“Hello to you too, Mom.”

“Why were you working with the assistant today?”

“Because Manon and Bill were busy with their other students. There’s a schedule, and I have no problem doing sessions with Marc.”

“Well, I have a problem with it!”

My control frayed. “Good thing I’m an adult, and it’s not up to you anymore!” Breathing deeply, I glanced around the bleachers. It was just after six p.m., when there was a dinnertime lull before the evening city-run recreational lessons for kids started.

“All those years, I sacrificed to help you, and this is the thanks I get.”

Thumping my head back against the orange brick wall, I closed my eyes, gripping the phone’s screen to my ear. “I never had a choice. You were bound and determined to make me a champion.”

“And I did!” Her voice wavered, going tight and high. “I just want what’s best for you.”

“I know.” We’d had this conversation hundreds of times. I knew exactly what she’d say next, and she did, right on cue.

“It’s only because I love you.” She sniffled.

“I love you too, Mom.” What else could I say? I did love her. And she did love me, even if her ambition and obsessive nature drove me bananas. She wasn’t going to change, so I had to deal with it.

“I just want you to have the best. You’re so talented, my darling. If those coaches—”

“My coaches are doing a great job. I’m sure your rink spy reported that I’m even doing full run-throughs. Sometimes.” Her spy was likely another skating parent—there were few secrets at a training rink and even more gossip.

“You should be doing as many as Sakaguchi. I can hear his music!”

“Moonlight Sonata” was indeed echoing through the almost-empty rink. “My sessions are over for today. I started early and everything.” Now I was waiting to catch a ride back with Henry, though I sure as hell wasn’t telling my mother. It was only a matter of time before her spy filled her in on that development. “How’s Dad?”

I could practically hear the shrug. “Fine. Working late.”

“And the girls?”

Here was Mom’s chance to bitch about my sisters, and she seized it in her jaws like a crocodile. I hmmed and ahhed, tuning her out while I watched Henry launch into his flying sit spin.

He didn’t have my natural flexibility, but he still got down really low, his free leg extended ramrod straight and his upper body in a difficult twisted position. His spins didn’t drift, and he kept the speed even with the harder variation.

I watched him transition into his straight-line footwork and thought about what I’d said to Mr. Webber about Henry being cold and his disagreement with my assessment.

As Henry lunged and glided on gorgeous edges, almost closing his eyes as he moved to music he’d heard a zillion times now, he looked so peaceful in himself. You’d think he was completely alone, and that was generally how he always skated.