I tilted my head. “You’ve ice skated, and didn’t you used to play roller hockey as a kid? You’ll do great.” I stood up, took his elbow, and helped him to his feet. Shaky on his legs like a newborn colt, the white polyester of his suit gleaming in the lights of the glittering disco ball, Gabe, usually so stable and self-assured, looked beyond adorable trying to get the hang of things. After a few laps around the rink, he finally caught on and was able to successfully stay on his feet while doing “The Hustle” along with the enthusiastic crowd.
Settling into the motions, everything seemed to be going well until the DJ cued up “Y.M.C.A.,” the crowd erupting into cheers. We skated, hand in hand, to the opening verse, groovin’ and movin’ to the brass beats, and just as the Village People launched into the famous chorus, Gabe and I threw our still clasped hands up in an all-too exuberant Y, sending us off balance and knocking us flat on our bedazzled behinds.
Gabe’s faux-fro flew off his head and launched into the middle like an errant missile with no regard for its victims. A group of teens, too consumed with taking selfies to pay attention to the scene, rolled straight into the tumbleweave and quickly became a mound of polyester and gold lamé on the floor, causing a multiperson pileup on the disco freeway.
In an effort to not cause any more casualties, Gabe and I army-crawled toward the wall for refuge, not bothering to stifle our fits of laughter. Gabe pulled himself up, and once steady he turned to offer his hand to me, which I appreciatively reached for. I was about halfway to a standing position when he lost his footing for a second time, pulling me down on top of him, and we once again fell to the floor like a pile of bricks.
Through giggles and tear-streamed faces, Gabe managed to squeak out, “I guess it’s not so fun to stay at the Y.M.C.A.,” which sent us into another round of belly laughs.
We sat up, and I slid my jacket down past my elbows and rotated my shoulder, which was throbbing a bit, to see if I’d done any real damage.
Gabe’s voice turned more serious. “You okay? Did you get hurt?” He gently took my arm and grazed a thumb over my skin, the touch sending tingles to the tips of my fingers. “Here, let me take a look.”
I stretched out my hand and then made a fist. “No, nothing too serious. I’ll probably just have a monster-size bruise tomorrow . . . but so worth it,” I said with another laugh and wiped again at my still-tearing eyes.
He ran his hand down my back, stopping midway. As he pulled me closer, only inches apart, I closed my eyes and inhaled the sweet smell of Gabe’s clean aftershave. My heart sped up remembering just what a good kisser he was. The fullness of his soft lips. The way his mouth would cover mine as our breath fell into an impatient rhythm. The way his fingers delicately wove through my hair, causing goose bumps to form up and down my arms. The thrill of the memory was almost as exhilarating as having Gabe inches from me now.
With his eyes locked on mine and my pulse thudding in my ears even louder than the disco beats echoing through the rink, I leaned forward in eager anticipation, and just as we almost kissed, I felt the stopper on the front of a roller skate nudge forcefully into my hip, pulling us out of our spell.
“Thss’cuse me, can I get by, pleassthe?” a young girl relying on the wall for balance asked with an annoyed huff and prominent lisp through her missing top front teeth.
Gabe and I snapped back into the reality of sitting on the floor in the middle of a speedway. “Sorry,” we mumbled and pulled ourselves fully up to a standing position.
“Let’s get these things off before we really hurt ourselves . . . or somebody else,” Gabe joked, already leaning down to untie his skates midstride.
“Agreed. I don’t have collision insurance at Mimi’s,” I jested back. “Or any insurance for that matter!”
We exited the rink, changed back into our own shoes, and headed to the snack bar for a drink.
Gabe glanced down at our passes. “Our choice of beer, soda, or hot chocolate? What’ll it be?”
“Hmm . . . a hot chocolate sounds good.”
He nodded. “Be right back.”
I found us a small table overlooking the rink underneath a few propane heaters, pulled a couple of chairs close to one another, and settled in to wait for him. A few minutes later, he approached with two steaming cups piled high with whipped cream and set them down on napkins before taking the seat beside me.
“I had a really great time tonight,” I said, wrapping my hands around the warm Styrofoam. “You said you changed and I wasn’t sure, but you do seem different somehow. Or maybe we’re both not the same people we used to be. Either way, this feels nice—to be here with you.” And it did feel nice. Surprisingly normal, as if no time had passed, let alone seven years. For the first time in weeks, it didn’t feel like an Adam-size elephant was sitting beside me. I was realizing I could actually have a life post-Adam, and that maybe I hadn’t lost everything after all.
Gabe nodded, eyeing me over the hot chocolate he’d been blowing on. “It feels more than nice. It feels . . . right. You know, Mom would’ve gotten such a kick out of seeing us here together like this. She never stopped talking about you. Asking about you,” he said, his voice dropping off at the end of the sentence. He cleared his throat and continued, “Anyway, how are your parents doing? Still selling antiques in Woodbury? Other than the fact they’re such diehard Red Sox fans, I always really liked them.”
I had heard Gabe’s question about my parents, but couldn’t answer, too distracted by what he’d said. “Mom would’ve gotten such a kick out of seeing us here together.” The fact Gabe was speaking in the past tense and trying to change the subject made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end—no—“Wait, Gabe, your mom . . . ?”
His face turned more serious. “She passed away two years ago.”
All the air whooshed from my lungs, and black spots speckled my vision. I hadn’t even imagined Elise could be gone. She was such a force of life. I could still smell the floral notes of her overwhelming perfume, hear the echoes of her contagious laughter, and taste her unparalleled paella. I reached out and covered Gabe’s hand with my own.
I was surprised to feel my eyes wet with tears and quickly lifted my hand to conceal them. “I’m so sorry, I had no idea.”
“Even in those final days, she begged and pleaded with me to call you. She never gave up hope we’d end up back together. But the problem, you see, was that I never told her I was the reason things ended, that I put my career and goals ahead of my heart. Ahead of you. And that I chose wrong.”
“Seems we both did,” I offered.