THREE WEEKS INTO BRENDAN’S Farm Adventure

Star Prairie, WI

Brendan wasn’t ever going to love farming the way Katie did. But three weeks into this strange sojourn, he had to admit there was a contentment to be found out here with the fields and the cows. He felt like he was beginning to understand what it meant to Katie to be here and work towards a goal that wasn’t skating but was just as important.

As wary and angry as Katie had been when he’d first shown up — and as angry as he had been about her mistrust in return — things were better now. Not easy, not perfect, but good and getting better. She had let him into her world. Brendan wasn’t afraid she’d run away again, and not just because she had nowhere else to go. Whatever he was still doing on the farm, she wasn’t testing him anymore.

They’d actually managed to talk over the last few weeks. They’d fought too, but then they always fought. The difference now was that this time their fights had actually led to them solving issues. They’d covered important ground: Their families. Brendan’s choreography work. Katie’s knee. The last few days had been honestly lovely. But there was one conversation left: What were they going to do about them?

Brendan didn’t know how that discussion was going to end. He had no idea how to start it. But one of them was going to have to, and soon. July was melting into August. The days were growing almost imperceptibly shorter. Brendan’s life was full of flexibility, but he couldn’t put it on hold indefinitely. Video calls to the kids he was coaching were helpful to them, but no substitute for him being at the rink with them and the rest of their coaching team every day. Eventually he’d have to go back to Denver, his skaters, and his obligations.

The clock was ticking. Time, as always, was against them.

***

KATIE’S FAMILY AND their neighbors had a stall at the farmers market in Saint Paul. Katie had spent the occasional day there, but had never invited Brendan along until now. And so, early on a Saturday morning, Brendan loaded up the back of Katie’s pickup with home-baked pies, eggs, crates of jam, and boxes of berries. He wondered what had changed in her head to make her ask him this time.

For now, though, he needed to focus on the task at hand. Which was providing the perfect counterpart to Katie’s charming farm girl shtick. Brendan had made sure to dress for it. Over the last few weeks his clothes had migrated from his suitcase to the closet and drawers in the bedroom he was staying in. At his request, which hadn’t seemed awkward until he said it aloud, Katie had dug through them for something appropriate to the occasion. So he was wearing jeans and a checked button-down over a white T-shirt. Katie wore a wine-colored sundress, the blonde part of her hair mostly hidden under a broad-brimmed straw hat. She looked miles away from the girl in battered jeans and a worn T-shirt shoveling manure.

Once everything was secure, Brendan climbed into the passenger seat. “For a second, I thought you were going to make me ride in the back.”

“Why?” Katie said as she buckled her seatbelt. “It’s a safety hazard and no one’s going but us.”

Brendan shrugged. “Eggs and pies are fragile?” he offered.

“You packed them right. You tied them down right. It’s fine.” She paused and frowned. “You don’t think these last couple of weeks have been about me punishing you, do you?”

He considered his answer carefully. “I think they’ve been about a lot of things. And I think you are not always aware of how much you need it to hurt when you want something.”

Katie laughed and winked at him. “I think you underestimate me.”

Whatever response Brendan had been expecting, it hadn’t been that.

***

AFTER THE RELATIVE solitude of the farm, the bustle and noise of the market took Brendan by surprise. He reveled in it, though. The early morning combined with the organized chaos of people unloading trucks and setting up their stands reminded him of nothing so much as the exhilarating hours before a competition. Talking with the dozens of people who came to their table was like all the most enjoyable parts of media and coaching rolled into one.

Katie gave him a sideways smile after he finished up a particularly involved conversation with a grandmother and her granddaughter about the joys and pitfalls of growing strawberries. He wrapped up their purchases and handed them to the little girl, who placed them carefully in the tote she was carrying and waved at him as they walked away.

“You’re having fun.”

Brendan grinned back at her. He surely was. But he hoped it wasn’t news to Katie that he could enjoy this life with her. “You sound surprised.”

“I’m not. Just impressed.”

“It’s like doing meet and greets. Only about farm stuff. Although I’m not going to lie, it is nice knowing what to do for a change.”

“You’re really good at it. You should use this part of your brain with me more.”

There was an invitation in there, or at least a question, but in the middle of a Saint Paul farmers market was not the place to dig further. Brendan contented himself with brushing his fingertips along her waist, then turned to talk to the next potential customer. Behind the cover of the table, for the briefest of moments, Katie twisted her fingers into his.

***

WHEN THE MARKET CLOSED, Brendan didn’t feel ready for the day to end. He was as tired as if they’d been practicing on the ice or doing media for twelve hours. But it was the good kind of tired that came with landing all the jumps and having all the right answers.

“Want to stop somewhere and get dinner?” Katie asked as he hopped up into the passenger seat next to her. “I’m starving.”

“Sure,” said Brendan, delighted at the prospect. Spending more time with Katie was exactly what he wanted, now and probably forever.

They didn’t have to get up for the first shift with the cows tomorrow morning — that was part of the deal within Katie’s family, the consolation prize for whoever had to trek out to Saint Paul for the market. Which meant they could stay out tonight as late as they wanted.

Brendan felt like a kid in high school again, missing curfew to hang out with Katie just a little bit longer. Maybe they should have stopped at an actual restaurant and gotten real food. But they ended up sitting in the cab of Katie’s pickup in a parking lot, eating greasy burgers and sharing an ice cream sundae out of a styrofoam cup. Brendan thought it was exactly perfect as he and Katie kicked at each other’s feet and smiled at each other almost shyly as they fought each other for the last french fries.

When they were done, Katie threw a packet of handi-wipes at him so he didn’t get grease all over her truck. Was this what it would have felt like, he wondered, if we’d dated when we were younger, instead of doing whatever the hell we were doing?

Despite how difficult so much of their time together had been, Brendan realized he didn’t have any regrets. Their tension and conflict had made them what they were, as individuals and as a pair. Their struggles through the years also made him appreciate quiet moments like this: driving home together as the sun set behind them, the windows open. Katie’s hat was discarded on the seat between them, and her hair was coming loose from its braid.

Twilight was fast fading into night when they turned off the county road and up the drive to the farm. Brendan hopped out of the truck as soon as Katie parked it and moved around to the back, ready to unload the empty crates and coolers. To his surprise, Katie shook her head as she stepped down from the driver’s seat.

“Leave it,” she said.

“... what?”

“It’ll keep ’til morning.”

Brendan folded his arms on the tailgate. “I’ve never heard you say that in your life. Ever.”

Katie gave him a smile that was sly, challenging, and determined all at once. She’d often used it on the ice in their more brutal programs. Brendan was glad he had the tailgate for support. How had he done this dance with Katie for so long without losing his mind entirely?

“We missed sunset and beer,” she said. She walked towards the house, swinging her hat in one hand. Halfway there, she stopped and looked back over her shoulder. “Well? Aren’t you coming?”

***

KATIE’S REMEDY TO MISSING their evening date on the porch was, apparently, to get a fire going in the pit out back between the driveway and one of the sheds. She’d pulled a sweater on over her dress. As he approached the fire with a six pack, a bag of marshmallows, and grilling skewers, Brendan frowned.

“Is that my sweater?”

“Yes.”

“You stole my sweater!”

“Not for the first time and I very much doubt for the last.” Katie crouched next to the fire and rearranged a log with a poke from a long stick.

Brendan wanted to make any number of comments about that statement, but he didn’t want to put her on the defensive. Not when today had been so pleasant. So he dropped cross-legged into the grass and opened a bottle of beer for each of them.

Katie took hers and clinked it off of Brendan’s as she sat down. “Today was nice.”

“All of this has been nice,” Brendan said.

“I didn’t chase you away, you mean. You don’t have to pretend.”

“Who says I’m pretending?”

“I’ve known you for twenty years. Coming up on twenty-one now, I guess. You’re pretending.”

Brendan looked at her incredulously. “Are you sure about that? Or is it easier to assume that nothing ever changes between us, so we don’t have to deal with who we’ve become?

“Ahhhhh, and here it comes.”

Brendan shook his head. “That’s it. That’s all I’ve got. No theories, no arguments. I needed this. I needed the break. I needed the hard work.” He took a breath. He didn’t know how to start this conversation, but he didn’t think Katie did either. He might not get a better chance than tonight. “And I needed you.”

For a moment, Katie’s eyes went wide, but as Brendan watched they hardened again. She scoffed. “So you can go back to Denver or Minneapolis or wherever and win more gold medals with your kids.”

Why, why do you always do this Katie?

Brendan wasn’t going to rise to that bait. Today had been wonderful, and now Katie was scared, as she so often was, of the sweetness and vulnerability between them. Brendan knew she was frightened, but he also knew that if she could take a breath and give them a chance they could work through this.

“Maybe. Maybe not,” he said. “They’re their medals. Not mine. I’m actually pretty clear about that.”

“I don’t believe you.”

Brendan chuckled. He wasn’t going to rise to that bait either. “I don’t need you to understand. But it’s probably not dissimilar to how you’re okay out here. It feels good, familiar, like you’re accomplishing something. I may have hated your cows and your mud and your terrifying chickens when I was twelve, but that doesn’t mean that I don’t see what it does for you or don’t get that it matters.”

“Do you still hate it? The farm?” Katie’s voice was small and her hands fussed in her lap. That, perhaps more than the question, shocked Brendan.

“No. Of course not. I meant what I said.”

“But you did. Hate it. Before.” She wasn’t asking. She was declaring a fact, and she wasn’t wrong.

Brendan didn’t think there was much sense in torturing himself over stuff he’d gotten wrong as a child. But right here and right now, he was cursing his younger self for making this mess he was trying to dig himself out of twenty years later. “I was a kid. I didn’t grow up around animals and machinery like this. The calves being born in the middle of the night and all this intense stuff that you just took in stride — I didn’t hate it, Kate, not really. I was freaked out by it.”

“Oh.” Katie’s voice was soft. Stunned. As if, after all these years and all their fights, she’d finally let herself listen to what he was saying.

“Yeah, oh.” He sat in silence, trying not to be angry about all the ways their communication — when it wasn’t perfect — was always completely messed up. “Maybe I didn’t express myself well. I’m sure I didn’t, but you really thought I hated the farm?” This wasn’t how he had thought the conversation about their future would go, but he could tell they were rounding the corner into it.

“Yes. No. Maybe.” Katie tore absently at the grass and clover her beer rested in. “I thought you were ashamed of me.”

“What?!” If Brendan had ever been ashamed, it had been at his inability to keep up with Katie in every stunning facet of her excellence.

“Ballerinas and princesses don’t come from places like this,” she said. “And that’s what little girl skaters get told to be. I was better than you. I had to be. Or you skating with me was going to mean I was a charity case.”

Brendan wanted to groan in frustration with Katie, with himself, with the world. “Please, please tell me you’re joking.”

“Why would I joke about that? I’ve been carrying it around with me my whole life. Every time we won, every time we had to talk about our early years to the press, every time I’m reminded that since Annecy our families only talk when there are unavoidable Team USA niceties to be performed.”

“That’s changed, apparently.”

“Not much! And it was miserable, for ages.” Katie was still looking at her hands.

Brendan wanted to grab them between his own, to make her look at him, to convince her with his touch of what he had failed, for so long, to convince her of with his words. That she was brilliant. That she was his world. That they were meant to do, together, things other people could only dream of. Always.

He made himself stay where he was. “There are a million ways you’ve always been able to break my heart, but the possibility that we’ve been a mess forever because as kids I was afraid of cows and you were afraid of what — me? kindness? pity? — might be too much to bear.”

“I never meant to break your heart.”

“Which is why you dumped me in that mess after Annecy.”

Katie’s posture changed to something straight and fierce. “That was completely unrelated and totally necessary.”

“But why?” In all the arguments they’d had in the four years since their comeback, he’d never been able to get a straight answer from her on that.

Katie set her jaw. “We didn’t work when we were together.”

Brendan frowned. “Do you want to know what I think?”

“You know I wait on your every word with bated breath.” Sharp like before. But fonder now. Like maybe, just maybe, she was ready to listen.

Brendan took a deep breath. Time to say what was necessary and, after so many years of struggling and miscommunication, suddenly so incredibly obvious. “I think the problem was never that the universe didn’t want us to be together, or was punishing us, or whatever you thought was going on. I think the problem is that when we slept together — or so much as kissed — you stopped trusting me.”

“You sound hurt,” Katie said.

“Of course I’m hurt!” Brendan dug his fingers into his hair. “I’ve spent more than half my life learning to pick you up. To throw you across the ice. To do spins without cutting you. To keep you safe. So why is sex when you stop trusting me?”

“Oh, like you’ve never dropped me,” she said scornfully. Still, Brendan couldn’t look away from her.

“I did. I have. But you let me do it again and again and again until we were perfect. So why didn’t you let us do the work off the ice too?”

“I knew the costs if we lost. I didn’t know the costs if I lost you.”

Brendan looked at her earnestly. Again, he had to restrain himself from reaching for her hands. In her current mood Katie would probably pull away, “You could never lose me.”

“I did. For four years. And it was terrible.”

“Because you broke up with me!”

“You think I don’t know that?” Katie said in frustration as she tugged a knife out of her boot. She flipped it around and offered him the handle. “You keep staring at it. Cut it off.”

“What?” Brendan tried to adjust to the sudden change in topic and also the knife in Katie’s hand.

“My hair,” she said, like it was obvious.

It really, really wasn’t. The conversation had shifted beneath him wildly. He was sure it made sense, somehow, but he didn’t know how to follow it. The look on Katie’s face only confirmed his suspicions. “H-h-how much.”

“The dyed part. A little quicker on the uptake please?” she said, clearly exasperated.

“What the fuck, Kate?” he demanded.

“I know we’ve always wanted each other, no matter how much our lives and our other choices made that hard or impossible or, just, the absolute worst idea. But if you want this thing between us to have the remotest possibility of working, then you need to want me as I actually am, and not just as the girl who figured out how to win you a gold medal by being incredibly different than she actually was.”

Brendan reached out a hand and, when she didn’t withdraw hers, closed it around her wrist. “What if I told you I’ve always wanted both of them? That there’s never been a difference to me? That I knew what you were doing — always — and I loved you for it, public and private.”

Katie dropped the knife into his palm and undid the elastic at the end of her braid, shaking her hair out. “Well then. Let’s see.”

Brendan was intensely grateful for all the years he’d spent helping Katie do her hair for competitions and performances. They meant an impromptu haircut was not, perhaps, as strange as it might have otherwise been. Even sawing through her thick hair with a knife was not as difficult as he’d expected.

“This is really sharp,” he observed.

“Sharp knives work better. And they’re safer. Of course it is.”

Trust Katie to turn even this into a lesson in practicality. Brendan smiled to himself.

The next few moments were silent except for the wind moving in the grass and the soft sound of their breath. When he’d cut away all the dark hair, Brendan ran his fingers through her hair to comb out the last loose strands. Katie shivered, which did nothing to help his equilibrium.

“All right, all done,” he said.

She turned her head over her shoulder to look at him. Her gaze was sharp and her hair was messy, hanging unevenly at her chin. But it was all honey blonde now, the color it had been when they were kids.

Without another word, Katie looked away from him to bend and twist, gathering up the dark hanks of her dyed hair that had fallen in the grass. She threw them in the fire. The flames hissed and cracked, and for a few seconds smoke, acrid and chemical, billowed out of the pit.

Something animal in Brendan recoiled at the smell while something human in him recoiled at the sense of magic that pervaded the darkness.

“It looks good,” he said. That was true, but he was mostly speaking in hopes of feeling less frightened.

“Does it?” Katie was peering at him again, less unkindly than before.

“Yes.”

She seemed to make a decision. She stood from where she was crouched, feral, by the fire, brushing her hands off on the sides of her dress, as if there was more than hair there, the residuum of a spell Brendan didn’t entirely understand. “You should prove it to me then.”

Impelled to follow her, he rose to his feet without thinking. “I really want to kiss you,” he said breathlessly. “Can I?”