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Gracie takes two steps onto the ice and goes down hard. She gets back up, wobbling on feet unaccustomed to skates, and manages only a few more steps before falling again.
Buffy offers a hand to help her up. “Gracie, baby, why don’t you hold onto me until you get the hang of it?”
But the little girl shakes her head with a determined scowl as she dusts herself off. “I do it self!”
She should have seen that coming, Buffy thinks ruefully. Her baby is a tiny perfectionist, fiercely independent. When she was two, she’d brought herself to tears because she couldn’t color in the lines as well as her friend Aly, despite the two years’ gap in their ages.
“Okay,” she accedes. “But watch me. Push off one foot from the other and make vees. You can’t balance walking straight.”
She demonstrates slowly. Gracie copies her, face creased in concentration, and makes it a whole ten feet this time.
Half an hour later, Gracie is circling the perimeter of the rink at speed. “Mommy, Daddy, look! I’m flying!”
Angel turns to Buffy with a fond smile. “How long do you think until we can get her into hockey?”