Page 3 of On the Slopes of Tahoe
Rory’s face falls at whatever look she must see on mine when I nod my head toward Sleeping Beauty in the back seat.Hell, thirty minutes in and I’m already failing at keeping my baggage tucked away. Her eyes flit up to spy Willow through the rearview, where she continues to fog up the window with her steady breaths.
“That can’t be comfortable.” Rory chortles, shaking her head as her shoulders tremble with silent laughter.
I relax, thankful for the change of subject. “I’ve never met anyone who can fall asleep in any position, and in just about any location, as easily as her. I wish I had those skills. Just looking at her makes my joints hurt though.”
Flipping on her blinker to head up the pass that’ll take us to Tahoe, Rory says, “You know, you could follow suit and rest up. I don’t mind.”
“You sure?” I ask, stretching my legs out with a groan. It’s tempting, but she already drove the hour to come get us and I don’t want to leave her with no one to talk to on the way back.
“One hundred percent. I can turn up the radio or put on an audiobook if I need to. I don’t mind the quiet either.” She glances sideways, an encouraging smile lifting her pink lips.
“Okay. We’ll see, but why don’t you tell me more about the condo in the meantime,” I say, and slump against my own window.
Rory starts in on the details of the condo I’m renting from her parents, but before I catch anything beyond Willow’s room having bunk beds—she’ll be thrilled—I’m lulled to sleep by the sound of her voice and the whir of the engine.
When I pry my eyes open next, we’re pulling up outside what can only be described as a ski chalet with a dusting of snow coating the ground. It’s like a balm to the soul. When was the last time I saw the snow? It’s not like we get any in the city, and the closest hills are a three-hour drive from Sydney—at best. So, looking out at the powdery flurries blowing off the roof has a sense of peace washing over me.
“We’re here,” Rory says with a soft voice. “Home sweet home.”
That peace is replaced with a pang in my chest, reminding me that the home we left behind will never be the same.
CHAPTER TWO
Rory
The walk to my condo is brisk after leaving Breck and Willow to get settled at their place. I stayed just long enough to watch him—big, sturdy man that he is—extricate his little girl from the back seat and carry her like precious cargo into their new home. She didn’t stir, safe in his arms. I think my ovaries nearly exploded at the sight.
I’m glad I’m only a quarter mile away from them in case they need anything. Wes asked me to help them get set up, and I feel somewhat responsible for making their time here as stress-freeas I can manage. I know it wasn’t Wes’s intention to add their happiness to my plate, but I’m determined to try.
Getting home, I have just enough time to swap my fleece-lined leggings and hoodie for dark jeans and a cream-colored sweater before running out to my car. I know Mom will comment on what I’m wearing regardless, but at least I tried, and that might be enough to get through dinner unscathed.
Pulling into Capisce, my favorite little Italian restaurant, I take a deep breath and hype myself up. The fact that my parents pulled the plug on their marriage twelve years ago yet still insist the three of us sit down like this once a week baffles me. Erica James and Dean Anderson are nothing if not pragmatic though, and this is the easiest way for them to keep tabs on what I’m doing and dole out their combined disappointment at my failure to meet their expectations. Maybe Breck and Willow’s arrival, or Wes’s impending Christmas trip with his girlfriend Joss, will give me a reprieve from the standard questions… but I’m not counting on it.
My fur-trimmed snow boots catch on black ice and I’m glad for their impressive tread. Pulling my braid over my shoulder, I straighten my spine and walk into the lion’s den.
In actuality, Capisce is heaven on earth. Their homemade ravioli is out of this world. Add in their family “gravy”—aka red sauce—and I could die happy. I hang my coat by the front door as the savory aroma envelops me, and then follow the hostess to a booth in the corner where my parents sit on opposite sides of the table.Lovely. Now I’m tasked with choosing who to sit next to. Dad’s back is to me, but Mom stands and walks the last two paces to give me a peck on each cheek, guiding me to her side of the booth.
“Hi, Mom. Hi, Dad,” I say, forcing cheer into my voice.
Dad stands before I sit and pulls me into a side hug. I don’t think he’s given me anything different in… well, years. Maybeat my college graduation four and a half years ago? Did he hug me then? The hug Breck gave me this afternoon was more affectionate than this.
What I wouldn’t give for an embrace like that from my parents.
Once I’m adequately trapped on the bench seat, I sense Mom’s eyes roving down my body and I know without looking that her eyebrows are pinching together. I tuck my chin, hating the way my cheeks heat under her scrutiny.
“Did you not have time to go home after picking up the Kylies?” she asks, the disdain for my outfitright there,but only if you know where to look. And I’ve had years of practice. “Breck and… what’s his daughter’s name again? Aspen?”
Breck Kylie. It’s the first time I’ve really put his full name together in my head, and I find that I like the way it sounds.
“Willow. Her name is Willow. And yes, I went home first; I had to get my car,” I tell her, not taking the bait. Even though I made the attempt to dress up a bit, considering it’s thirty degrees outside and there’s ice on the ground, I knew it wouldn’t be enough.
She’s in an evergreen cashmere sweater dress with black heeled boots that come to her knees, and I can see her full-length wool overcoat hanging on the coat rack next to my puffer jacket. Always immaculately put together. Her long red hair is pinned up in a severe bun that makes my head hurt just looking at it. Her makeup is flawless even at eight o’clock at night, whereas I hastily swiped on mascara and blushbeforeI left to pick up Breck—almost four hours ago.
“That’s right, you took Wes’s Jeep.” Dad breaks into the conversation. “Did it run okay? I was worried having it sit idle for six months might’ve caused some issues.”
“It was great. I drive it once a week just to keep the fluids moving and everything.” I love driving that car, and I’m going to miss it while Breck and Willow are in town.
“You got them settled in all right, then?” Mom asks, sitting up a little straighter, business-mode activated.
