October 2013
Anthony swallowed hard as the bells on the door jingled and he made his way into the cafe, eyes searching the room. He hadn't seen his old coach, Olympic gold medalist Sergei Yegorov, in seven years, and it hadn't exactly ended on good terms - because Sergei had been something of a father figure to him, emotions were still messy and complicated and they exchanged holiday cards every year and the occasional phone call. But there had been distance for a reason, and Anthony could feel his hackles going up when he finally met Sergei's piercing blue gaze.
Anthony was thirty-three now and Sergei was fifteen years his senior. Sergei was still handsome, but showing signs of age, his black hair fully grey now, his face a bit more gaunt and weatherbeaten. Sergei was wearing a scarf indoors - a splash of red to contrast with his black sweater, elegant but slightly flamboyant.
"Anthony, hello," Sergei said in his heavily accented English. He gestured to one of the cups of coffee on the table, and pushed it forward when Anthony pulled out a chair. "I hope you don't mind that I went ahead and ordered -"
"No, it's OK, thank you. It's a bit cold out there and it's nice not having to wait." Anthony sat down and took a sip of the coffee - americano, not his favorite, but it would do - and tried to gather his thoughts.
Sergei leaned back, looking out the window, allowing time for Anthony to figure out what to say... until he didn't. "It is nice seeing you again, Anthony. It's been a very long time, no?"
"Yeah." Anthony's jaw set, not wanting to reply with And you know why, but restrained himself. He was, however, feeling increasingly uneasy - not just the awkwardness of seeing Sergei after so long, but the crowds and the noise - and his own patience shoved off to the side. "So, what brings you to the States? Business? Family?"
"A bit of both." Sergei nodded. "And now that you are living here, I thought I'd take the opportunity to come see you while I was sort of in the area." Anthony had lived in Boston for the last four years; they were meeting in New York City. "You weren't exactly easy to get a hold of when you were still in London."
"No." Anthony's mood darkened, hoping Sergei wouldn't press him about that. It wasn't just that Sergei had created some bad blood, but his last few years in London had not been a good time... which was why he'd started all over again, across an entire ocean. Anthony sipped his coffee some more, hoping his stony silence would register as a hint to not press that subject further.
Sergei sighed, leaned forward, and folded his hands on the table. "All right, Anthony, I will cut right to the chase. I know I am not your favorite person in the world..."
Anthony let out a bitter guffaw, then gulped down more coffee, shifting awkwardly in his seat.
"But I have a big favor to ask you."
Their eyes met. Anthony scowled. "If you're asking me to come out of retirement so you can see glory again in 2014, you're out of your fucking mind -"
"Not... quite."
Anthony raised an eyebrow. He put down his coffee, made a "go on" gesture, and folded his arms.
Sergei cleared his throat. He looked around and lowered his voice. "You know I have a son, David. He's gay, like you."
Anthony snorted. "Are you trying to set me up?"
"No." Sergei looked down. "He's dead."
"Oh." Anthony frowned. He felt a twinge of sympathy, even though he didn't want to feel too sorry for Sergei, if his parenting abilities were anything like his coaching.
"He killed himself, a few weeks ago."
"Jesus Christ, I'm sorry." Anthony exhaled and looked away. Once again, he wondered if Sergei's attitudes had contributed to that at all - Sergei had pressured him to stay closeted during his skating career, even going as far as to set him up on fake dates with women to throw off media speculation. Those were different times and there was genuine sorrow on Sergei's face - and Sergei hadn't been disapproving so much as he'd been concerned it would ruin Anthony's life - but even so, Anthony bristled.
Sergei nodded. "David moved to the States a few years ago, to Florida. He was attacked on his way home from a nightclub, and he was still having nightmares and panic attacks two months later, when he got fired from his job for standing up for himself when he got more shit from co-workers for being gay... that was when he..." His voice trailed off. Sergei closed his eyes, and his voice shook a little as he continued. "His partner, Tomás, moved back to New York to stay with family, which is why I'm here - Tomás is giving me some of David's things. In David's suicide note he said he didn't think things will ever get better for gay people, and..." Sergei sighed, and looked Anthony in the eye. "I did you wrong, Anthony, I'm very sorry that I pressured you against coming out and living your best life. It didn't just hurt you - though I was trying to protect you - but I can see how it hurt my son, also. Maybe if there were more public figures, ten years ago, who'd been out and proud, society might have come around faster..."
"It's still not a picnic now." Anthony's eyes teared up. He had never expected an apology from Sergei for the bad old days - though that wasn't all of the damage Sergei had done - and while he was grateful for the apology, he also hated it was under this set of circumstances.
Sergei's own eyes were too bright now. He passed over a napkin, and took one for himself, dabbing at his face as the tears spilled over. Anthony had only ever seen Sergei cry when "his kids" won a silver medal at the 1998 Winter Olympics in Nagano, Japan and gold at the 2002 Winter Olympics in Salt Lake City - sometimes he wondered if Sergei had normal human emotions - and seeing Sergei cry made it even worse. Anthony fought the urge to give his old coach a hug, not wanting to let Sergei off the hook that easily, but he hurt for the old man.
"So... what's the favor you're asking me?" Anthony croaked out, trying to compose himself.
"I made a donation to the Trevor Project, which works on suicide prevention for... your community. I'm sorry, I forget the letters, they keep changing."
"Yeah, it was GLBT and now people are saying LGBT."
"Right. Well, I still don't feel like my donation was enough. I want to raise a lot of money for the Trevor Project."
"So you're asking me to donate? I already do that -"
"No. What I'm asking is..." Sergei finally took a sip of his coffee. "Bah, it is cold now." He motioned for the waiter to come over, and after the waiter took an order - hazelnut espresso for Anthony, a cinnamon caramel latte for Sergei - Sergei got back to the conversation. "I am trying to put together a charity event. Famous figures in skating, and people pay to watch and most of the ticket money goes to the Trevor Project. I already talked to Johnny Weir, who says you were a huge inspiration -"
Anthony's eyebrows shot up. "Holy shit." He was flattered and touched - while he didn't keep up with the skating world that much anymore, since it was kind of a sore spot, he still knew who Johnny Weir was, the guy had talent.
Sergei nodded, and went on. "And there are a few other skaters who have answered my calls and e-mails and are willing to come out and skate for a good cause. But what would really draw a crowd is if you came out of retirement, just this once, for this one thing, I promise I will not pester you again."
"Well." Anthony saw the waiter come back over - that was fast - and after they took their drinks, Anthony said, "As you are aware, I was part of a team. It's not that I can't skate on my own, but -"
"I talked to your old partner already. It is already agreed, I am just waiting on you."
Anthony's jaw dropped. "You... you... you got a hold of Siggi."
Sergei nodded slowly and solemnly.
"I haven't been in touch with Siggi for years. And not for lack of trying. She seemed to just... completely disappear off the face of the Earth." Some of that had been Anthony's fault - after he and Sigrit had been forced into retirement months shy of the 2006 Winter Olympics, Anthony's abusive now-ex, Justin, had been jealous of their friendship and forbidden Anthony to contact her, throwing away any letters or cards Sigrit sent, until they stopped coming altogether. Anthony still felt like an idiot for letting Justin control him that way and not fighting it harder - though that was just the tip of the iceberg with Justin's ways - and he had tried to get back in touch with Sigrit after things were over with Justin, but she had been impossible to find. He knew she'd left London and gone back to Iceland when their career was over, and it was hard enough by virtue of Icelandic naming conventions, where there were several Sigrit Sigurðsdóttirs in public listings, but none of them were her. Anthony had wondered periodically if Sigrit was even still alive.
"Your old partner also lives in the States," Sergei said matter-of-factly, as if he somehow read Anthony's mind that Anthony had been looking through Icelandic records for years.
"Jesus." Anthony facepalmed, rubbed his face like an annoyed wet cat, and got to work on his drink, trying to pull himself together and not have a full-on crying breakdown that Sigrit was alive, OK... and... "And Siggi said yes? Like, she's not so mad at me for dropping out of contact that she's refusing to skate with me?"
"Your old partner indeed said yes, so long as you skate too, as a pair."
"Where... where is she now? I -" Anthony didn't even know how to make words, stunned, relieved, and feeling guiltier than sin itself.
"Denver, Colorado, but since the event will be here in New York, your old partner is willing to travel to Boston to practice with you and make it easier."
"And the event is..."
"New Year's Eve. So you have eight weeks to train. I hope you're in good enough condition -"
"Oh yeah, even though I'm retired, I keep in shape - I'm a yoga instructor these days - and I still try to hit the ice at least a few times a month. Getting those endorphins going is cheap therapy." Anthony gave a nervous laugh - he knew he was past his prime, at thirty-three, and even with trying to practice once a week it wasn't anything like the rigorous training of long ago, hours a day, every day, for years, so the event being just two months away was daunting. But he was willing to try.
Not just for a good cause, but for Siggi.
"Shit." Anthony chugged down his coffee. "It's been so long. I'm glad she asked to skate with me. I'm guessing she must not hate me, I feel like such a shit for losing touch, but..." Anthony sighed. "Hopefully it won't be too awkward and will feel just like old times."
Sergei shook his head. "It will not be the same as it was before. A lot has changed, with your old partner. But that is not my place to tell. I am sure you will get caught up."
Anthony found it weird that Sergei kept saying "your old partner" and not "Siggi" or "Sigrit", as if speaking the name was some sort of taboo, and he wondered what was going on - if Sigrit had perhaps changed her name to something more American-friendly, or things were even more tense with Siggi and Sergei than Anthony realized and it was an epithet just short of "that woman" or something similar. But he didn't want to poke at it. For now, it was enough that after all this time he'd be seeing Siggi again, and hopefully it was a chance to finally mend the gap between them.
Hopefully. Anthony had lost a lot of hope over the last seven long, painful years, but he held onto this, like trying to catch a falling star.
A week later, Anthony showed up for his usual Saturday night practice session at Crystal Palisades, but this time he wouldn't be alone. His meeting with Sergei had ended without Sergei giving him any of Sigrit's contact info, but Sergei had arranged for "your old partner" to meet Anthony there, and Anthony guessed it would take meeting in-person for Sigrit to be comfortable sharing that information, testing the waters.
As Anthony put on his skates, he got antsy. Sigrit still wasn't here yet - there was just one other person on the ice, a guy wearing a black Adidas tracksuit. An astoundingly gorgeous guy, who bore a striking resemblance to Jon Snow on Game of Thrones - shoulder-length curly black hair, a short dark beard framing lush lips. Brown eyes, that reminded him of Sigrit's eyes. In fact, they could be brother and sister, now that Anthony's mind's eye conjured up an image of Sigrit, who also had full lips and a mane of wild dark curls. Then his breath caught as the Jon Snow lookalike did a perfect forward camel spin, and when he was done with the spin, their eyes met. Jon Snow smiled a dazzling smile and skated over. "Anthony!"
"You..." Anthony looked around, but there was nobody else there. Anthony realized that even though he'd been retired for seven years and tried to keep a low profile these days, he had medalled at the Olympics twice and there was a non-zero chance a fellow figure skater would recognize him, but he was still startled. "You know who I am?"
Jon Snow put his hands on his hips. "You... don't recognize me at all, do you."
The accent. The rolling r, the lilt, the breathiness... he sounded a lot like Sigrit, only deeper.
Then the bells went off in Anthony's head. A memory came back to him:
"I'm sorry I'm gay, because I would totally be with you."
Sigrit shook her head. "No, I wish I was a guy, and then I could be your boyfriend."
All of Sigrit's comments over the years of I hate my body, I hate my tits, I'd rather be a boy. I feel like a gay man trapped in a woman's body. Anthony himself telling Sigrit at times You have gay male energy. and You're an honorary gay guy. Then Sergei's voice in his head: your old partner. Not Siggi, not Sigrit. He'd been avoiding the name...
Anthony's mouth opened. He pointed, but no words came out. Then he mouthed the word "You" but no sound came out. He clapped his hand over his mouth, feeling like an idiot, even as his other hand kept pointing, pointing, pointing. He didn't want to make a spectacle and make his old friend feel uncomfortable, but it was the shock of his life, even as all the signs had been there.
Not-Sigrit-Anymore smirked, then held out his arms. Anthony skated onto the ice, over to him, and gave him a fierce, tight hug, tearing up. "Oh my G-d, hi. Hi. Holy shit, hi."
Not-Sigrit-Anymore squeezed him and patted his back.
"You look just like Jon Snow, but I'm the one who knows nothing," Anthony quipped. Not-Sigrit-Anymore threw his head back and laughed.
"It's OK." Not-Sigrit-Anymore cocked his head to one side. "I told Sergei I would tell you myself, because I wasn't sure how you would handle it and -"
"Oh fuck. I'm so sorry you worried I would take it badly -"
"I knew I was probably being too cautious, you've never given me any reason to think you're a bigot, but you know. People have... not always been kind."
Anthony nodded. "Well, Sergei didn't tell me that you, uh... He just kept referring to you as 'your old partner'. So I... ah..." Anthony nervously scratched his head, not wanting to put his foot in his mouth and offend what had once been his very best friend. "I don't even know what to call you."
"Sören." Then Sören put out his hand to shake.
Anthony firmly grasped his hand. "It's nice to meet you... again. Well I mean, you're still you, just..."
"I know." Sören nodded. "It's going to take some getting used to."
"I feel like such a dumbass. Like, I told you for YEARS you had gay male energy and I called you an honorary gay guy and it still didn't occur to me that you would..."
Sören kept nodding. "It's OK. Seriously."
"Justin wouldn't let me talk to you."
"Considering how close we were, and it's not like you to just start giving the silent treatment, I figured he was controlling you. I did warn you about him."
"You did. Well, he's gone now. He's the reason why I moved to the US, he was stalking me." Anthony felt sheepish, admitting to being afraid of Justin, but Sigrit had never judged him in the past when he felt vulnerable, and he had a feeling Sören wasn't going to pull macho garbage with him either.
"I'm sorry."
"And then when it was over I tried to look you up, I wanted to apologize and reconnect, but... no wonder I couldn't find you, if you changed your name -" Anthony blinked back tears.
They hugged again. "Better late than never, jú?" Sören smiled that smile again.
Anthony tried not to notice how absolutely drool-worthy Sören was, feeling his stomach flutter and his cheeks burn like an awkward teenager with a crush. Now was not the time. "I'm glad you don't hate me."
Sören smirked. "Hi Glad You Don't Hate Me, I'm Sören."
Anthony's laughter rang out. "The more things change, the more they stay the same, I guess."
"Come on." Sören took his hands and pulled him towards the center of the rink. "Let's dance."