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August
She could have texted Nastia, of course. She posts on Nastia’s Facebook instead. Heyyy you, I have this charity thing in the city on the 3rd, would love to see you if your free!!!
She checks her fan page, scrolls aimlessly for a few minutes. A notification pops up.
Alya Fargatovna likes your comment.
A smile spreads slowly across Aly’s face.
May
She takes Nastia up on her invitation to visit that summer. Nastia’s done with finals and Aly’s appearances have been drying up, so they have plenty of time to explore the city. It’s fun being able to relate to Nastia as an adult. They talk for hours over soy lattes in the spring sunlight. “You should move here,” Nastia urges. At first Aly thinks she’s just being nice. But Nastia keeps talking about NYU and how they’re so supportive of former athletes and how she and Aly could hang out all the time. New York is amazing, Aly thinks. And since her career has petered out, she’s starting to wonder about what she should do with the rest of her life. College? Fashion? This city might not be a bad place to reinvent herself.
"Come back and visit over the summer," Nastia says.
"OK," Aly says.
June
Nastia sends her a cryptic text. Hey girlie you should come down this weekend. Don’t ask why just come!! ;) xoxo
haha so mysterious! Why? Aly replies, just to be contrary.
You’ll see!
She shows up thinking she’s ready for anything. Nastia lets her into the apartment and Aly looks around, expecting tickets to some fashion event or maybe a pony. The apartment looks much the same as when she saw it last: assorted knick-knacks, expensive furniture, the bohemian art Aly tries to like. No sign of a pony, but there’s someone on the couch.
"This is one of my NYU friends. I think you might know her, actually…"
The girl is leaning forward and poking at her phone, face hidden behind a fall of dark brown hair. Huge dark eyes look up at her and for some reason Aly’s stomach lurches in recognition.
"Aliya, you remember Aly?"
The girl stands. “Yes,” she says simply. “I remember.”
"Hi," Aly squeaks. She clears her throat. She’s surprised, that’s all. "Good to see you again."
Aliya nods. She’s looking at Aly with an odd intensity, almost drinking in her features. “Is very nice to see familiar face,” she says.
"Aliya’s studying here for the summer. I thought we could all hang out this weekend," Nastia says, and Aly turns to her, grateful for an explanation to latch onto. Of course Aliya doesn’t know anyone in New York if she’s an exchange student. Aly is probably the only other person on the East Coast who could remotely be considered a friend.
Nastia continues, “We were thinking of getting some dinner. Are you hungry?”
"Sure, sounds good to me!” Aly turns to Aliya. Aly is always friendly, but she resolves to be extra friendly to her ex-competitor. “What would you like, Aliya?"
The Russian girl shrugs. “I eat whatever you say.”
"Come on, you just got to America. You should get to pick! What do you want?"
It’s kind of adorable how her eyes light up at the idea. “Pizza,” Aliya says quickly.
In the cab, Aliya looks out the window at the bustle of traffic and hard-faced pedestrians outside. Aly watches her watching the city and wonders how different life is in Moscow. Or wherever Aliya’s from. She’s not sure.
The pizza place Nastia found on Yelp is a hole in the wall with bad AC, nearly stifling in an early heat wave. They sip ice water from sweating cups and pick at the greasy pizza. With Nastia’s occasional help, Aly tries to draw Aliya out in conversation. She asks about adjusting to being in the US, about school, and about Aliya’s friends and family back home. Aliya’s responses are brief, almost diffident, but she makes eye contact and smiles at a few of Aly’s lame jokes. She doesn’t go into much detail about what brings a former world and Olympic champion to NYU. Aly knows about the second, career-ending injury, of course; the 2016 Olympic bid tragically cut short. She wants to ask how Aliya has done it—managed to move on with her life and become the kind of person who has homework, much less one who studies abroad. But Aliya’s knee keeps bumping hers under the small table and, strangely, all Aly can think of is how often the fans used to ask about her and Aliya.
They would love this, she thinks, if anyone still cared.
Nastia has a movie for them to watch when they get home. Aliya alternately watches, expressionless, or texts her friends in Russian (Aly peeks once or twice). Once Aliya leans over and asks Aly to explain a joke. Aly tries. She doesn’t think Aliya quite gets it, but she’s flattered that Aliya chooses to speak to her in English rather than ask Nastia in Russian.
After Aliya leaves to go study, Nastia says, “I’m glad you two are hitting it off! She needs some friends here.”
“Yeah. She seems really cool.”
July
Aly wasn’t originally planning to visit in July. Then Nastia texts her to say she’s going out of town for a gymnastics camp thing and a wedding, and would Aly like to watch her apartment for two weeks?
It’s fun to pretend she lives in New York. In the mornings, she runs on the treadmill, waters Nastia’s weird hipster plants, and takes care of business emails. She spends the rest of the time exploring. On the evening of the third day, right before she’s about to go check out a concert down by the river, someone knocks on her door. It’s Aliya, holding a book and looking a little ill at ease.
"Hello. I bring this back for Nastia."
"Oh, thanks! Come on in, I’ll just put this away.”
Aliya follows her in. “You enjoy living here?”
"It’s nice. A little boring by myself." Aliya nods in reply and Aly thinks she looks a little wistful. Maybe lonely. She says brightly, "Hey, what are you doing tonight? There’s like this free music in the park thing. You should come with me!"
"I have homework…"
"Come on. It’ll be fun."
They sprawl next to each other on a blanket. The music washes over them, carried on a quick summer breeze. Aly stretches her feet beyond the blanket’s edge to feel the grass prickle between her toes. She sneaks an occasional glance at Aliya, who’s dreamily twitching one foot in time to the music. It is surreal to be sitting here with a former competitor in the middle of a crowd in a strange city. Two Olympians whose time is over blending into the crowd. They get gelato later and sit outside on the patio. They talk a little, watch passers-by in companionable silence. It’s nice.
“Thank you for tonight,” Aliya says suddenly. “I enjoy.”
“Of course, I’m really glad you came!” Aly says. Aliya grins shyly in response and Aly can’t help but add, “You should come over again tomorrow! There’s this restaurant I want to try.”
So Aliya becomes part of her routine. Sometimes the Russian brings her homework over to the apartment. Aly quickly grows used to having Aliya beside her on the couch, writing paper after paper as Aly flips channels or paints her nails. Other times they go out to sightsee and to try all the food they couldn’t eat when they were elite gymnasts. Aliya is a good companion—she’s less chatty and less excitable than Aly’s usual friends, but Aly enjoys her dry wit and willingness to try anything. On their last night together, she’s surprised by how sad she feels about leaving her new friend.
"It is strange to be here," Aliya volunteers over dinner and drinks.
"What do you mean?"
"My life home in Russia. I am here three months, then I go back and have my life again. This is nice to be away, but it is…"
"Kind of a temporary escape?"
"Yes. And you?"
"I guess. I mean, I’m done with gymnastics, I just haven’t announced my retirement yet. But I don’t really know what’s next. This has been a nice break, living in Nastia’s apartment and hanging out in the city with you. It’s like I’m pretending I have another life."
"For me, too," Aliya says. She’s looking at Aly again with that weird intensity and Aly wonders what the other girl is thinking. Aly can never tell with her, though, that’s kind of the way Aliya’s face is.
Aliya kisses her goodnight, a brief brush of lips against her cheek. Aly’s flattered at this Russian gesture of friendship. “You will visit again soon,” Aliya commands as she slides out of the cab.
“OK, bossypants,” Aly says. She doesn’t quite understand why she’s grinning so widely at Aliya’s retreating back.
August
Nastia has a date so it’s just Aly and Aliya for the evening. Though it’s only been three weeks since her last visit, Aly is excited to see Aliya again, enough that she feels a strange surge of adrenaline when she knocks. The door swings open quickly to reveal Aliya in shorts and a spaghetti-strap tank top. A welcoming smile creases Aliya’s face and Aly feels herself smiling back as her friend pulls her into a quick hug. Even though this isn’t Nastia’s apartment, it feels a little like coming home.
“Come in, please.” Aliya touches her elbow as if to guide Aly inside. It’s funny, really, how intimidating she’d seemed in competition and yet how utterly warm she is away from the gym.
The apartment is a bit shabby. The AC is clearly not up to snuff and there are textbooks and papers everywhere. “It’s cute,” Aly says diplomatically.
“It has fridge. Fridge has food and beer. All I need.”
“Haha, that is all you need.”
“Also this thing. Popsicle.” Aliya pronounces it carefully. “I say right?”
“Perfect,” Aly reassures her.
The August heat is stifling but the breeze feels nice out on the fire escape. The cold popsicle feels even better. It’s flavored an overwhelming orange, full of high fructose corn syrup and other exciting things Aly couldn’t have when she was competing. Aly rests an arm on the railing and looks down at the street as she licks the popsicle slowly. Sensory details jump out at her: distant music spilling from car radios, women in fluttering sundresses, the slant of dying light on brick and concrete. “Is summer like this in Russia?”
“Not so hot. Very short. Big change when I go home.” Aliya’s popsicle is dripping. She catches a few errant drops with her tongue and Aly feels abruptly flushed, like she’s sweating all over. Well, she is sweating all over; it’s very warm, after all. She goes to sit on the steps, wedging herself lengthwise with her feet propped up. Aliya leans against the railing on the landing and looks down at her. “You will come back to New York after I leave?”
Aly’s suddenly, weirdly aware of Aliya’s shape, the way her tank top hugs her curves and her shorts hang low on her hips. She shrugs and looks down at the orange sludge she’s balancing carefully on the wooden stick. The whole mess is about to slide off, so she pops it into her mouth. “I don’t know,” she says around the melting sugar. “I don’t really know what I’m doing with my life.”
“And me,” Aliya says softly. She comes to sit on the top step and Aly moves her legs so Aliya can put her feet down. “I come to your country to see if I can be new person. No more gymnastics. I am only business student now.”
“A pretty good one.”
“Because you help my English for writing.”
“I do what I can.” Aly sighs. “I don’t know why when you’re going to leave me for the oil fields or whatever. You should stay, you know. It’s way more fun here.”
Aliya nods thoughtfully. “Yes … yes, I think I quit school and have apartment with you and we eat popsicles every day.”
“Even in the winter?!”
“Especially in winter.”
"And pizza for every meal, right?"
"Most expensive pizza in city. Only best for us!"
They embellish further, snickering as they construct a rather implausible life of unlikely purchases (mostly involving food) and increasingly improbable adventures. By the end Aliya’s laughing so hard she’s nearly doubled over. For her part, Aly’s crying. She wipes her eyes and says between subsiding giggles, “God, we’re the best, aren’t we?”
“We are, we are.”
Aly slumps back to rest her head against the thin bars and looks up at the darkening sky. She feels relaxed and oddly happy and sad at the same time. “I’ve really enjoyed this summer,” she says reflectively. She grabs Aliya’s hand, sticky like her own, squeezes it for a moment. “I wish you could stay here. I’m going to miss you so much.”
And Aliya looks at her, looks at her like she’s been looking at Aly all summer only it’s taken this long for Aly to really actually see it. Aly sits up straight and thinks, Oh and then oh my god I’m an idiot and please can we, and then Aliya braces her hand on Aly’s knee and leans over to kiss her in the dusk of a New York summer evening and Aly’s senses explode
cherry and orange mingling on their tongues and Aliya’s breath on her face
fingers brushing her cheek gently almost delicately
the pressure of skilled lips against hers and an inward fire growing building and
god
why didn’t she see?
When Aliya pulls away, Aly’s so dazed that she can only blink at Aliya in wonder. Aliya rubs her shin with a thumb and watches her for a moment. “You are OK?”
“Yeah,” Aly says blankly. She feels like her ears should be ringing.
“Are you thirsty, golubushka?”
She wants Aliya to kiss her again. She wants to tear Aliya’s clothes off right there on the fire escape platform. She wants to sit very still and reassess her entire life. “Um, yes. I am.”
“I will get us some water, OK?”
“OK.”
While Aliya’s gone, Aly overcomes her stupor enough to realize her ass hurts from sitting on the steps. She stands slowly. Realizes that Aliya is going to come back in a few moments and … something will happen. She’s not sure what. What I did on my summer vacation, by Alexandra Raisman, she thinks, and stifles a hysterical laugh. This borrowed life has become hyper-real and then unreal, and Aly knows it will end all too soon even though it’s only really started in the last few minutes—if she lets things continue the way they inevitably will when Aliya comes back—if she doesn’t break the suspension of disbelief and lets the summer run its course. She turns her back to the street and clutches the railing behind her, looking down at the metal grating beneath her feet, solid unchanging steel that gives her no answers, and then Aliya ducks back out onto the fire escape holding two bottles of water and Aly involuntarily says her name, low and throaty, because good god she’s gorgeous. Aliya sets the bottles down carefully and comes over to her, plants her hands on the railing next to Aly’s. Doesn’t say anything, just looks Aly in the eye, like are you sure? And suddenly she is, she is sure, more than anything. Aly hooks her fingers in Aliya’s belt loops and pulls her close, saying a silent yes so that Aliya will kiss her again there in the August heat and
She says yes in the bedroom all twisted sheets and the rattling drone of the window unit
Yes in the shower as Aliya presses her against the cool tile
Yes against the wall and on the couch it’s the second day and nothing else seems to matter but Aliya. Because this is what they have for now. And it’s good, Aly thinks drowsily, curled on the couch in the curve of Aliya’s arm, skin to skin. However long it lasts—until the end of summer or longer—it’s good.
“Pizza and beer?” Aliya asks her.
“Whatever you want,” Aly says, and lifts her chin to be kissed.