Kiss Her Once for Me (73)

My own shit comes back to me tenfold when we get out of the car.

“Andrew and I are going to partner up, since we both snowboard,” Dylan announces as we all stand in a semicircle in the parking lot. Andrew looks slightly perplexed by this declaration and by Dylan’s sudden authority over family ski day. “We’re going to take the Magic Mile up and start at Coffel’s run. And Katherine, you and the grandmas are probably planning to stick around Molly’s, right?”

I have no idea what any of these words mean, but Katherine looks at the grandmas, then nods.

“Cool. Ellie said she’s never skied before,” Dylan continues, “so someone will need to stay behind and help her get her equipment and learn how to use it. Jack?”

Jack is standing a few feet away, behind Gillian’s tailgate. Her skis are vertical and she’s leaning against them. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” Jack tries vaguely.

“Why not?” Dylan asks. “You’re a skier, and you usually stick around the beginner and intermediate trails, anyway.”

Jack frowns, but makes no other defense.

“Okay, everyone!” Katherine calls out, and Meemaw abandons me to rejoin the family. “We’re meeting at the Blue Ox Bar at noon for lunch. The forecast says it’s going to start snowing this afternoon. It shouldn’t pick up until this evening, but we’re leaving by four at the absolute latest to avoid bad road conditions.”

Andrew and Dylan grab their snowboards and head toward one of the ski lifts. Katherine and the grandmas all walk in the opposite direction. And Jack and I are left alone with our awkward silence and avoidant glances, and—“Are you going to push me off the mountain?”

Jack finally looks at me. There are purple bags under her eyes, and her mouth is a thin, pale line in her face. “I’m considering it.”

“I suppose I would deserve it. Jack, look, can we—”

“I was really drunk last night,” she says quickly. She’s not looking at me again. “We both were.”

I wasn’t, but this doesn’t seem worth pointing out.

“We made a huge mistake, but it’s not like it will ever happen again.”

“Um, right. Of course.”

Jack turns away from me, so I’m staring at her solemn face in profile. “In the future, it’s probably best if we…” She adjusts her beanie. “If we don’t spend a lot of time together. Like, any time together.”

I inhale sharply through my nose and tell myself it’s the cold, not tears, stinging my eyes. “Uh-huh.”

“But for now, we’ve just got to get through today. So let’s just get your skis.”

Jack pivots in the snow, and I have no choice but to follow her quietly and miserably on the path up to the lodge. At the rental shop, a conventionally attractive man with an inexplicable tan for the middle of Pacific Northwest December measures my foot (huge), then the length of my leg (long), and then straps me into a pair of boots and some skinny death sticks.

“I can’t do this,” I tell the Tan Man in a wobbly voice.

“Sure you can,” Jack answers, sounding bored.

“I really can’t do this,” I repeat when the Tan Man asks me to stand up on my skis to test the fit.

“I have total faith in you,” Jack monotones, like an apathetic life coach. Neither Jack nor the Tan Man respects my protests, and soon, Jack is handing over Katherine’s credit card and I’m standing outside in the snow on skis. Jack tells me to move so that we’re not blocking the main path.

If by “move” she means wobble and flail my arms like a cartoon character slipping on a banana peel, then I succeed beautifully in meeting her demands. Before I go crashing down into the snow, Jack’s free arm reaches out to steady me. I don’t realize just how close she is until her arm is secured around my waist, strong and warm.

“This is dangerous,” I tell her. By “this,” I mean skiing. Obviously skiing.

Jack immediately releases her hold around my waist. “Skiing is perfectly safe.”

“It is absolutely not safe,” I counter, shaking the metal poles with the pokey ends. “I think you want me to impale myself.”

Jack shrugs. “If you impale yourself, it will solve some of my problems, but it will also create several new ones, and ultimately, I don’t think it would be worth the hassle.”

“People die while skiing all the time,” I insist. “Natasha Richardson died while skiing! Why would anyone want to partake in the activity that robbed the world of Natasha Richardson?”

I’m anxiety spiraling a bit, and it probably has nothing to do with either skiing or Natasha Richardson, and probably more to do with twenty minutes ago, when Jack said we should stop spending time together. Or twelve hours ago, when she kissed me within an inch of my life.

She impatiently shoves her fists into her coat pockets. “I promise you won’t die while skiing today.”

“You can’t promise that.”

“Well, I don’t think you’re going to tackle any advanced runs on your first skiing excursion, so yeah, I kind of can. Plus, you’ve got this super-cute helmet.” She knocks on my giant black helmet three times.

“What if I fall over?”

“You will. Probably lots of times. And I will honestly probably enjoy watching it.” The tiniest hint of a smile curls in the corner of Jack’s mouth. I think I’m going to fall over right now.