back in her lap. "Hashtag it with #BoundForNationals and all that."

She took the phone and scrolled through the snapshots. Did Pavel's smile lost its fake it till you make it vibe since Belousova, true to her promise, had switched from pestering him to honeyed praise? Or was she imagining things?

"Are you happy?" she asked.

"Hell, yes! I'll be even happier if we get on the podium in the Nationals. Hint, hint, nudge, nudge."

Daya nodded. "No matter how much I want to win, you want it more. What are you drinking? Because I need a swig of that."

"Pfft, one man's kool-aid is another's poison." He chewed inside of his lip. They sat in silence watching the airport-speed WiFi upload to IG.

"Look, that's between us, okay? I use my mother's maiden name, not my step-dad's. And never—my biological father's. But if I did, you'd recognize it." Pavel licked his chapped lips. "An open secret is the worst kind. You know how small our snake pit of best friends is... Tongues wag. Plus, there is a familial resemblance. It didn't take long for the curious to put two and two together. "

She added the hashtag and avoided scrutinizing Pavel's face. Internet could provide her with plenty of pictures of the nineties' figure skating stars, and if the others could sleuth it out, she could too. But screw that.

He snorted like it was a big joke. "Before I was old enough for the birds-and-bees, I couldn't for the life of mine figure out why the heck everyone always seemed so bloody disappointed in me. Like I was proofed against fall, or troubles or whatever. So, I overcompensate, I guess."

"Screw your dad," Daya said with feeling. "He had his glory days. Let's earn ours, no matter who's watching and judging."

"Including the cowboy?"

"Gosh, I hope he does..." She nearly dropped her phone, her fingers went so numb. She checked the chat, the Twitter, the Instagram, even the e-mail. "Still nothing."

"Hey, it'll sort itself out," Pavel spread his arms over the back of the seats. "You'll see. And if not... well, Russian mafia to the rescue."

She patted his knee and stared at the screen, willing Mike to type already. Anything, Mike, please... She would have to put the phone in the airplane mode soon, and she'd just go crazy if she wouldn't hear from him.

***

She didn't hear from him, and she didn't go crazy.

Instead, she landed in Toronto and squeezed into the back of Shanti's car between the two child's car seats. Shanti's eyes caught hers in the rear view mirror a few times, but she looked away. Rajni and Veer wanted to see every picture of her as a Cinderella and Pavel as the Prince, so she scrolled through every shot she had on her phone for them ten times. Rajni opined that her dress was all wrong and should have been baby-blue.

A "Congratulations, Daya!" ice-cream cake waited in the fridge, and she ate a dangerous portion.

She absolutely didn't check her phone.

Not until she crawled into her bed.

A bit later, Shanti rapped on her door. "Daya, I have a mom-radar. I can detect crying anywhere in the house." And she squeezed through the door and unceremoniously plopped next to Daya, scattering the growing tower of used tissues over the bedspread.

"Mike broke up with me..." Daya sniffled, pushing the phone off the bed. Between blowing her nose and hiccuping, it took longer than it should have to get the story out.

"Oh, sis, I'm so sorry." Shanti collected the phone and scrolled through it, searching for Daya's mistakes, just like she used to do with her homework... "You're tired after a huge competition, and he's a total ass—"

The phone buzzed.

"Aha," Shanti said, reading the screen. Daya hopped off the bed, reaching for the device that Shanti held overhead in an outstretched arm.

"What is it, what is it, what is it?"

"A lesson in not jumping to conclusions." Shanti puffed, straining to stay on tiptoe, and keeping her arm straight, as Daya tried to claw her way to the phone.

Being an athlete who'd just advanced into Nationals, even weakened by tears and post-competition slump, Daya wrestled Shanti down on the bed, and grabbed the phone. It pumped out a few text messages in a row.

Daya, I'm sick as a dog.

Actually, Toby's fine, I'm sick.

So sorry, I missed your skate. Congratulations on advancing into the Nationals!

"Signed, your loving auntie M..." Daya muttered.

Shanti flopped on her belly and propped her chin on her hand, her eyes bright with curiosity. "Did you expect sexting?"

Daya hated the next words that came out of her mouth, but she said it. "Sorry, can I—I want to be alone."

"Oh." Shanti climbed out of bed with a disappointed sigh, while Daya's finger hovered over the contact list.

Once Shanti gently shut the door, Daya dialed. "Mike, sweetheart..."

"I'm sorry..." Mike murmured on the other end. He sounded hoarse and subdued. Concern scratched Daya's innards, but as Mike went on apologizing and explaining, her angst turned to disbelief.

"Mike, it's Pavel's job to project the character he is portraying to the audience. It's my job to do the same. Gods, you've seen it in the Olympics. Your mother was an actress! How can you be so dense?"

"It's one thing to see it on TV, it's different when it's an arm's length from you," Mike argued softly. "Daya, I hadn't seen you for months. You forbade me to come and see you. What was I supposed to think? What?"

She took a deep breath in. "Mike, do you remember how it felt when we were together? The racing heart? The shortness of breath? Rising core temperature? Don't you think it would seriously interfere with moves that require precision and focus?"

"I understand, but it's not unheard of skaters to get married." Weak as his voice was, it wasn't hesitant.

"You've looked it up... of course, you've looked it up." His love for information could net him all the wrong answers he had ever wanted. He probably had vital statistics at hand, ready to quote them to her, for all she knew.

She exhaled in frustration and pictured Mike rolling his head back, leaning it against the headrest of his couch. She stretched out on the bed. Maybe if she laughed it off, he'd come back to his senses and it all would be fine. "I'm sure some librarians inter-marry. Should I worry about your relationship with Carol?"

There was a long pause on Mike's end, something that caught her by surprise. It was a rhetorical question, for goodnes's sake, not something he should be thinking over before replying. What the hell?! "Mike?"

"Carol is twice our age and married," he mumbled in response. "But no... you don't have to worry about the librarians... I'm sure some marry one another, it's just not public knowledge like star athletes... Sorry, I'm so sorry... My mind is reeling. Maybe we shouldn't be talking right now."

Hearing him apologize didn't lift the dark cloud from her mind. He didn't sound relieved at all, rather stiffer and guiltier. Her cheeks heated. Oh, they should be talking, all right. And right bloody now!

"In Calgary, you'd told me, I wanted you because you were handy. Now when we're thousands of miles away from one another, you suspect that I'm banging Pavel, while stringing you along. What do you take me for, Mike?"

Mike whimpered, but she didn't let him speak. She'd finally figured out what plagued her. It was like an electric bulb went up in her head. A floodlight.

"Until you accept that I love you, you, Mike Giacomo Wilson, and that I love you unconditionally and unreasonably... and for the love of all gods, faithfully, we will be miserable. And I can't convince you. You must do it for yourself. Just this one thing, Mike. Please."

The magic of telecommunication crackled across Canada, straining to keep the connection between them during the long pause.

His voice remained dull. "I understand. I wish I could lie... but what's the point. I can't do it right now, Daya. Curse me for an idiot, but I'm seeing things I shouldn't, and I can't get over it. I had no shortage of time, and I wasted it on doubts. So, I need more time. I'd laugh, if I wasn't weeping."

"I'll wait till the end of forever," Daya said instead of goodbye, curling her fingers till the fingernails made imprints in her palms. "I love you."

He didn't respond with the iconic I know.

He just hung up, leaving her with a dead phone... and she didn't even ask him about his thesis and UBC, so it ended up being all about her, as usual. Why didn't I ask?

"Well?" Shanti asked, slipping into the room again. "How did it go?"

Her timing was beyond suspicious, but Daya didn't care. She put her arms around her sister. "I ran away, Shanti. I ran away and left him hanging. I've lost Mike, and the fault is mine. But I couldn't have stayed then, and I can't go back now. Not anymore. Not after earning my spot in the Nationals. It's hopeless."

"Things'll look up, you'll see," Shanti promised.

Daya pushed her hair back and sighed. "They don't have to. I love him, I don't want that to change. As trite as it sounds, I'm ready to let my heart out on the ice. I have nothing to hide."

"Love is never trite," Shanti said. "It's just that some people are petty and cynical."