Page 105 of Even After This
“Do you know what I’m dreaming right now, Harlan Holcombe?” Talking to no one, I stick my hands through the ski pole straps and, with fumbling gloved hands, try to unzip my coat pocket. During this failed attempt, the pole-tip things hit my shins repeatedly. “I’m dreaming of staying alive today.”
Why am I doing this? It’s freezing. I keep falling on my tail. My pants are going to split any second now. God help me if I have to go to the bathroom anytime soon.
“Meredith, you’re doing great.” Walking toward me is my real-life Hercules, dressed in his own tight ski pants.
Oh yeah. That’s why I’m doing this.
“Liar,” I call to him. I would make an attempt to meet him halfway, but my mobility is unstable. Who invented this godforsaken sport?
Harlan struts toward me with ridiculous ease as if he isn’t wearing Frankenstein boots. “How’s it going?” He leans down and touches his lips to mine.
Glancing around to make sure my instructor isn’t within earshot, I grab his forearm. “Listen. You gotta break me out of ski school.”
Harlan squats and knocks on the shell of my boot. “I think these might be a little loose.”
“All throughout my childhood, I was a rule follower. Neverskipped class. Never cheated. Always followed directions.” I lower my voice. “But right now, my inner rebellious teenager wants out.”
Harlan grunts when he pops one of the buckles open.
“Let’s play hooky.” I throw a hitchhiker thumb over my shoulder. “Bust me out of here, man.”
He glances up and grins while pressing down on the adjusted buckle. “You would be disappointed in yourself if you quit now.”
Narrowing my eyes, I frown. “Did you read that somewhere on inspirational toilet paper?”
Harlan chuckles, leaning over to work on my other boot.
“Never mind.” I shoo away the thought with my hands. “Listen, I’m a self-aware woman, at an age where I’m comfortable with my strengths and weaknesses. And believe me that I’m okay when I say that I am not a skier. You’re just going to have to love me through it.”
He stands and brushes snow off his gloved hands. “I think I can love you through a lot of things.”
I snap and point at him. “Do not do that charming thing.”
He chuckles, but I sigh and press into his side, give him my weight, and confess, “Do you want to know the worst part about this?”
“Always.”
“I am trying really,reallyhard.”
He wraps his arms around me, and his shoulders shake in silent laughter. “You’re better than you think. I watched you go down the bunny hill.”
Burrowing into his jacket, I sigh again. “My kitchen floor has a steeper grade than the bunny hill.”
“Exactly.” He kisses the top of my head. “And I’ve never seen you fall down that either.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I catch my ski instructor approaching.
“Everything all right?” the drill sergeant asks. “Break’s almost over.”
“She’s doing really well,” Harlan says, tightening his hold on me, “but I think I’m going to steal her away for the rest of the morning.”
I crane my neck. “But, Harlan, Idowant you to be with your family and ski the mountain.”
He peers down at me. “I get the feeling that if I leave, you’ll call a taxi and head back to the airport.”
No truer words have ever been spoken.
After waving off my instructor, we head out to grab Harlan’s gear. Him dragging me by my poles makes this task much easier. Once we get situated, dread washes over me.
