Tessa’s heart clenched with emotion. “You’d all fly to New York just to see me skate? I’m not as good as I was ten years ago,” she warned them.
“Of course we want to go. And you’re still going to be amazing. You don’t forget those kinds of skills,” Mara explained.
“That’s what Micah said. He’s the one who talked me into skating again. He was right. I did want to skate, but I was afraid to try.” She paused before adding, “Thank you. I’m touched that you all want to go. Really.” Her voice cracked, and Tessa felt overwhelmed by the support she got from every woman sitting at the table.
She was casual friends with Emily, Mara, and Kristin. She’d met Sarah, but she didn’t really know her. She’d never really reached out to any of them, afraid to try to befriend them because she felt so much different from these women. In reality, she wasn’t different at all, and her imagined problem with communication had been just that: fear that they wouldn’t accept her and that she wouldn’t be able to really fit into their world.
“Why wouldn’t we want to go?” Mara said, looking at Tessa questioningly. “You’re our hometown Olympic champion and our friend. This is a pretty big deal for you.”
Tessa looked around the table at the four women.
It was never them. It was me.
Tessa had been afraid to reach out to any of them because she’d been terrified that they’d brand her as different, avoid her because she had changed. She lived in a world without sound; they didn’t. The truth was that it didn’t seem to matter to them that she was deaf. The only person who had considered it was her. These women had always been willing to be her friends. Tessa had been the one to distance herself.
She’d stayed close to Randi because her friend had just barged back into her life without an invitation. The rest of them had allowed her to keep a comfortable distance after Tessa had lost her hearing, because it was probably what they thought she wanted. She’d always been invited to go places with them, encouraged to join them for lunches. It was she who had rejected them.
Even now, every one of them was willing to still support her, still considered her a friend. “Thank you,” she said to Mara, then looked around the table. “Thank you all for wanting to be there.”
Sarah tapped her arm. “We are going to be there. I’m sorry I never recognized you. I was never allowed to watch much television as a child, and certainly not any kind of sports. Then I was busy with medical school and my residency. If I’d been a normal person I probably would have known.”
Tessa answered, “Most people don’t recognize me. I used my full name of Theresa when I was skating, so people don’t really even connect the name.” She sensed that there was a story behind Sarah’s claim that she wasn’t normal, but all she knew about Dante’s wife was that she was a good doctor, and had a way-higher-than-normal IQ. Maybe Sarah had been treated differently, maybe she’d felt out of place, too.
Sarah caught her attention as she questioned, “Have you ever tried cochlear implants? Kristin said you got meningitis and didn’t get treatment quickly enough to stop the hearing loss. It’s not my area of specialty, but I’d think you’d at least be a possible candidate.”
Tessa nodded, the failed implant not as uncomfortable to talk about as it used to be. “I had one, but I got an infection and it had to be removed.”
“That happens sometimes, but it’s very rare. You could try again,” Sarah told her, squeezing her forearm in support.
Tessa saw the kindness in Sarah’s remarkable violet eyes as the two women locked gazes across the table. “Scary thought,” Tessa answered simply.
“I understand. Especially after everything that’s happened to you. But the odds of it occurring again are pretty low. It might be worth the risk if that’s what you really want.”
“I do want it,” she shared with Sarah frankly. “It’s only fear that’s held me back.” She wasn’t going to try to use the excuse of expense, because the money it would cost wasn’t the real reason she wasn’t trying to get the implant again. Pure and simple—she had been terrified of another loss or failure.
“Understandable,” Sarah replied. “I think I’d be afraid to ever try again, too.”
All the women nodded emphatically around the table, agreeing with Sarah’s statement wholeheartedly. The solidarity and support of her emotions made Tessa want to cry.
How long had she needed validation?
How long had she needed to hear that she wasn’t wrong?
How long had she needed to pull her friends closer instead of keeping them at a distance?
How long had she felt alone and isolated?
Too. Damn. Long.
Tessa took a deep breath and asked, “I want to look into it, Sarah. Can you help me? I’m not sure what the medical protocol is if I’ve already had one implant that had to be removed.”
Sarah smiled at her. “Of course. It isn’t your fault it failed, so I wouldn’t think it would be an issue for your insurance company, but I’ll check everything out. I have a colleague in New York who is considered one of the best in the country with this procedure. I can contact her. Maybe you can see her while you’re in New York City?”
Tessa nodded jerkily. “Yes, please. I’d like that. I had it done in Boston last time. I think maybe having it done somewhere else would help. I don’t exactly have great memories of Boston. I’d rather not go there.” Not only had she lost her hearing in Boston, but she had too many bad memories of Rick to be happy about going back there. This would be a new beginning for her. She wanted to start it in a new place.