Weirdly—now I’m forced to bow to the planner—I’m on top of all my schoolwork for the first time since I started at Maple Hills. We train together, brush our teeth side by side, and cook the same meals. I have no clue what we are, but I like it. We’ve taken playing house to the next level.
She doesn’t say anything about my ten bucks as she sits next to me, concentrating on her work; she just lets her leg gently rest against mine.
This is where I’m at right now—grateful for leg touching. Having her here all the time but not being able to touch her has been difficult, continues to be difficult, and will likely only increase in fucking difficulty.
It’s been two weeks since Aaron reacted in the most Aaron way possible by swearing at her and insinuating she’s a slut. She was a wreck when I picked her up that day, sobbing as she stood outside her building clutching an overnight bag.
Promising it would only be one night, we built a pillow barricade to respect our agreement not to overstep our friendship. That was two weeks ago and I’m still sleeping on the other side of the pillow barricade. On the bright side, we’re getting to know each other properly. When we’re lying on either side of our barricade at night, we talk about anything and everything until one of us falls asleep first. It’s always her; I’ll never get tired of hearing her talk about herself.
In a weird, twisted way, I’m glad. If things were different, I’d have spent the past two weeks buried inside her instead of getting to learn what makes her tick. We’d have achieved nothing. I might have even dropped out of college to stay home and find out exactly how many ways there are to make her scream my name…
But I can’t think about it because we’re friends now, and the only time she screams my name these days is on the ice.
“Stassie?” Robbie calls. “I think they’re buddies now. What do I do?”
Hopping off her stool, her fingers trail across the bottom of my back as she walks past, sending a jolt up my spine. She looks at the dish, nodding proudly. “Looks good. Take it off the heat, and we’ll get the other stuff out when she’s here. Nailed it.”
“What arewehaving, chef?” I ask her playfully, closing over my textbook, officially bored.
My calculations were correct, and she was undereating by following Aaron’s plan. It’s one of the only times in my life I’ve hated being right. Brady approved the plan I designed, perplexed why Anastasia would ever eat so little in the first place. Stas didn’t want to drag Aaron into it, pointing out that she’s still going to have to skate with him, and ratting him out to her coach would only make her life difficult in the future.
Anastasia and Sabrina don’t believe Aaron would be so messed up to do it on purpose, arguing he’s just too stubborn to admit when he doesn’t know what he’s doing, but that’s an argument for a different day.
Part of the changes to Stassie’s eating plan is giving her more exciting food to eat than salad and chicken. We’ve all taken turns teaching her different dishes, or she finds something online she likes the look of, and I adapt it to meet her macros. I don’t think either of us anticipated the fear she’s developed through this disordered way of eating.
She can rationalize having what she calls acheatmeal to a certain extent, but understandably, changing 99 percent of what she eats has been highly overwhelming for her to process. I tried to plan things slowly, but she said she doesn’t have time for slow, and she’ll just get on with it. I know warning signs when I hear them, but she’s promised to talk to her therapist about it, so there isn’t more I can say.
It’s not that she doesn’t like the food she’s eating, she has this unwavering fear of gaining weight and being too heavy to lift or not fitting into her skating outfits. It’s scary—practically conditioning—making me question how many times she’s heard it.
“JJ wants to teach me how to make an authentic Indian curry. I accidentally told him I’ve never made one that didn’t originate from a jar, and he said something about offending his ancestors.” She takes her phone from her pocket, and I know she’s checking her calorie app without even looking. She looks up at me for reassurance. “We can make it work, right?”
“Traditional Indian food is good for you. It’s basically vegetables, spices, meat, lentils, or whatever you’re putting in. Nutritionally, it’s very well-rounded,” I explain, emphasizing the nutritional benefits first. “It’s the westernized convenience version that’s pumped full of crap. Somewhere along the line, the whole cuisine has been demonized. We can definitely make it work.”
“Okay, he should be home from the gym soon.” She tucks her phone away and holds out her hand to me. “Let’s stretch you out, my little figure skater.”
I groan, putting my hand in hers and letting her drag me to the living room.
It’s been two weeks of sore thighs, toe picks, and fucking ballet. Two weeks of her proving she’s a better skater than I am. Two weeks of Brady staring at me like she’s staring into my soul and learning all my secrets. Everything fucking aches: my ass, my thighs, my calves. I might be strong, but I’ve learned I am not supple.
Lying down on the floor, I raise both of my legs. Using the weight of her body, she holds my legs against herself and leans forward, stretching my hamstrings.
Me moaning with my legs in the air is always the perfect time for JJ and Henry to get home. It’s hard to judge their expressions from my position on the floor, but I hear JJ laughing to himself. “Me next, Stassie.”
Henry stands beside us, head tilted as he assesses what we’re doing. “Does it feel weird to be on this side of the body bending, Anastasia?”
She presses down a bit more, making my hamstrings scream. I love it and hate it in equal measure, but the discomfort means I don’t register what Henry says until she answers him. “You know what, Hen. It does feel weird, yeah.”
As much as their shit is usually at my expense, I’m glad the guys keep Stas distracted enough to not obsess over Aaron. He’s been blowing up her phone with apology after apology.It was a moment of anger, he said, he didn’t mean to shout at her. But she’s hurt, and she’s questioning her judgment.
Friendships are important, but so is living in a healthy environment, I overheard her say to herself when she rejected his tenth call.Everyone has progress to make.
I tell her every day she can stay as long as she wants to. Selfishly, I love having her around all the time, and so do the guys. They’re as on board with her staying as I am and told me to stop being a dipshit when I offered to book the two of us into a hotel. They don’t want her going back to Aaron any more than I do.
Sabrina is Switzerland in all of this. Naturally, she was ready to incinerate Aaron, but Anastasia asked her not to get involved and live where she felt comfortable. Robbie immediately tried to tell Sabrina she should stay with us away from Aaron, but she hit him with the most patronizing “AwwHabibi” I’ve ever heard.
She told him there was an error with his membership, and trying to tell her what to do was husband tier. If he wanted to upgrade from the boyfriend tier to the husband tier, he needed to provide a gigantic diamond. Robbie immediately pointed out she wouldn’t listen to him if they were married. To which Brin smiled smugly and pointed out she saidtryingand not that she’d actually do as he asked.
Despite Robbie’s boyfriend-tier status, Brin is here all the time anyway, which I think makes living with four men easier for Anastasia. Not that she likes people to see it, but Sabrina does have a soft side, and how much she loves Stassie and Robbie is definitely at the center of it.