14. Tyler #2
"Don't remind me," she groans. "I'm still processing that moment."
"LOOK! LOOK!" Karl's excited shout draws our attention back to the slope, where Julian is attempting another jump—noticeably larger than the one we'd discussed.
“No way,” I mutter, instinctively raising the camera higher. "That's not the baby jump."
"He's got this," Ginger says confidently, though her hand tightens on mine.
Julian approaches the jump with surprising speed, his small body crouched in proper form. He hits the ramp, sails through the air with his board, and then—to my astonishment—executes a perfect 360-degree turn before landing smoothly on the packed snow.
"'YES!" Karl screams, jumping up and down. "DID YOU SEE THAT? HE SPUN!" He turns to a nearby skier, a complete stranger. "That's my friend! He did a spin! Did you see it?" The bewildered man nods politely before skiing away.
"I saw it," I confirm, my heart rate slowly returning to normal. "And I caught it on camera, which means we now have evidence of him directly disobeying safety instructions."
"Or," Ginger counters, "evidence of him being awesome, which is how he'll spin it."
"Definitely the latter," I admit. "That was... actually really impressive."
"He's his father's son," she says softly, bumping her shoulder against mine. "Bold when it counts."
The warmth that is spreading through me at her words had nothing to do with the winter sun and everything to do with the woman beside me, who somehow sees the best in both me and my son.
The rest of Julian's lesson passes without further heart-stopping moments, and soon he is racing toward us, snowboard in hand, face flushed with excitement.
"Did you see?" he demands, eyes wide. "Did you see the spin?"
"We saw," I confirm, ruffling his hair. "Very impressive, though we'd agreed on the smaller jump."
"The instructor said I was ready," Julian defends quickly. "He was right there watching me, I promise!"
"It's true, Mr. Reed," the instructor calls, approaching with a clipboard. "Julian has natural talent. With your permission, I'd like to move him to the intermediate group for his remaining lessons."
Pride warred with parental caution in my chest. "What do you think, buddy? Feel ready for that?"
Julian nods enthusiastically. "Yes! Please, Dad!"
"Then we'll upgrade you," I agree, signing the form the instructor held out. "But the same safety rules apply, understood? No solo heroics."
"Understood," Julian agrees readily, too excited by the promotion to argue.
"That was so cool!" Karl gushes, bouncing around Julian. "You were like those Olympic guys on TV!"
Julian's chest puffs out with pride. "I've been practicing all week. Maybe next time you can try too, Karl. There's a super beginner slope where they teach little kids."
"I'm not little," Karl protests. "I'm the same age as you!"
"Yeah, but you've never snowboarded," Julian points out reasonably. "You have to start on the baby hill. Then you can move up to the jumps."
"Can I, Mom?" Karl turns to Ginger, eyes pleading. "Can I take a snowboard lesson today?"
Ginger hesitates. "I don't know, sweetie. We only have one more full day after today, and lessons need to be booked in advance..."
"We can make it happen," I offer, seeing the disappointment beginning to form on Karl's face.
"Please, Mom?" Karl begs. "I want to learn before we go home!"
Ginger looks torn. "I don't have the right gear for you..."
"The rental shop can outfit him," I assure her. "It would only take about 20 minutes."
She sighs, recognizing when she was outmaneuvered. "Alright, fine. One lesson. But no jumps, no tricks, just basic balance and stopping, okay?"
"YES!" Karl pumps his fist triumphantly. "I'm gonna be a snowboarder!"
"A beginner snowboarder," Ginger emphasizes. "With appropriate caution and respect for gravity."
"That's the most mom thing you've ever said," I tease under my breath.
"Laugh now," she retorts. "But when your son decides to attempt a double backflip next week, remember this moment."
"Fair point," I concede. "Karl! Same rules apply to you—safety first, showboating later."
"I promise," Karl agrees solemnly, though the mischievous glint in his eye reminds me of his mother.
After arranging Karl's impromptu lesson, we settle in for another hour at the terrain park—Julian practicing with his new group, Karl wobbling determinedly on a bunny slope with his instructor.
Ginger and I standing side by side, our expressions mirroring each other—that unique blend of parental pride and thinly veiled terror that comes from watching your child attempt something potentially dangerous.
"They grow up so fast," she murmurs, leaning against me as we watch. "One minute they're learning to walk, the next they're trying to launch themselves off snow ramps."
"Tell me about it," I agree. "Julian was terrified of sledding two winters ago. Now he's doing aerial turns."
"It's terrifying," she says softly. "Letting them take risks, knowing they might get hurt, but understanding they need to try."
"That's parenting in a nutshell," I nod. "Constant terror masked as calm encouragement."
She laughs, the sound lightening the moment. "We should put that on a t-shirt."
"I'll add it to the merchandise line for my next business venture," I joke. "Brutally Honest Parenting Apparel."
"I'd buy the whole collection," she assures me, her eyes returning to Karl who was now standing shakily on his board, arms windmilling for balance. "Oh God, I can't watch."
"He's fine," I say, though I understand her anxiety. "The instructor won't let him get hurt."
"Rationally, I know that," she sighs. "But mom-brain isn't known for its rationality."
"If it helps, Julian's broken his arm twice, and he's still functioning with all original parts," I offer. "Kids are surprisingly resilient."
"Not helping," she groans, burying her face in my shoulder. "I'm envisioning every possible injury now."
I laugh, wrapping an arm around her. "Sorry. How about we focus on the positives—they're having fun, building confidence, making memories that will last long after this vacation ends."
A light snow begins to fall, tiny crystals catching on Ginger's eyelashes as we watched the boy’s practice.
She peeked back at the slope, where Karl had managed to slide several feet without falling. "And they're getting along so well. I worried, you know, when we first agreed to this arrangement. Karl hasn't always had the easiest time making friends."
"Julian either," I admit. "He's got Amy's confidence in social situations, but it's mostly bravado. He struggles to connect sometimes."
"Not with Karl," she observes, warmth in her voice. "They clicked from day one."
"Maybe it's a sign," I suggest, only half-joking.
"Of what?"
"That this—us—is meant to be," I elaborate. "The universe's way of saying 'these four belong together.'"
She raises an eyebrow, a smile playing at her lips. "Tyler Reed, are you getting sentimental on me?"
"Maybe a little," I admit, not bothering to hide the affection in my voice. "You bring it out in me."
"Well, keep it in check," she advises, though her eyes betray her pleasure at my words. "We still have to navigate telling the boys about us, planning visits, figuring out logistics—all the decidedly unsentimental realities of long-distance dating as single parents."
"True," I acknowledge. "But right now, in this moment, can we just enjoy this? Our sons learning new skills, you and me standing in the sun, everything feeling... right?"
Her expression softened. "Yes," she agrees, turning to face me fully. "We can absolutely enjoy this moment."
I kiss her then, a gentle press of lips that conveyed everything I couldn't quite put into words yet—the joy of finding her, the hope for our future, the certainty that whatever challenges lay ahead, they were worth facing for what we'd found.
"MOM! DAD! LOOK!" Karl's excited shout breaks us apart just in time to see him navigate a small slope, come to a wobbly but controlled stop, and promptly fall over in his excitement.
"I DID IT!" he cheers from his seated position in the snow.
"Great job, buddy!" Ginger calls back, waving enthusiastically.
"Future Olympian material," I add with a thumbs-up.
"We should go congratulate him properly," Ginger says, though she makes no immediate move to leave my side.
"Probably," I agree, equally reluctant. "But first..."
I pull her close for one more kiss, lingering long enough to make her cheeks flush pink, before finally releasing her.
"Okay," she breathes, looking slightly dazed. "Parenting mode reactivated."
"That's what I like about you, Lawson," I grins. "Your ability to multitask."
She rolls her eyes, but couldn't quite hide her smile as we made our way toward Karl, who was already planning his snowboarding career with elaborate detail to his amused instructor.
Two children with newfound skills, two adults with newfound feelings, all against the backdrop of snow-covered mountains and endless possibility. Not a bad way to spend our penultimate day at Crystal Peak.
Tonight, we'd talk to the boys about our decision to continue seeing each other after vacation. Tomorrow, we'd soak up our final day of resort magic. And the day after that, we'd board separate planes heading to separate cities, beginning the real test of what we'd built here.
But right now watching Karl demonstrate his new "skills" while Julian offers exaggerated coaching from the sidelines, everything felt perfectly, wonderfully right.
And that, I decided, was more than enough for now.