Chapter 67
CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN
We finally make it to the top, and I wipe out trying to slide off the chairlift.
Then Mia crashes into me, and we both dissolve into laughter, a tangle of limbs and skis.
I let myself stay in it—I’m not ignoring the hard stuff.
This is just true too. Sometimes God doesn’t shows up in quiet moments and deep thoughts.
Sometimes he belly-laughs with me in the snow.
When I finally push back up and glide around the corner …
The view. A mountaintop experience in all the ways.
God knew I’d need this. Like standing at the edge of the ocean, it’s near impossible to feel entitled or bitter with all this glory stretching wide in front of you.
Our Creator is just so big. Powerful. Creative.
Beautiful. And he promises that with faith we can move mountains. Bizarre.
Easing down the mountain, snowplowing like my life depends on it, I launch into a full-volume, yell-singing version of “Come Thou Fount.” Kit and Mia join in, and soon we’re waving our ski poles to the beat like madwomen.
One green run is more work than it could possibly sound like, so we call it a day and sprawl across a patio table outside the lodge, peeling off layers under the sun.
“Gotta go study that ten-dollar grilled cheese so I can imitate it back at the house.” Mia smacks a kiss on the top of my head and calls behind her, “Be back in a minute.”
“And get more water,” Kit chides. “Remember, we’re at twelve thousand feet—the land of dehydration—and clots are strictly forbidden.”
Mia chuckles. “Sí, jefa.”
When Kit looks out at the ski hill, her drool-y stare gives it away—the guys are nearby. I spot them halfway down the hill. Austin and Levi skied many times growing up, which worked out just fine for the Sophie-avoidance plan Austin has doubled down on the past two days.
Kit lets out a dreamy sigh, and jealousy rears its ugly head, just in a new way. I’ve been doing so much better at seeing Kit as God’s handiwork, but now it’s her beautiful relationship that stings. A reminder of what I had. What I lost.
“What you shot out of the sky,” the troll hisses. “She would never.”
I freeze. Is it the troll? Or … is it Mom’s voice? The thought hits like a slap.
“She’s God’s handiwork. And so am I. Now get lost,” I tell it. Her? Them?
Turning to Kit, I sing to the beat of Walker Hayes’s “U Gurl”—“Girls like Kit like boys that look like Le-vi.”
Whirling around, she laughs, light and admission in her eyes. Every time. But her laugh putters out as the worst look of pity fills those Disney eyes.
Ughhh. “Nope! Don’t need that!” With all my fake cheer.
Bobbing her head, her expression morphs to resolve and then to sadness. “Sophs? I … I owe you a big apology. I’ve been putting it off.”
My stomach drops at her tone.
“It’s just … something doesn’t line up between how Austin acts and what he wants us to believe.
” She sneaks a glance my way, tucking hair behind her ear.
“I really thought it would help to make him say it out loud, you know? And you were with Davis, and I sort of … panicked. I didn’t trust you, and I should’ve. ”
“What happened, Kit?”
“I went to Flooders while Levi was out. To make Austin talk. I was scared. About Davis. Of him being another Aiden. But I made Austin so mad, and then he never came around like I was convinced he would. I … I think I made it worse, pushed him further down his dark hole. I’ve been blaming myself ever since.
I know it was stupid, but when I talked to him alone before, like way before, he told me the truth. ”
“Way before?”
“Back in October. He called me out for confusing Levi, and I got him to confess that he liked you. Said you were end game.”
My mouth falls open.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you. You were already with Leo, and he wasn’t ready yet. I swore I wouldn’t spill his secret.”
I rest my head on her shoulder. “You’re the best.”
“Wait. What?”
“Very Gus to my Shawn. Except, you deserve good things too. And I don’t steal your money.”
She huffs a laugh. “I get to be Gus?” she asks thickly.
“Can you tap dance?”
“A little. Not really.”
“So yes.”
“I took tap in like fourth grade,” she hedges.
“‘I can’t do this with you right now,’” I quote.
Her giggle bounces my head.
I sit up to meet her eyes. “You said you make yourself small, but you’ve only ever gone big when you’re looking out for me.
Don’t worry about the Austin thing, okay?
He’s got a stubborn streak in there. Like a Gobstopper.
” My hands mime ball shrinking with each layer.
“Muscles, marshmallow, stubbornness.” I bump her shoulder.
“Hey, when’s your first dance class? Feels like you’re stalling. ”
She bites her lip but lets me change the subject. “I’ve been praying about that this week.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. Bravery is complicated for me. But knowing I’m loved changes the flavor of it. That made no sense. The feel of it, I mean.”
“‘I’ve heard it both ways,’” I quote.
She chuckles.
I almost sound like the old Sophie. I miss her.
But also, I don’t. The old Sophie couldn’t have been a real friend just now.
She couldn’t have fully understood. She would have been thinking about Mom and how she—I—never measured up.
She would have been too wrapped up in herself to even hear clearly. But in some ways ignorance was bliss.
An arm squeeze from Kit pulls me back. “God loves you so much. How does that change the feel … the flavor … of what you’re going through?”
She leaves me to consider as families stream in and out of the lodge.
“I’ve been thinking about God’s gifts like Skittles,” I tell her.
“You’re Skittles. Mia’s Skittles. Mayberry—it’s all Skittles.
And being with Austin was like a giant handful of my favorite red ones.
I wrecked it. Dropped—or, really—knocked them out of my own hand.
And God could’ve scooped them up and handed them back.
He could’ve caught them midair. But he didn’t.
He doesn’t have to.” I breathe deep. “And that’s okay.
Because they were always his Skittles. He’s given me so many good things, but I keep finding that the Skittle giver is so much better than the Skittles themselves.
They’re just a cherry on top. So he can rain them down or take them all away, and that’s his call.
He doesn’t owe me a single Skittle. And I don’t need them to have enough. ”
Kit gives a slow, thoughtful nod, like I really am Shawn and just solved a big case.
“But the crazy thing is, he keeps giving them anyway. And I see him doing that for you too.” I nudge her.
“So yeah. If I have to let go of the Austin Skittles, I will. Maybe the Skittles he wants to give me aren’t the guy I want.
Maybe it’s the best job ever. Or friends I get to keep for life.
Or adventures that make my heart explode.
Or maybe none at all. I trust him to hand them to me when he thinks it’s a good idea. ”
A smile tugs at Kit’s lips. She nods, eyes glassy, but she doesn’t crowd me.
She finally speaks. “Might splurge for some hot chocolate. Want some?”
Releasing me before I hit emotional burnout? I’m all for it. “Is that even a question?”
My gaze drifts back to our boys—nope, the boys. They’re closer now, dropping their gear in a pile by a tree. It’s so warm that they’ve ditched their coats. Austin pulls off his helmet and runs a hand through his hair. Probably gearing up for one last run.
Austin’s compression shirt is so proud, wrapped around every muscle, over the dip where his shoulders meet his biceps.
I’d give anything for a hug from those arms. To hear his affectionate voice.
Just for a minute. Just for me. Murmuring something good and true and steady.
If I could just run my hands through those wild and sweaty curls as that pre-kiss mischief grows on his face.
He’s so close and yet so far. I’m growing lightheaded, making myself sick, but I don’t look away.
One more day and then I cut ties. One more day and I let those Skittles go for good.
Several girls our age call over to Levi and Austin as they pull with their ski poles back to the lift. My stomach drops in dread. I know what’s coming.
Like a swarm. I can’t hear what they say, but the high pitch of their flirty voices drifts all the way to me.
A couple are brazen enough to lean forward with bold, lingering touches.
Levi plants his poles and pushes himself back.
Austin stays, smiling and chatting. He cranes his head back to say something to Levi, who escapes.
I count seven girls. They press out of their skis, so they can stick out their hips and rip off their beanies and shake out their hair.
It’s back to this. I hated watching Austin share his smile with all those girls.
I loathed it. It’s infinitely worse now.
Everything in me wants to bound out of here. To find Kit and Mia and sing a song and make a joke and pretend. I don’t want to cry. I know better than to avoid my feelings, but I can’t anymore. It’s too much.
I’m stuck. In quicksand.
The girls wave over friends to join them.
Of course Austin’s pulling girls to him like a giant magnet.
Look at him. Nothing more attractive has ever been spotted on a ski hill.
But they couldn’t know the half of it. I long for him to search for me like he used to.
He’d pull me closer in a crowded room. I was enough for him.
He never needed another pair of eyes on him.
He never needed all that attention. He loved me so fully. My teeth chatter with suppressed tears.
I can’t bear to watch this anymore. I force myself to stand, to clunk around the table. The awful urge gnaws at me—one last glance. Just one. But when I give in, Austin’s bent lower, his arms around two sets of giggling shoulders. And for the first time in a month, he’s looking straight at me.