Page 178 of The Play Maker

I catch her mom’s eye one last time and nod. Maisie deserves this. She deserves to have someone here who sees her.

I’m just glad she finally does.

39

MAISIE

The moment I step off the ice, the world feels like it’s spinning.

Not from the routine—I’ve done it a thousand times. But from the rush of adrenaline, the heat under my skin, and the pounding of my heart that still hasn’t settled.

My mind is reeling, thinking about the face I saw in the stands—the face I thought I’d never see up there.

My mom’s here. She actually showed up.

For a moment, my mind wobbles. Like maybe I imagined it, the way I used to when I was little, squinting into the bleachers, desperate to find her among strangers. Maybe I made her up to survive the silence she left behind. But no, she was there. Right there. Next to my boyfriend.

Coach pulls me aside, claps me on the shoulder, and nods. “You did it, Maisie. That triple loop was sharp. One of your strongest skates.”

I nod, breathless, still clutching the towel she handed me. My dress clings to my back, the sequins glinting under the overhead lights. I slide onto the bench near the kiss-and-cry, my bodybuzzing, and my eyes fixed on the scoreboard as numbers begin to roll in.

Personal best.

The crowd erupts again, but it all fades into background noise.

As the next skater steps onto the ice, I catch movement out of the corner of my eye and notice my mom, slowly making her way down the bleachers.

She pauses at the barrier, just a few feet away, and for a second, I forget how to breathe.

Everything about her is perfect—her outfit, her posture, her hair slicked into a twist without a strand out of place. But her eyes…

Her eyes are red-rimmed. Glassy. Like she’s been crying.

“Maisie,” she says, her voice thin.

I stare at her, my heart lodged somewhere in my throat. “You really came.”

She nods, blinking fast like she’s trying not to fall apart. “You were…” Her voice catches. “You were beautiful out there.”

I shift awkwardly, not sure where to put my hands. “It was… okay.”

“No.” Her voice is firm, but soft. “It was more than okay. I—” She swallows hard, voice breaking. “I’m sorry it took me this long to see it for myself.”

I stare at the wall behind her, pretending not to feel the weight in my chest.

“There’s no excuse for missing all the ones that already passed. I just… I wish I had been there.”

I can’t meet her eyes. “I invited you every time.”

“I know.”

“I emailed you links. I found competitions near your work. I told you I’d pay for your gas.”

“I know, sweetie.”

My gaze finally lifts to hers. Her hands are trembling where they clutch her purse, knuckles white.

“Why now?” I ask her, wondering why she suddenly decided to show up.