Fake Skating(69)

“Wait, what?” It felt like someone had doused me with a bucket of ice water. I knew they got married in college because she was pregnant, but I hadn’t realized it’d been like that, so sudden. So soon after they met.

“Out of nowhere, she calls to say she wants to give up a full-ride academic scholarship to be an Air Force wife. She worked her ass off to get the Fricklinhauger Fellowship, but suddenly she says she wants to leave.” My grandpa shook his head and said, “I still can’t believe it.”

If I had felt that I was slapped by ice water, now I was drowning in it. Breathing became harder.

“She had a Fricklinhauger Fellowship?” This was literally the first I’d heard of this—in my life. “This can’t be true. Like, I knew she was smart and that she met my dad at school, but she was a Fricklinhauger fellow?”

What the hell? This was unbelievable!

They awarded like fiveFricklinhauger Fellowships a year to high school graduates, fellowships that covered all expenses because the recipients were literally geniuses.

It felt like my world was imploding. How much more didn’t I know about my parents? Why didn’t I know this?

You’d think, as I rambled incessantly about Harvard for most of my life, she might’ve mentioned it.

“She’s brilliant, your ma,” Grandpa Mick said, his mouth curving into something close to a smile. “She used to work on math equations at my games—when she was like six—because she said it was more fun than watching hockey.”

I couldn’t quite form any words—my brain was still processing everything. My mom, a genius. We had never talked about that. Ever.

What else didn’t I know about my mom…? And why did it make my heart hurt?

“But she bailed on the fellowship after less than a semester.”

Instantly, I thought of Harvard, of how badly I wanted it, of how hard I’d worked to hopefully get it.

Had it been like that for my mom… before she had to give it up?

I looked at his face and realized she’d quit because of me.

Me.

The silence felt heavy.

I’d taken her Harvard away from her.

The panic and anxiety I’d been fighting the past few years started rising and rising, stealing my breath the way they always did, until a rough hand found mine.

“And don’t you for one minute think it was because of you,” he said firmly. Protectively.

My heavy eyes met his and he said, “She could’ve stayed; your grandma was ready to move there and help. We had a plan all figured out.”

“You did?” I pictured my grandma’s face, and, yeah—that tracked. She’d been the sweetest, so of course she would’ve moved to another state to take care of her daughter and a baby.

“But your mother was adamant that the only option was to marry your dad and move with him—he’d just gotten a new assignment when she got pregnant.”

“Why wouldn’t she—”

“It doesn’t matter now,” he said, cutting me off.

“Oh.” I thought of my dad’s persuasiveness when he thought he was right, the way he couldn’t even fathom that his way wasn’t the only way. “So he said it was the only option.”

My grandpa shrugged, confirmation without him actually confirming. My stomach dropped.

“It gets worse,” he said, a soft but guarded smile cracking his weathered face. “I showed up at your mom’s dorm and told her she was coming home with me.”

“You did?”

“I did. I was in the middle of telling her to start putting her shit in boxes when her boyfriend showed up and asked me to leave.”

“My dad asked you to leave?”

“That was when I put him in a headlock just to shut him up so he’d listen, and your mother started crying, and the little dorm RA announced that if we didn’t knock it off, she was going to have to issue a residential citation.”

I watched as Grandpa looked down at his hands—he was clutching them so tightly they started to turn red.

Wait—was he nervousto tell me all of this?

“In hindsight, I should’ve slowed down, because I probably drove your mom to be more stubborn about what she wanted to do, but it was clear to me what was going to happen. He was career military. And that meant moving from base to base and taking my daughter—and grandkid—with him.”

I could tell he was reliving it, that Grandpa Mick had just been transported back to the night he learned he was losing his daughter.

“That’s probably enough of twenty questions,” I said, suddenly feeling tired.

“It was only four,” he said, his eyes searching my face.

“Yeah, but it was enough.” I didn’t want him to see me try to absorb everything. Didn’t want him to see the panic stirring in my chest.

Just breathe.

He watched me for another minute, then nodded and stood. “You should get to bed now.”

“Yeah,” I agreed, nodding. “I’m pretty tired.”

“Good,” he said, walking to the door. “That means I can finally sleep because you’re done walking in circles.”

“I thought you said it wasn’t keeping you up.”

“Sometimes I lie,” he said, and then he was gone.