She frowned just as my dad came through the door behind me. He heard the conversation, just as it seemed like he always did, and saw it as his opportunity to take it in the direction that he wanted—another common theme for him.
“That’s not good, Cal,” he preached, moving toward the table and into my line of sight. “You know this is the homestretch. You’ve got just under six weeks before Trials and eight until camp.”
And ten before the Olympics.
“I know.”
I definitely fucking knew.
“You don’t eat the way you should,” he pointed out just as I reached for a plate with syrup-soaked french toast on it, “and you haven’t been putting effort into your conditioning like you should.”
“I know,” I said, stopping mid reach and retracting my arm obediently.
I always said.
“Frank—” my mom attempted to cut in, but he just kept talking.
“Hopefully Nik can teach you some work ethic in this short amount of time.”
I fought the downturn of my lips, but I sure as shit didn’t win.
“You should have told me you hired a new coach for me.”
He looked mystified. “I thought that’s what I did yesterday?”
My mom shook her head along with me. Men.
“Oh come on. It’s not like he’s some old guy. He’s a really talented tumbler. Maybe you’ll even become friends.”
I could practically hear the scoff of disbelief as he said it.
“Anyway, I didn’t seek him out.”
I looked to my mom in confusion, but she didn’t know what he was talking about either.
She shook her head before turning back to the sink.
“I don’t get it. Why’s he here then?”
“Friend of a friend thing,” he muttered, stabbing his own piece of French toast and bringing it to his mouth. A couple of chews cleared his mouth enough that he could talk.
“You know the Callhoun’s? They have the gym up in Moswego?”
Moswego Elite was a competitive gym about two hours north of Ringwood. More backwoods southern Georgia, less coastal small town. I’d been doing competitions with and against them since I was little.
“Yeah.”
“Well, they heard from one of their friends that Nik was looking to come on staff at a gym somewhere around here. Something with his parents and having to move or I don’t know. Like I said, kind of a grapevine of information.”
I wondered briefly at what the story behind all of that half information was, but my dad didn’t give me long to think on it, moving on swiftly to his next thought.
“But, anyway, they took him on for a while, said he had a real eye for all of the women’s apparatuses even without extensive hands on experience. They didn’t have a spot to keep him on permanently, so they called me to check in.”
That made my brows pull together too, the idea of a permanent position at our gym ridiculous too. Working with me, at least, would be a very limited time thing. I was already in the homestretch.
“We really don’t need anybody, but once I did the research on him, I couldn’t turn him away. He’s the third ranked power tumbler in the world, you know?”
My mom’s head whipped back to the conversation once more.
“I know,” I admitted sheepishly. My dad didn’t notice.
“After watching him yesterday, I realized he’d be perfect for helping you. You know, make him work really hard for his money,” he ribbed.
After yesterday?
I didn’t laugh.
“Frank,” my mom admonished.
“What?”
“Nothing, Dad,” I cut in, just wanting this conversation to end. “I have to go. I’m gonna grab an egg white sandwich on the way in to open.”
My dad smiled proudly.
There was no fucking way I was getting an egg white sandwich.
I knew I shouldn’t encourage him by catering to him in these conversations, but he was like a dog with a bone. His way wasn’t the right way. It was the only way.
If I didn’t cave, he’d go at me until I did.
Don’t get me wrong, my dad was a nice guy. He didn’t yell at me or hit me. He didn’t even withhold love. I had all of the good stuff, and frankly, I was twenty-six and I’d yet to see pressure to contribute more financially or pull more weight. I worked at the gym doing office work in the mornings and worked on my gymnastics the rest of the time. That was good with him.
But that was all good with him because it was what he wanted.
I wasn’t just his daughter. I was his Olympian.
And he made sure I never forgot it.
The hands of the clock moved lethargically, seemingly struggling to tick from one minute to the next all morning.
I worked to busy my hands and mind, collecting checks from all-too-eager parents, and filing several updated medical release forms. Some of the homeschooled gymnasts trickled in little by little, gabbing and gossiping with each other and glancing my way fearfully as they did.
When noontime finally rolled around, I couldn’t get out of the desk chair and out to my car fast enough.
Pulling open my glove box, I checked to make sure I had the air freshener—I did—and then fired it up and pulled out of the parking lot. I had to get out before my dad got in or I never would.
McDonald’s lit up like a beacon twelve blocks later, and I flicked the turn signal on in my Honda Civic with avid anticipation.
Everything felt good. I executed a perfect parking job in a spot close to the door. The sun shone vibrantly, warming my bones and radiating outward. And the line inside looked blessedly short.
Apparently, my good mood made me oblivious to the shiny motorcycle parked three spaces down from me.
I awoke swiftly at the sight of Nik, though. Floppy, ugly black hair tucked discreetly under an all black, backwards facing ball cap, well-fitting jeans, and another bright white t-shirt practically slammed their way into my vision like a brick wall.
And unfortunately, he noticed me just as speedily.
“Hey.”
Panicked, I immediately accused him of the nearly impossible. “Did my dad send you here? How does he know I’m here?”
He looked around briefly, understandably confused, before excusing himself out of line and approaching me where I’d frozen the moment I’d spotted him.
When he got within two feet, my already tight body strung even tighter.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Callie. I’m here for a Quarter Pounder.” I relaxed for a second…until I realized how embarrassing my whole episode was.
He shrugged. “I would have snuck you in line too, let you order with me, but you kind of stopped moving.”
“My dad…” I searched for words, “doesn’t like when I eat McDonald’s.”
Understatement.
“Oh,” he breathed through a smile. “Well, your secret’s safe with me.”
I very nearly smiled back. “Thanks.”
He shrugged. And then winked.
Sweet good gracious.
“We’ve all got secrets, right?”
I sure as hell did. By supposition, I assumed everyone else did too.
“Yeah.”
I just wondered how many people’s secrets were of omission and how many were—
Lies.
They aren’t always intentional. And sometimes, we only tell them to others because we first tell them to ourselves.
Likewise, pictures aren't always what they seem to be on the surface. Ninety percent of perception is influence, and Callie had perfectly persuaded me to see her role in the gym how she did. Unwanted and resented and well past idolized.