Edge of Glory

by Rachel Spangler

  “Am I to assume you keep all those things on hand at all times?” Elise asked, extracting herself from the bed with much more grace. “Or did I lead you to believe this breakfast was a foregone conclusion?”

  “No, you’re never that,” Corey pulled on a pair of sweatpants and grabbed a worn T-shirt from her dresser drawer. “Let’s say I’m ever the optimist.”

  “That you are.” Elise pulled on her yoga pants from the day before, then took the T-shirt out of Corey’s hand. “Thanks for that, by the way.”

  “Hey, one of us has to be the believer here.” Corey grabbed another shirt and tried not to feel inordinately pleased at the sight of Elise wearing her clothes.

  “I don’t know,” Elise said. “You believed from the beginning, but after last night, I might start calling myself a convert.”

  “It was sort of a religious experience, right?”

  “Have I mentioned you’re also super modest?”

  Corey laughed. “Nothing like a little blasphemy to celebrate the birth of our Lord and Savior.”

  “Your Lord and Savior,” Elise said. “I’m Jewish.”

  Corey stopped midway to the door. “Really?”

  “Well, half Jewish.”

  “When did that happen?”

  “Well, if you believe the hype, God made a covenant with the people of Israel through Sarah and Abraham.”

  Corey laughed. “Not that. I meant how did I not know this about you?”

  Elise shrugged. “It never came up.”

  Corey’s stomach gave another twist that had nothing to do with hunger. How did she know so little about Elise? On some levels she knew her better than any other woman she’d ever woken up with. She understood what made her tick, what annoyed her, what motivated her. They understood the day-to-day stressors, the pressure, the joy of triumph on the big stages of the world. And yet, she didn’t know where she grew up, what her parents did for a living, or even her middle name. As she padded down the stairs to the kitchen, she fought a little fear rising within her, suggesting maybe Elise wanted to keep it that way.

  “You got awfully quiet, awfully fast,” Elise said, leaning against the bar dividing the kitchen from the living room.

  “Hmm?” Corey hummed while popping a couple of large cinnamon rolls into the oven.

  “You were all playful and cocky until I said I was half Jewish; then you went silent and frowny,” Elise said, with a deep crease in her brow. “I hope Jews are still invited to Christmas dinner.”

  “What?” Corey shook her head. “Oh God, yes of course. We set a big table. All are welcome. I’m sorry if I let you think otherwise. I was thinking about how little I know about you. I mean, I thought I had a pretty good handle on who you were, or who you are now anyway, but I don’t know anything about you before July.”

  “Why would you need to?” Elise asked.

  “Because friends talk about things like that. Because I like you, more than a friend.”

  “I don’t see how my upbringing is relevant to you in any way.”

  Corey’s chest tightened. “Because I’m not going to be part of your life much longer?”

  “Core,” Elise hopped off the stool and came around to cup Corey’s face in her hands. “Where did that come from?”

  “I don’t know. I feel like you’re holding me at arms’ length, and maybe it’s because you don’t want me to get too attached.”

  “We’re well past the point of getting attached,” Elise said, though Corey couldn’t tell how she felt about that fact. “I’m not used to tell-all sessions. I’ve worked hard to keep my personal life personal. Besides, I’m not close with my family the way you are with yours. I mean, I assume you’re close with yours, but I only know there are multiple sisters in the area. It’s not like you’ve handed me your autobiography to read.”

  “No,” Corey admitted, “but you’ve met Holly, and you’re going to meet pretty much everyone else in a few hours. I probably should’ve given you more warning about this. There’s kind of a lot of us.”

  “Four sisters, right?”

  “Four sisters, two brothers-in-law, three nieces, four nephews, two parents, one set of grandparents, two aunts, one uncle, a handful of cousins, and at least four dogs.”

  “No cats?” Elise asked, her smile returning.

  “Yeah, a few, but you won’t see them because with everyone home it gets loud and hectic and crowded. And loud. There will be tons of food and probably live music at some point. And yelling, not necessarily at anyone in particular, just yelling, because did I mention we’re loud? By the end of the day, you might wish I’d uninvited you for being Jewish.”

  “It sounds wonderful.”

  “You might want to reserve judgment,” Corey said, a hint of insecurity creeping in. “We’re not formal people. None of our Christmas traditions will be as fancy as anything you’re probably used to.”

  “I don’t have any Christmas traditions,” Elise said flatly. “My dad is Jewish. My mother is completely secular.”

  “But even secular people have things they lift up at holidays.”

  “Even before they divorced, the only thing my parents worshipped jointly was success. They sacrificed a great many things on that altar.”

  Corey blew out a low whistle. “Tell me how you really feel.”

  Elise sighed and went back to her stool. “You wanted to know more about my family.”

  “And I still do,” Corey said, opening a small wine fridge under the bar and pulling out a bottle of Moët & Chandon champagne. “I’m getting the feeling this conversation might be best served with a mimosa.”

  “We’re still training,” Elise said quickly, then rethought her answer. “Maybe one mimosa, heavy on the OJ, wouldn’t be a terrible idea.”

  Corey poured a little bit of bubbly into two flutes, and then topped it off with the juice before handing one to Elise. “Now back up a bit. What is it your parents are so successful at?”

  “Well, my father is in print journalism.”

  “Like, he writes for newspapers?”

  “Mostly he owns them.”

  “Multiples?” Corey asked. “Anything I’ve read?”

  “He’s part of an ownership group that has a hand in virtually every English-speaking newspaper worth reading.”

  “Well then.” She sipped from her drink. “I can see how some would deem him rather successful.”

  “Not as much as my mother.”

  “Your mother’s more accomplished than the guy who owns our news? What does she do?”

  “She’s heiress to a chain of high-end, home-good stores catering to people with expendable income and time for hobbies.”

  “What, like Pottery Barn or Williams-Sonoma, or what’s the other one with all the exotic lamps and paperweights?”

  “Yes,” Elise said coolly.

  “Yes to which?”

  “Yes to all of the above. She’s the CEO of the parent company that owns all of them. I’m sure many of the pieces in this room are made by one of her subsidiaries.”

  Corey hopped up to sit on the counter, not sure she could trust her legs anymore, but still trying desperately to appear chill in the face of the new information. “When you said you went to private school, that was the tip of the iceberg, wasn’t it?”

  “An elite boarding school that cost more per year than Harvard.”

  “Wow.” So much for chill. She’d lost all her words.

  “And now you can see why I don’t go into it much.”

  “I imagine a lot of people have a hard time relating,” Corey said thoughtfully. “Did you get a lot of pressure to go into one of the family businesses?”

  “No. Thankfully I always had more freedom than that. Both my parents put a lot of emphasis on not being a trust-fund baby. They wanted me to have the drive to accomplish something of my own.”

  “Well, that’s good.” Corey hopped down and pulled the cinnamon rolls out of the oven. “I imagine a lot of people you knew had their
whole lives planned out for them.”

  “Yes, you’re probably right. Everyone I knew growing up had high expectations and demanding parents. My parents were probably on the more relaxed side of the spectrum. They didn’t have a plan for me. All that mattered to them was that I become the best in the world at something. They didn’t care so much at what.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “The best in the world?”

  “A CEO of a multinational corporation, a Pulitzer Prize winner, a Nobel Prize winner, president of the United States, lots of valid options. The venue didn’t matter, only the mastery of it.”

  “Magnanimous of them,” Corey said, trying to keep the edge out of her voice. No wonder Elise put so much pressure on herself. It’s all she’d ever known. “And out of all those choices, you chose world-champion skier?”

  “I didn’t start skiing with any goal in mind. My father skied a little. My mother liked the spa. On weekends when they wanted to get away from the city, we’d fly up to Vermont for these little family getaways.”

  “Sounds nice.” She began to ice the cinnamon rolls, enjoying the idea of a little Elise zipping around Killington or Stratton with her parents laughing and trying to keep up.

  “The slopes were nice, but back in the lodge they fought mercilessly. Not yelling, mind you, but constant sparring. They’re both smart enough to know all the words, and calculating enough to choose the ones that stung the other most. They must’ve been in love at some point, but by the time I was old enough to remember, their relationship had devolved into a war of words.”

  “I’m sorry. That must’ve made home pretty tense.”

  “Not home. When we were in Manhattan, they never had to be in the same room. My mother worked days, my father nights, and they both worked at least every other weekend. The only time they saw each other without colleagues around was on those ski trips.”

  Corey slathered on another thick layer of icing. Their training regimens would kill tomorrow, but if Christmas morning didn’t call for extra sugar, the conversation certainly did. “I’m surprised you didn’t grow up hating skiing.”

  “The skiing offered my only escape. I learned to stay on the slopes from sunup to sundown, and when the trails had lights, I’d ski even later. When I was out there, I didn’t have to listen to them bicker, and when I went fast enough, I didn’t even hear the echoes of their fights anymore. As I got older and the fights got louder or harsher, I simply had to ski faster until the wind whistling in my ears drowned out everything.”

  Corey wordlessly slid the cinnamon roll across the counter to her. She wanted to offer comfort, but she didn’t want to interrupt. Elise obviously didn’t tell these stories lightly, and she felt honored, even while the subject made her uncomfortable.

  “They divorced when I was in seventh grade, and I went to boarding school the next year. Things got better, but I’d already become shockingly fast on the slopes. The school ski coach didn’t need long to figure that out. And once my parents heard the words ‘Olympic potential,’ they both poured every ounce of money and influence they had into my training.”

  “Finally something they could agree on,” Corey said dryly.

  Elise laughed. “Exactly. I suspect they sold it to themselves that way. If I went on to become a success, they wouldn’t have to think of their marriage as a total failure.”

  “That’s a lot of pressure for a kid.”

  “I suppose so, but I didn’t know any other way. Like you said, everyone I grew up with carried some crushing weight of responsibility.” Elise shrugged. “The pressure defined us all. Without it I would’ve probably given up after my injury, or at least taken more time to come back. Maybe if my life had been different, I would’ve given in to self-pity or taken the easy excuses, but I don’t know. Everyone has something that drives them. I have to win. There’s never been another option.”

  Corey couldn’t imagine Elise ever giving into self-pity or taking the easy way out. She imagined Elise probably had a good deal of her drive written onto her DNA, and Corey suspected that with the right support and nurturing, she would’ve achieved every bit as much as she had now without the unhealthy dose of pressure, but she couldn’t be certain. What’s more, she didn’t think saying so now would be helpful in the midst of her comeback.

  “Are they still hounding you now that you’re grown up?”

  “Not since the accident. I guess that’s the only real silver lining. Once I wasn’t winning anymore, they lost interest in my career. If I can’t be the best, they don’t see any reason to bother. They are both shrewd investors, and I’m not a solid bet right now.”

  “I don’t even know what to say,” Corey finally admitted. “I wish you’d had a happier childhood, but I’m also impressed with how you turned all that into something productive. You’re amazing, and I wouldn’t change a thing about the woman you’ve become, so I guess I have to accept the forces that molded you, but I still really want to hold you right now.”

  Elise’s mouth curled up. “Well, I guess if you need to be comforted, a hug would be acceptable.”

  Corey came around the bar and wrapped Elise in her arms. She immediately felt the tight muscles in Elise’s shoulders and back loosen as she rested her head on Corey’s chest. She wasn’t the only one soothed by the contact, and she hoped she wasn’t the only one reluctant to let go, but she understood now better than before that Elise wasn’t someone who would let herself be held for long.

  • • •

  Elise clapped along as Uncle Harry played a wild jig on his violin. Or maybe that was Uncle Mark and he had a son named Harry, but if so, he also had a son named Mark, because one of the boys running in and out from the sledding hill also appeared to be named Mark or Markie to distinguish the two.

  She’d spent more than five hours in Corey’s parents’ house and still hadn’t learned everyone’s name, much less figured out their relation to one another. She’d made a point to learn Corey’s parents and sisters first. Though, to be fair, once she figured out the parents, it would be impossible not to know which women belonged to them. The LaCroixs had an even pair of mini-me’s each. Jane and Holly were both lithe and sultry like their mother, while Meg and Corey favored their father from his eyes to his build all the way down to his nose and chin. It would’ve been easy to split the children into his-and-hers sets based on looks alone if their personalities didn’t come spilling out every time they opened their mouths.

  “Hey, Markie,” Corey called the next time the little boy tromped through the house, snow still dripping from his boots. “You want another cookie?”

  “Mom said I can’t have any more.”

  Corey grabbed a little peanut-butter blossom and tossed it to him. “But Aunt Corey says you can.”

  The boy’s eyes widened. “Thanks!”

  “Marcus,” Meg called from the doorway to the kitchen. “What did she give you?”

  Corey made a quick eating motion and pointed to her mouth. He got the message and stuffed the cookie all the way in.

  “Nothing,” Corey answered for him.

  Meg tossed the dishtowel she’d been holding over her shoulder and stepped closer. Corey stage-whispered, “Run, Markie.”

  The kid bolted back out the door.

  “Corey,” Meg said, exasperated, her eyes and mouth exactly like Corey’s and yet formed in an expression of exasperation the level of which Elise doubted the younger sister had ever experienced. “It’s bad enough I have to deal with Dad bending the rules for him. I don’t need you doing it, too.”

  “Come on, Meg. It’s Christmas. Beside I only get to seem him a couple times a year. If I don’t spoil him hard, how will he know I’m his favorite aunt?”

  “A child can develop love and affection through consistency and boundaries,” Meg lectured. “Regular letters or phone calls, and age-appropriate educational toys—”

  Corey rolled her head back and made a loud, fake snoring noise.

  Meg threw the dishtowel at her. �
�Just because Mom and Dad got tired of enforcing the rules by the time you came along doesn’t mean I have to do the same with Markie.”

  “Why? I turned out fine.”

  “You gave my six-year-old a sled shaped like a motorcycle.”

  “I think that proves my point. I’m winning at this aunt thing.”

  Meg shook her head, clearly realizing she wouldn’t win this one. “The least you can do is go supervise him on it for a bit so Holly and Paolo can come inside and get warm.”

  “Fine,” Corey said, standing up with a big stretch. “I’ll go supervise my nephew.”

  “Good.” Meg nodded and turned back toward the kitchen, mumbling. “I’m surprised you even know the meaning of the word.”

  Corey turned to Elise with a smile. “I do know the meaning of ‘supervise.’ It means ‘go teach Markie how to build a ramp out of snow.’”

  Elise laughed and shook her head. “She’s going to kill you when she finds out.”

  “Meg? Nah, she’s all bluster and no bite. She didn’t inherit the killer instinct, unless you consider her ability to nag you to death.” Corey pulled on her snow coat as she stepped out onto her parents’ back deck. “Jane’s the one who will shank you in the back if you cross the line.”

  “That’s the God’s honest truth,” Holly called from her perch on the railing. “It’s always the quiet ones you gotta watch out for.”

  “Elise knows this lesson already,” Paolo said. “She lives it.”

  She rolled her eyes but couldn’t argue the point.

  “Aunt Corey,” one of the girls called, “come play.”

  Corey turned to Elise and lifted a shoulder in a silent question of permission, her eyes as hopeful as Markie’s had been moments earlier.

  “Go on. Show them how you build a snow ramp,” Elise said with a smile. “Don’t break any of the sleds, though.”