AFTER KATIE AND BRENDAN’S Tiff on the Porch

Star Prairie, WI

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KATIE DIDN’T EXPECT Brendan to be up at four again the next morning. She assumed he would finally balk at his rude introduction to farm life and would sleep in or, worse, split in the middle of the night. She would have deserved it, too. But there he was, standing in the kitchen, fully dressed and pouring coffee into two mugs when she came down the stairs.

“You’re still here,” she blurted.

“I am,” he said placidly.

She was surprised and had no real idea what to make of it. “How’d you sleep?” she asked simply because the silence demanded filling.

“We’re doing small talk now?” Brendan handed her one of the mugs.

“We are at this hour, yeah.”

Brendan shrugged. “Let’s say the work means I didn’t notice the springs in my back as much I could.”

Katie bristled. But before she could snap at him, Brendan held out a placating hand.

“Hey, no. Not like that. I appreciate the hospitality. I appreciate that we’re trying to figure this out. Maybe I shouldn’t talk at this hour either.”

Katie’s anger, if it didn’t deflate, shifted from him to herself. She needed to stop thinking the worst of him. But she probably also needed to stop thinking the worst of herself.

She doubted if what she’d done over the last few days counted as anything but testing behavior. But all the therapy terminology in the world wouldn’t make that knowledge useful. She either needed to give Brendan the benefit of the doubt, or she needed to tell him to leave.

She didn’t want him to leave.

Beside her, he glanced at the clock on the kitchen wall. “We should get going, yeah?”

Katie nodded mutely. She walked beside him as they made their way to the barn to start mixing the cows’ food. She kept being impressed. He’d floundered at first, but was undoubtedly finding his feet, with the work and with her.

How did he keep doing this? Here he was, months after she’d abandoned him, worming his way into the parts of her life he had always hated, like an alchemist. Or a thief. And it was good having him here, better than she wanted it to be. Brendan right beside her, his body so familiar, so a part of her own imperfect one, was overwhelming.

She felt immensely guilty for the secret she was still carrying about her knee.

***

LATER THAT MORNING Katie updated some of the cows’ medical logs they kept in the small addition at the back of the house that they used for an office. As she left she found Brendan laughing in the yard with Rob. She had missed the joke, but she didn’t miss the way Brendan’s whole body lit up when he laughed. His hair was standing on end where he’d run his fingers through it, and there were streaks of mud and probably manure on his jeans. Katie had never expected to see him like this, so easy and happy, off the ice and unaware of her. She had to stop in the office doorway to stare.

Suddenly she could picture the rest of her life looking exactly like this, dirty and happy and strong. But that was fantasy. Brendan would get tired of the animals eventually, if he wasn’t already; they could be difficult and strange and as full of heartbreak as they were of love. If it wasn’t the animals, it would be the dirt, or the work that never ended, or life out here, so far from a city. And if it wasn’t any of those things, it would be her knee.

And then where would she be? Alone, in a way that would be impossible for anyone else to ever understand. Because his limbs were her limbs, and his victories were her victories. Which is why that damn seventeenth place in Stockholm had always made her so mad. He was better than that. He’d been better than that. Even apart, he was supposed to be better than that.

But maybe, right here and right now, for this one moment, fifth or seventeenth or first ... none of it mattered anymore. Katie felt something unspool inside of her, as if a life in the world was somehow, suddenly possible.

“What?” Brendan had caught her staring. Rob gave them both a knowing look — Katie hoped Brendan didn’t see it — and strolled away.

She shook her head, but it was clear he wasn’t going to let it go. “You’re starting to look like you belong here instead of like you showed up for a photoshoot.”

“I didn’t —”

“You did.” Katie levered herself upright from the doorway and started to walk away. She needed space to process this.

“Where are you going?” he called out to her.

“We’re not the lone survivors of a zombie apocalypse. I need to drive into town. Meanwhile, chickens need feeding. Berries need picking. When you’re done making friends, make sure someone gives you some work to do.”

***

THERE WAS SOMETHING about getting on I-94 and leaving the farm behind with Brendan in its care that Katie found exhilarating, assuming he was still there when she got back. But she couldn’t focus on that now. These hours in Minneapolis weren’t about their issues. They were about focusing on herself and getting stronger and happier, regardless of what Brendan did or did not do.

The physical therapy regimen for her knee was not as aggressive as it could have been, but she wasn’t getting ready for a competition or looking for a non-surgical fix. Rather, she wanted to keep the pain down and the functionality up, buying herself time until she could get her head around the necessary, but nerve-wracking, medical intervention. She was unsettled enough by her competitive career ending; the looming surgery only made her feel worse about it.

Despite all that, Katie looked forward to her physical therapy appointments as much as her therapy-therapy appointments. Not because she was particularly sanguine about the more challenging parts of self-care, but because they gave her the opportunity to get on the ice without anyone in her family having to know about it.

Like most days when she came in after a PT session, the rink was crowded. Public ice time in the summers meant the rink was often swarmed with people, many of whom were just trying to cool off in the mosquito-laden heat.

Katie didn’t mind. Her leg wasn’t in any condition to do anything flashy, and she didn’t want to draw attention to herself. She was happy to skate a few laps around the rink before going into the center to practice her spins and do a few single and double jumps. It wasn’t the freedom of doing the impossible that she so loved in her Olympic career, but it was hers and hers alone. In these months of trying to accept the state of her life, body, and relationship with Brendan, being on the ice without her partner had been a real help.

Physical therapy also enabled her to push through her obstacles and relinquish some of the constant worry she gave her body. Even for an hour a week, that was usually a blessing. But today, she struggled with handing that over.

Brendan been sleeping in her family’s guest room for almost a week now. He got up in the dark and did every single task she set in front of him, almost entirely without complaint. Even when he knew, had to know, that she had half set them up to drive him away.

He deserved better from her, and that was going to have to start with the truth. About her leg and about everything she was afraid of. She wasn’t sure she was ready yet. But she knew, for the first time, that she would be soon.

***

THE DINNER HOUR WAS long past when Katie returned to the farm. She might have been stiff and sweaty, but she was also ravenous and was looking forward to devouring leftovers while standing over the stove. She had one last round of work with the cows before she was done for the day, but food had to happen first.

Katie did not expect her access to leftovers and the stove to be blocked by empty glass jars scattered over every surface and Brendan wrestling with a multi-quart pot of jam. The eastern sky outside the window was velvety blue with twilight, and the old glass-shaded lamp over the kitchen table glowed warmly.

“Oh no,” Katie said, dropping her bag and keys by the kitchen door. “Who let you do this?”

“What?” Brendan tried to blow his bangs out of his eyes. “Your mom showed me.’

“You’re going to give everyone botulism.”

“I have been informed, presumably reliably, that the natural acids in berries are enough to ward it off. And your recipe has lemon. So it should be fine.” Brendan was right, of course, but he didn’t sound particularly convinced.

Katie sighed loudly. Brendan was charming. This bullshit situation wasn’t, however. “All right. You’re approaching this as a hobbyist. But this is part of our business, which means this kitchen shouldn’t look like a third grade cooking class exploded in it. I’m going to get this organized, you’re going to not burn that jam, and later we’re going to find a way to get back at my mom for inflicting this on both of us.”

Brendan, she realized when she stopped talking, was staring at her slightly starry-eyed.

“What?” she asked defensively.

“I missed this.”

“Do you have some culinary past you never told me about?” she asked as she pushed past him to rearrange the jars waiting for jam into neat rows. She could hear the sound of the TV drifting in from the living room and felt like she was a teenager again with a boy over, her family keeping a quiet eye on them from a distance. Not that she ever had anyone other than Brendan over to begin with.

“No. I meant me trying to figure out something new and you trying to make it perfect.”

Katie was glad she had work to do. She couldn’t face his kindness or affection right now, wouldn’t be able to until she told him about her knee. She promised herself she would get there. But first both she and the cows needed to eat. “You know what would make this actually perfect?” she asked.

“What?” Despite her brusqueness Brendan was still smiling at her.

“You getting out of my way enough that I can stuff some food in my mouth before I have to go visit those cows.”

***

BEER AT SUNSET ON THE days Katie didn’t have to go into the city became a ritual. Her mother, Jesse, and Rob left them alone for it, and Katie was grateful. Especially after the jam incident. She was relieved not to have to deal with knowing looks or sidelong glances every time she sat down next to Brendan on the old steps, close enough to touch. They didn’t, though. No matter how much time they spent in proximity with all the easy, casual physical interactions necessary to the chores, they kept space between them here. But it was charged, electric, and growing more so every day.

Sometimes they talked about small things: The little events of the day. The weather. What to make for dinner the next time it was their turn to cook — her family had shamelessly added Brendan to her roster in that regard. One day, when a cow lost a calf after a particularly hard birth, Brendan sat in silent commiseration next to her, both of them sniffing occasionally before splitting one more beer.

Brendan never questioned her absences from the farm when she went to her therapy appointments. Katie had overheard him talking to his skaters on the phone or over Skype, offering advice and what assistance he could from a distance. But he never talked to her about those calls, never volunteered any details about the life he’d temporarily left behind in Denver. Eventually, Katie realized he wasn’t going to do either of those things, not unless she let him in and gave him permission.

She found, almost to her own surprise, that she wanted to know. Brendan may have wormed his way into her life here, but she missed skating with him and the world she’d left behind.

“Do you like it?” she asked one evening a week and a half after Brendan’s arrival. The sun had sunk below the horizon and the sky in the west was a vivid red, fading to the purple of an old bruise.

“What’s that?” Brendan looked sideways at her.

“Whatever you’ve been doing the last three months. Choreography, I guess.”

“Oh!” He smiled. “Yeah. I like it a lot, actually. I only don’t talk about it because I thought you wouldn’t want to hear.”

“I’m sorry. About that. It’s ... been hard. But you’re also just saying that because your kids won,” Katie said, cautiously teasing.

Brendan shook his head. “No. I’d love it if we didn’t win. Or if they didn’t even compete at all.”

“What’s it like?” Katie asked the next evening. The clouds were spectacular, streaked with gold and amber. She wished she could have a costume that looked that vivid.

Beside her, Brendan stared out at the view with at least as much awe. “You know how you knew exactly what the judges wanted?”

Katie nodded. He was right. She always had.

“It’s like that,” he said. “But knowing what other skaters need.”

“How do you know what you’re doing?” Katie asked the evening after that.

Brendan shrugged. “I don’t.”

The following night a storm came in, low and slow from the northwest. Lightning was visible for miles, and Katie and Brendan sat at the table in the kitchen, watching the thunderheads roll their way across the sky. It had been a hard day, and her knee was a dull ache that pulsed in time with the thunder.

“Do you think I would like it?” Katie asked between strikes.

Brendan shook his head. “Choreography? Probably not. But I think you might like working on the technical elements.”

He answered her questions, and he never answered anything but her questions. He didn’t push or assume or give her more information than she asked for. That didn’t feel like fear. That felt like respect. He wasn’t here to convince her of anything.

Katie stood abruptly. If she was going to ask Brendan about his work, if she was going to dig deep and finally see the appeal of his post-competition life on the ice, she owed him the truth about her own circumstances.

“I need to tell you something.” She tugged Brendan out of his chair and towards the door.

“Rain’s coming,” he protested.

“We won’t go far,” Katie said, even though she knew he was probably afraid of getting caught in a serious squall in the big emptiness of the farm. Especially with lightning on the horizon. Which was reasonable. “I just ... I just need some air and actual darkness. Or I’m never going to get the words out.”

She dragged him across the grass in the dark towards the main barn. She could hear the cows stirring. At this hour, they should have been quiet, but the impending storm and the sound of people who might be bringing more food must have had them on alert.

“I can’t see anything,” Brendan said, stumbling behind her in the dark.

“Good.”

Brendan stopped walking. Katie felt him twist his hand in her grip right before he grabbed her wrist in turn and tugged. She stumbled into him and caught herself with her hands on his chest.

“You said we wouldn’t go far. What’s going on?” Brendan demanded. The horizon flashed with lightning again and a cold wind blew up around them.

“You’re messing up my moment.” Katie didn’t feel ready. She had planned to keep walking until she felt ready.

Brendan drew in a breath that sounded like a hiss. “And you’re messing up my life. This wasn’t where I planned to spend my summer vacation. What is going on?”

And that was it, the rejection she’d known was coming from the moment he’d arrived. “I thought you were starting to enjoy it here.” She curled her hands in the fabric of his shirt, as if by hanging on tightly enough, he would always be with her. “I hate you sometimes, did you know that?”

“Crystal, goddamn clear, Katie. Now are you going to tell me why we’re out here, or are we going to get struck by lightning?”

Lightning, for a moment, seemed preferable, but then her anger kicked in, and it was beyond useful. If he really was going to leave, she had nothing to lose. Suddenly she was no longer worried about disappointing him with the failures of her body. Not when she could hurt him with them.

“I need surgery,” she said loudly so he could hear her over the sound of the wind. “On my knee. Probably before the end of the year. I don’t want to. And I’m scared. I don’t know how things will be after. Maybe good, or maybe not. And until you got me so furious with you, I was worried about letting you down because of it, even when we weren’t talking. But here we are.” She threw her hands up in the air in frustrated disgust.

She couldn’t read Brendan’s face in the dark, which gave her one more thing to be angry about — her own pointless plan for this confession.

Lightning flashed too close, and the hair on her arms stood up. The thunder came, too fast. The rain, gentle in a way that wouldn’t last, started falling.

Brendan looked up at the sky and then at her. “Can you run?” he asked. “Because I think we need to run.”

***

ROB WAS STANDING AT the door when they returned to the house, soaking wet and shaking with the exertion of their sudden sprint.

“Goodness, you two. Are you all right?” he asked, frowning and pulling the door closed behind them against the now-raging storm.

Katie nodded mutely; Brendan did the same. She wasn’t okay, far from it, but she really did not want to talk about it. With anyone.

“Did you find them?” she heard Jesse’s voice call from the direction of the office.

“Yeah, I’ve got ’em. Still in one piece.”

Are we, though? Before her family could fuss over them any more, Katie escaped upstairs.

***

SHE WAS SURPRISED TO find Brendan still there in the morning. Apparently he was sticking out this ruined summer vacation, though God knew why.

The next few days were quiet. They didn’t talk much, just kept their heads down and did the work. It reminded Katie of those fragile, awful, hopeful days after the disaster of Stockholm when they had reunited on the ice but hadn’t settled into their natural rhythm yet. Brendan wasn’t leaving. She wasn’t chasing him away. Something was about to happen. She just didn’t know what.

“I’m going into the city this afternoon,” she told him at lunch.

“Yeah?”

“I have a physical therapy appointment. I — thought you should know.”

Brendan didn’t blanch at the reminder that she was injured, and Katie no longer felt the need to hurt him with everything she couldn’t do anymore.

***

KATIE GOT BACK HOME from her physical therapy appointment — and another secret hour of skating — after sunset. This time, there was no Brendan making a disaster of the kitchen with his jam-making. As she covered a bowl of leftovers so they wouldn’t spatter and slid it into the microwave, she heard his voice call from the living room.

“Is that you?”

She didn’t need to ask who he meant. Having him here was so comfortable. But how to make that comfort last? “Yeah, just a minute.”

She walked into the living room a few moments later, holding her bowl of chili with her fingertips so it didn’t burn her hands. The sky beyond windows was a riot of gold and orange, but inside the room was dark, lit only by a lamp in the corner. Brendan was in the armchair next to it, his laptop open on his knees.

“What are you working on?” Katie sat down on the couch, adjacent to his chair. “Stuff for your kids?”

Brendan shook his head. “Um. Not exactly.”

He sounded — not guilty, but wary. Of her. She’d caught him out at something.

“Are you watching porn?” Katie was sure he wasn’t, but it was fun to watch the tips of his ears go red.

“In your mom’s house?! No.”

“Then why are you being weird?” Katie dug into her chili.

Brendan seemed to consider something for a moment. Then he stood up, laptop in hand. “D’you mind if I ...?” he gestured at the couch.

“Sure.” Definitely curious now, Katie set her bowl on the end table as Brendan sat next to her, the screen of his laptop angled so she couldn’t see it.

He took a breath, like the ones he took before they were about to attempt something new and potentially dangerous on the ice. He turned the laptop around so she could read the screen.

Katie squinted at the document he had open. It was full of the notations Brendan used when he was choreographing, a mixture of ISU notation and his own shorthand. It was definitely a figure skating program. But if it wasn’t for the kids he was helping coach ....

“I started working on a program. For us.”

Katie stared at him. Goosebumps broke out up and down her arms. Something in her soul thrilled. She never thought she’d hear Brendan say those words again.

Brendan squirmed a little in her silence. “Look, don’t get mad. This is mostly fantasy anyway. I don’t have any expectations. Of you or us or your knee. This isn’t me asking for anything. But we always were my favorite pair to choreograph for.”

Katie wasn’t mad. Not at all. But she definitely had questions, and she desperately wanted to see what Brendan was imagining for them.

“What song is it?”

“Oh. Right.” Brendan clicked a couple of keys, and music started to play.

Katie smiled. “This is one of the ones you were listening to on the bus that one time.”

Brendan looked cautiously pleased. “You remember that?”

“Of course I do. I ran away; I didn’t suffer a memory lapse.” Katie’s voice was sharp, but there was a teasing edge to it. Brendan’s smile grew wider in response. So she wouldn’t have to face that smile and the way it made her stomach flip, she turned back to the laptop.

She was expecting something pretty, but easy. Something that would coddle her knee. And she was prepared to be upset about that. At best, maybe there would be some single and double jumps. But what was actually on the screen....

She knew Brendan was good at choreography. But either his three months helping with the junior teams had polished his skills, or he’d never let them fully loose before. This program was — or at least it had the potential to be — art. And it didn’t even lack for jumps.

Katie looked up at Brendan. “You put in triples. There’s even a quad.”

He nodded.

“How is this possible?”

Brendan pointed to some of his notations. “To be honest, I’m not sure it will be. But if you do surgery and rehab ... who knows what’s possible. I was thinking too we could switch our takeoff and landing feet, change our direction of rotation.”

“That won’t be easy,” she said in what was possibly the understatement of the century. For a skater, switching jumping directions was approximately like trying to learn to write with their other hand.

“No, and we never had time to think about working on anything like this while we were on tour, or I would have tried it. But now, the circumstances ... if nothing else, they give us time.”

The jumps weren’t the only challenge in this program. There were lifts, lots of them, all longer and more intricate than what was allowed in competition.

Brendan pointed at one. “Also, for these ... they won’t be easy. For either of us. I know I’m not in good enough shape for some them right now. But they’ll keep your feet off the ice. I know they’d look amazing.”

Katie, picturing the lines their bodies could make together, could only nod in agreement. “We’re not skating together anymore,” she said sadly. Katie felt an uncomfortable stab of guilt. First she’d lied — or at least omitted — to Brendan about her knee. Although she’d finally come clean, he had no idea she was still skating on the sly.

“Yeah, I know.” Brendan nodded. “Like I said. This was just for fun. But ....”

“I knew there was going to be a but.”

“If we ever did skate together again. For any reason. And this is not me asking,” Brendan said firmly. “But if we did ... I know you never loved tours. I know you miss the challenge of competition, the judging and the scores. But just because we’re getting too old to compete doesn’t mean we can’t still do incredible things. If someone says tour, you see an easy skate to a pop song you don’t care about. Lots and lots of big jumps probably aren’t in our future, at least not the way we used to do them. But once you get surgery, with the work you’re doing on your knee ... I know how driven you are. When I think about a tour now, I think of four a.m. ice times and going back to the gym and being absolutely brutal together with you, the way we were when we were at our best. Not to win. But because we want to and because we can. Although. Like I said,” Brendan took the laptop back, “this is academic. I’m really not asking for something.”

Good, Katie thought. Because if you did right now, I’d say yes.

Which was only a problem because she was happy here on the farm. Her family needed her. She could never go back to skating full-time, and Brendan would never want to share his time, or her, with the cows.

***

IN BED THAT NIGHT, Katie couldn’t sleep. She was tired from chores, from her therapy appointments, and from skating, but her mind wouldn’t stop racing. That, on its own, was familiar enough. She’d spent plenty of sleepless nights worrying over competitions, scores, music choices, a lift they couldn’t get right in practice. More recently, she’d worried over Brendan, the cows, the rest of her life, and her inability to stop worrying. But this wasn’t her anxiety plaguing her.

She’d made a mistake in listening to the song Brendan had picked for the program he absolutely wasn’t asking her to skate with him. Now she couldn’t get it out of her head. And so she was lying here, her headphones on and the song on repeat, imagining what they would look like if they ever did do that routine together.

She missed skating with Brendan. She could admit that now, in the privacy of her own room. Her own sessions on the ice were good. Necessary. Skating without Brendan had helped teach her to feel like a mentally healthier person who could also live without Brendan.

The thing was ... she didn’t want to live without him. She felt secure enough now in her own self, and in her own independence, to be able to acknowledge what she still missed: Him, beside her.

After all, alone on the ice, she would always be half of a whole.

If they did what Brendan was suggesting — pursue sport for sport’s sake, accept their limitations, but see what other boundaries they could press up against and break — they would be incredible. Glorious. They had always been able to do things other people couldn’t do. Maybe that didn’t have to end.

She could see it now, in her mind’s eye: Skating with Brendan again, just the two of them, their arms around each other as their blades cut through the ice. Brendan’s hands woven through hers as they practiced footwork. His fingers splayed across her back for a spin. Digging into her hips for a lift.

She imagined the mood shifting as they let themselves play. She could picture practicing their emoting and chemistry so they could sell a love story that had never — despite all the times they’d denied it or tried to ignore it — been fictional at all.

Fantasizing like this was a bad idea, but Katie couldn’t stop the hot spike of want that coursed through her at the idea of being on the ice again with Brendan’s hands on her.

They’d skate so close they’d practically be in each other’s faces — one of them pursing forward, the other skating backward. They’d risk tripping over each other except they always knew exactly where the other was. Brendan would press his forehead against hers, slide his nose along her cheek, his mouth so close to hers but not kissing her. He’d done that in so many routines, and she wanted to die from wanting him every time.

In her mind’s eye they breathed the same air as Brendan grabbed her waist and dragged his hands up her sides. She dug her hands into his shoulders, making him hiss with pain and the promise of pleasure. At that point they should spin apart, to continue the dance of will-they-or-won’t they that captivated audiences.

Having sex of any sort on a skating rink was a really terrible idea both practically and professionally. In reality, Katie would never. But that didn’t mean she wasn’t going to fantasize. She imagined Brendan backing her up against the boards, slipping one hand under the waist of her pants and pressing the other against the front of her throat to feel her breath catch and her pulse speed up.

Maybe she shouldn’t be entertaining these thoughts, maybe it was awkward, with Brendan asleep in the room down the hall and so much still unspoken and unsolved between them. But she wanted him too badly. Wanted what they could be together, in the perfect world where all the parts of all their lives fit together.

She twisted in bed, shifting to slip her own hand into her pajama bottoms. She hadn’t had sex with Brendan in eight years. But she knew him better than she knew anyone else on the planet. Closing her eyes, she could almost feel the heavy weight of his body pressed against hers, the warmth of his mouth on her skin, and the stretch of her most secret parts as his fingers worked inside her.

With her unoccupied hand she pinched her own nipples, pulled her own hair. She hated Brendan that he wasn’t there to do any of those things himself. Katie worked herself to orgasm efficiently and fiercely. When she came, she shuddered and turned her face into her pillow. She didn’t want to risk being heard any more than she wanted the sensation to end. Her lungs heaved with the effort and joy of it all, like she had just finished a skate with Brendan. But then, in some part of her mind, she had.

She lay in bed awake, alert, and alone in the dark, waiting for shame or embarrassment about having masturbated to fantasies about her theoretically platonic skating partner to creep in. But they didn’t. There was only warmth and contentment and, under it all, the thread of desire that had always tied her and Brendan together ... and, maybe, always would.