by Abby Sher
“Hello?”
“Hey, chicken,” said Dad. “We just got the okay. Plows are almost through. We’ll be there in about a half hour.”
“Okay,” I said, and clicked off.
I looked at Eric.
“What is it?”
“The roads are clear. They’re coming home.” I put a smile on my face, but it felt pasted on. All I could think about was how much I didn’t want this to end. I just wanted to hold on to the glow of the fire, the sound of Martha and Luis chatting in the kitchen, the smell of garlic and butter floating under the door, and Eric in the chair next to me.
Agh, Levy! Didn’t you learn anything from that whole Drew experience? Guys are either unavailable emotionally or total horndogs.
But that didn’t seem really fair to Eric. I mean, he had started out kind of bossy, but that all made sense now. And now that we had spent some time together, I thought he was pretty funny, especially when he pretended he was Fozzie and said things like, “I’m the mayor of this town and I declare that we should all eat yellow snow and then take naps for the rest of the day!”
And he had a great laugh and he also said (as Eric) that he liked how I was full of stories and he thought my turtle hat was fantastic. And his fingers were long and skinny and stained with ink….
“Hey! Will you show me some of your drawings?” I asked, sitting up straight now.
Eric shook his head. “Nah, that’s boring. Don’t you want to just relax before the others get back?”
“No. I really want to see them. Come on, please?” It felt urgent now. Like a need, somehow.
“If you insist.” Eric smiled.
He went up the back stairs behind Phil’s office and brought down a large black sketchbook. It was frayed at the edges and held together by a big rubber band with pages slipping out of all sides.
“I can’t believe you want to see this stuff,” he mumbled. “Please promise me you’ll stop me before I bore you to tears.”
“Promise,” I said.
We settled down on the rug, and he opened up the worn cover. The drawings were breathtaking. They were of snow-covered mountains — but not like, here are some trees, here’s some snow. Each branch, each pine needle was so delicate and exact. I could smell the cold air, the wet bark. Then there was one of Fozzie as he lay on his beanbag bed, every hair placed just so. A series of sunsets behind a line of trees and even though they were all in charcoal, I could see the colors — the orange melting into pink into lilac into nothing. He turned the page.
“Ah, you don’t have to see that one.”
“What?” I said, tugging at his sleeve.
“Nothing,” he said, pulling back more pages. I tugged again.
“Come on.”
He stopped, took a breath.
“Okay, but just … yeah, whatever.” I saw little splotches of color in his cheeks, right next to his ears. Why was he blushing?
He opened the pad again. The page was full of all different shades of light and dark. It was hard to adjust my eyes at first, but then I saw the lines come together, the faces find their space, the shadows take shape, inhabiting the page. And when I did, I saw …
“That’s … that’s …” He had drawn all of us singing that night at karaoke. When he was sitting in the back, watching. There was Liz in the front, Heidi and Dina behind her, and me in the back. It was so detailed, so intricate. The light was exactly like it had felt up there in front of the microphone. I could see Liz’s hips swaying, her blond locks shaking, her cheeks full and bright. There was the fire blazing and the two lamps and the moose head over the mantel. Heidi and Dina had their mouths open and their hands on their hips. He had even drawn the windows to the left, and the dark of the night beyond. Everything was there. I felt like I could hear the music thumping, feel the beat pulsing, touch the energy of the room. He had completely captured the moment.
And there was me — my face tipped up to the ceiling, my eyes closed, my lips in a circle as if I was singing “ooooh.” I stared at the picture.
“The perspective’s a little off,” he said quietly. “It was dark.”
And now I felt myself flushing, too. “Did I really look like that?” I whispered. It looked like there was light bouncing off my skin. My hair shimmered down my shoulders and through the cracks of my eyes there was the faintest glimmer. I looked … beautiful.
“Yeah,” he said. “You did to me.”
“Wow,” I said. “I mean, thanks.” And then we sat there, looking at that night. It was only a few days ago, but things were so different now. I had thought he was such a weirdo and a creep sitting back there with the flickering candle in the dark. And he must’ve thought — Wow. What had he thought? I wanted to ask him. Actually, I wanted to ask him what he was thinking right now, too.
“Sam?” he whispered.
“Yeah?” I croaked.
“I just wondered if you still thought I was kind of a nosy jerk,” he said, facing the fire.
I almost laughed. It was so much the opposite of what I was thinking. But I didn’t want him to think that I was laughing at him.
“Not at all,” I said. “And do you still think I’m a rude girl who doesn’t know when to keep her mouth shut?”
I stayed looking at the fire too, but I could see Eric smile out of the corner of my eye.
“I never did,” he said.
A blast of cold air came through the front door.
“Whew! What a day!”
“Oh, there’s still a fire, good!”
“Please, someone give me something — anything — to eat besides a French fry!”
The guests started spilling into the lobby, shedding their coats and standing in front of the fire. They seemed to be totally oblivious to the fact that we were sitting there. I saw Fozzie look up wearily and then trot off to find some other, more secluded spot for sleeping.
“Hey, kiddo! Thought we’d never see you again. How’s my girl?” Dad pulled me up and took my face in his hands.
“Good. Great.”
“You feeling better?” asked Kathy.
“Yeah, much.” This time, I really didn’t mean to be rude, but I wanted to see if Eric was still in the chair next to me, getting gobbled up by everybody crowding in and talking about the storm. He must’ve gone into the kitchen to help Martha and Luis with dinner, though.
“Soup’s on!” I heard Martha holler, and everyone started shuffling toward the dining room.
I didn’t see Eric again for the rest of the night. Well okay, except for when I lay in bed later and closed my eyes. I saw those long, stained fingers and that crooked nose and him saying softly, “I never did.”
And then I giggled a little as I whispered out into the night, “What did that mean?”
“What do you say, kid? Last day to hit the slopes. You coming?” asked Dad, putting down his coffee cup.
Our last day! I couldn’t believe it. Dad looked at me expectantly. What I really felt like doing was hanging out here with Eric and Fozzie. But I couldn’t say that. And where was Eric, anyway? My window looked out on the back and I had happened to see him early that morning taking off in his truck. He still hadn’t come back, as far as I knew. It’s not like we had planned to see each other today, anyway. But I felt excited and nervous, but mostly excited to see him again. Okay, and nervous. And confused.
“What do you think? Should we try Seneca Mountain today?”
“I’m in!” said Jeremy. I think he was really sore from his snowboarding expedition, but I knew he would never admit it.
“Me too!” said Kathy.
Dad turned to me. What could I say? That I might sorta maybe run into a guy that I had thought was the biggest jerk on earth and now I was too scared to even say his name?
“Yeah, okay.”
Seneca Mountain was actually a series of slopes, folding on top of one another, each peak reaching higher into the sky. We decided we would all try cross-country for the morning. Dad said it would be easy for me a
nd Jeremy to learn, which was fine with me. Just looking at the downhill trails made me a little uneasy, and I noticed Jeremy was walking kind of funny, like there were balloons stuck between his legs or something, but I resisted the urge to make fun of him.
We got our skis and then made our way out to the bottom of the main slope to wait for the chairlift. This place was definitely off the beaten track — it wasn’t nearly as crowded as Sugar Peak. Just open sky and mountains cascading down on every side. It was glorious. I really wanted to be sharing it with Dad, but somehow he wound up talking to Jeremy in the back of the line and before I knew it, Kathy and I were sliding into a chair and being whisked up and away.
“Ah. Sure is magnificent up here,” she said, shielding her eyes with her gloved hand.
“Yeah,” I said. I wasn’t sure how long the lift was, but I wondered if we could talk about the scenery the whole time. It hit me then that the two of us had barely spoken the whole week.
She was tapping her fingers quickly on her legs. I guess we were both at a loss for words. “Have you had fun up here?” she asked finally.
“Yeah, yeah.”
“I am just so impressed with how fast you and Jeremy picked this stuff up. I mean, I’m still terrified of downhill.”
“Oh, you know.” I honestly didn’t mean to be incommunicative. I was just thinking about a million other things right then.
“Did you used to —” Kathy began. And then, halfway through her sentence, the car lurched forward and stopped.
“What was that?” I gasped.
“I’m not sure,” she said. She put a smile on her face but I could see there was panic in her eyes. We were somewhere past the tops of the trees, dangling about a gazillion feet over the ground. Okay, maybe that was an exaggeration, but we were a long way up.
“Attention skiers! Attention skiers!” There was someone on a megaphone at the bottom of the slope. “We are experiencing some difficulty with the chairlift. Please remain in your seats with your hands on the bar and we will fix this as soon as possible!”
“What does that mean? Difficulty?” I stammered.
“I’m not quite sure,” said Kathy slowly.
I like to think of myself as a fairly level-headed person. I don’t burst into tears that often, and I know what to do in case of a fire. I’ll always volunteer to be in the exit row on a plane, and I know how to treat a nosebleed. But I guess I am not the best companion during a real crisis. It’s this head of mine. It just keeps on spinning. How were they going to get us out of there? Would they take us out by air lift or would we have to swing from a rope like Tarzan or what? I didn’t know how to climb down a rope. I mean, we did that in gym class once but I never got the hang of it and then our teacher, Mr. Stern, was sick the next day so we just watched movies on schoolyard safety. Oh, I hoped they didn’t give us a rope. Or maybe a giant net? Could they do that? Did we sign waivers or something?
And then my mouth started flapping.
“I mean, does this happen a lot? Do they know what they’re doing? What if it doesn’t get unstuck? Do they have a plan of some sort?”
I knew Kathy didn’t have any of these answers, but I couldn’t help myself. And now we were slowly rocking back and forth, somewhere in midair.
“Hey, Sam! Kathy! You all right?”
Dad’s voice came from somewhere behind us. I forgot that we were all caught up here, hanging by that tiny wire.
“Yeah!” we called back in unison, and then we both laughed a little. It actually felt good to laugh.
“Don’t worry! The guy behind us says this happens a lot! It’ll get cleared up soon!”
I closed my eyes and tried to focus my breath. In, 2, 3. Out, 2, 3. In, 2, 3. Out, 2, 3.
Then I felt Kathy touch my knee. I opened my eyes.
“It’s gonna be okay, Sam,” she said.
“Yeah, I know,” I said.
“I mean … with us.” She looked me right in the eye now. Her gaze was steady and calm.
“Yeah,” I said. I didn’t know what else to say.
“I mean, we both have a lot to learn about each other. I’m scared, too, you know. I never expected — did you ever hear how your dad and I met?”
“No.”
I had never even asked. I had been too busy being mad. That first phone call when he told me he’d started seeing someone and he thought — he hoped — I would like her. I was sitting on the floor of my bedroom, and I remember hanging up on him so I could cry.
“Do you want to know?” she asked gently, watching my face, which I know was lost in thought.
“Yes. Yes,” I said. And I meant it.
“Well, let me first say this. I wasn’t supposed to fall in love with someone fourteen years older than me — with two kids and a mortgage and a tan sedan. No offense, but that’s just not how I had imagined it.” She laughed. She was really pretty, especially when she laughed. And then she stopped herself. “Are you sure it’s okay that I’m telling you this?” she asked.
I nodded again. “Please,” I said.
“Okay, well, the first thing that happened was he took my parking spot outside the travel agency. I always parked in the same spot, right on the corner of Degraw and Lafayette. And one day, I was running late to work, as usual, and your father cut me off. Oooh, I was so mad! I rolled down my window and I was screaming all sorts of names at him. It was not pretty.”
She giggled and rolled her dark eyes. I thought of the way I had snapped at Eric that first night outside on the steps.
“And your father, gentle soul that he is, pulled out after me, followed me around the corner and all the way down the hill, where I finally found a parking spot. I didn’t notice that he was behind me, of course, until I got out of the car and there he was. I was in such a rush, I remember, I slammed my bag in the car door. I was cursing like a sailor. And then when I saw him standing there, wow, I really laid into him. ‘I park there every day!’ and ‘Don’t you have any common courtesy?’ And I remember I ended it by saying, ‘And now it looks like you’re following me!’ And then, he waited for me to finish, with those beautiful, patient eyes, and he looked at me and said, ‘You are absolutely right. I am following you. Because you were right, and I was wrong. And I’d like the chance to make it up to you.’”
“Wow,” I said. “That’s pretty — wow.” The thought of my dad being Mr. Romance was kind of funny. But sweet.
“Yeah.” She grinned. “And still I wasn’t having it. He handed me a slip of paper, and I took it and walked off in such a huff. Ha! But later that day, I remember sitting at my desk with that slip of paper he had given me. Just his name and number. And then underneath he had written, ‘I’ve never tried this before.’ And I thought, ‘What just happened to me?’ There was something so honest, so unafraid about that note and those eyes. I felt sick, and excited, and confused, and like my heart was up in my ears.”
Sick, and excited, and confused. It was all sounding so familiar.
“Okay, I’m talking too much, but one more thing. Sam, I was never good at dating. I mean, look. It took me thirty-eight years to find your dad. And I was with some real duds before him, believe me. And then when I did find him, I was so scared! There is nothing scarier than having real feelings for someone. I mean, it can swoop in and lift you off your feet and turn you upside down. Sometimes it leaves you breathless and hopeful, and sometimes it can tear you in two. But you know what? It is always, always worth it. It feels a lot like this, actually. Way up high, almost touching the clouds, suspended. Not knowing what’s going to happen next.” She sighed. “I don’t know. Does that make sense at all?”
“Oh, yes,” I said. It made so much sense I wanted to press her words into my skin. I looked out around us at the mountains, the trees, our feet swaying out in front of us. It was all so unpredictable. I didn’t know whether I wanted to laugh or cry or howl into the breeze. And then I thought of Eric. I could never have predicted that. That? This? Well, whatever it was. But now I knew i
t was something.
I had always imagined that liking someone was about something just out of reach. An ache, a longing, like when I had pined for Leo. But maybe the ones who were worth it were the ones who didn’t make you try so hard. They liked you for who you were. And they didn’t really know any more than you. Nobody truly had the answers. It was all about taking the leap, together.
I watched as Kathy leaned her face up into the sun. Her skin looked like melting honey, each of her eyelashes illuminated. She didn’t know what she was doing either. I closed my eyes and tilted my head up, too. And I knew we looked nothing alike, nobody would ever mistake us for mother and daughter, but sitting up there, both of our faces raised to the sun, maybe we could just be friends.
A little while later, I felt another jolt. The chairs started swinging forward and back again.
“Whoa!” Kathy said, grabbing the crossbar so tight her knuckles turned bright white. I did the same. And then, with a low creak and groan from below, we slowly started inching up the mountain. I heard a pitter-patter sound climbing up behind us. Was that rain? Wasn’t it too cold for that?
“Look! Look!” said Kathy, pointing down to the bottom of the lift. It wasn’t rain at all. It was a small gathering of people down below, in all different-colored hats and jackets. And they were waving and clapping for us. We were on our way!
The rest of the day, Dad and Kathy took us through densely wooded trails, each one more beautiful than the next. Cross-country was hard, but in a new, invigorating way. I felt my legs, my arms, my lungs all pumping, pulling, working together. By the time we got done for the day, I was exhausted, and dying to get back to the inn.
Eric was behind the bar in the living room, pouring drinks for happy hour. I didn’t even take off my jacket. I walked right up to the counter while he had his back turned.
“Double shot of amaretto and orange juice, and a splash of rye.”
“Sorry?” He spun around and broke into a big smile. A big, crooked smile.
“Do you think I could talk to you for a minute?” I asked quietly now. “I need to tell you something.”