15. Ginger
GINGER
"Are you sure you have everything? Toothbrush? Underwear? Will to live after leaving the slopes behind?" I ask Karl, wrestling his overstuffed suitcase closed with both hands.
"Mo-om," he groans, flopping dramatically across the bed. "We've checked like a billion times."
"Excuse me for not wanting to ship your favorite dinosaur pajamas across state lines when you realize you've forgotten them," I retort, though there was no heat in my words.
I check the calendar on my phone again—63 days until spring break, when we would visit Boston.
My thumb scrolls through train schedules I'd already memorized and color-coded: the 7:05 from South Station would get me to Penn Station by 10:20—optimal arrival time for weekend traffic patterns.
Tyler had programmed his number into my favorites list, right below Karl's school but above the pizza place that didn't judge me for ordering the same 'family size' meal every Friday night.
But my stomach clenches as I pictured Tyler in his Manhattan office, surrounded by models and executives, while I battled Boston traffic in my salt-stained Honda.
I press my palm against the window glass, cold seeping into my skin, Crystal Peak's enchanted snow globe world on one side, reality waiting on the other.
"Mom," Karl says, his voice dropping from its usual excited pitch to something quieter. His eyebrows pull together as he studies my face. "Are you sad about leaving?"
I sink onto the bed beside him, the mattress dipping under our combined weight. My hand finds his, his small fingers warm against mine. "A little," I admit, swallowing past the tightness in my throat. "We've had a pretty great time here, haven't we?"
He nods, his whole body bouncing with the motion. "The best! I learned to snowboard and made a best friend and had hot chocolate every day—" his words tumble out in a rush, fingers ticking off each item "—and saw you fall down a mountain—"
"I did not fall down an entire mountain," I object, my finger darting to the ticklish spot beneath his ribs. He squirms away, giggling. "It was a very small hill." I hold my thumb and forefinger an inch apart.
"Julian's dad has the video," Karl counter, his eyes sparkling with mischief. His grin revealing the gap where his front tooth had been. "He showed me. You went whoosh—" his hand makes a diving motion "—and then splat!" His arms flinging wide.
"Traitor," I mutter, heat climbing up my neck. My fingers twitch, already imagining snatching Tyler's phone and deleting the evidence. I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, my voice deliberately casual. "Speaking of Julian and his dad... how do you feel about us seeing them after we leave here?"
Karl sat up straighter, suddenly alert. "Like, visiting them in New York?"
"Yes, and them visiting us in Boston," I clarify. "And talking on video calls, things like that."
"Because you and Tyler are boyfriend-girlfriend now?" he asks with the blunt directness of children.
"Something like that," I nod, heat rising in my cheeks despite my best efforts. "We care about each other and want to keep spending time together, even though we live in different cities."
Karl's face scrunches, his freckled nose wrinkling. His teeth working his bottom lip as he stared at his sock-covered feet. In that moment, the baby roundness of his cheeks seemed to sharpen, revealing the bones of the young man he'd become. "Is he going to be my new dad?"
My breath catches in my chest. The question hangs in the air between us, heavier than all the luggage we'd packed.
I cup his chin, tilting his face up until his eyes—so much like Mark's—meet mine.
"No, sweetie," I say, measuring each word.
My thumb brushing his cheek. "Tyler is Julian's dad, just like your dad is your dad.
That doesn't change, no matter who I date. "
"Good," Karl nods, his shoulders dropping from where they'd hunched around his ears. He picks at a loose thread on his dinosaur pajamas. "Because Dad might be a butt sometimes, but he's still my dad."
I press my lips together, a snort of laughter escaping despite my efforts.
The diplomatic email I'd sent Mark last week flashed in my mind—carefully worded updates about Karl's snowboarding progress, met with a one-word "OK" after three days.
"That's right," I say, smoothing Karl's cowlick.
"And you'll still see your dad every other weekend and Wednesdays for dinner, like always. "
"But I'll get to see Julian too?" he press.
"That's the plan," I confirm. "As often as we can arrange it."
Karl's face splits into a wide grin. "Awesome! Can I tell Julian?"
"Sure, though I think Tyler might be having a similar conversation with him right now," I say, ruffling his hair.
As I watch Karl's excitement build, something shifted in my chest—a tiny loosening of the knot that had formed when I'd first contemplated continuing this relationship beyond our mountain bubble.
His enthusiasm was contagious, chipping away at my carefully constructed wall of practical concerns.
Maybe this could work. Maybe I was overthinking everything, as usual.
I zip a suitcase closed with finality, each tooth of the zipper clicking into place like a countdown to departure.
Three weeks ago, Crystal Peak had been another extravagant post-lottery splurge—a way to give Karl the winter vacation I'd never been able to afford before.
Now it held memories I couldn't pack away so neatly: snowball fights with Julian, late-night conversations with Tyler by the fireplace, the way the mountain light turned ordinary moments into something magical.
The thought of returning to Boston—to reality—leaves a hollow feeling in my chest.
As if on cue, there was a knock at our bedroom door. "Everyone decent in there?" Tyler's voice calls.
"Define 'decent,'" I call back, earning a giggle from Karl.
Tyler pokes his head in, Julian hovering behind him. "Packing progress?"
"All done," Karl announces, bounding off the bed. "Mom was just telling me we're gonna keep seeing you guys after vacation!"
Julian's face lights up. "Dad told me too! And I get to come to Boston sometime!"
"And I get to go to New York!" Karl adds excitedly. "We're gonna see the dinosaur museum!"
The boys collide in the center of the room, heads bent together, words tumbling over each other.
"We could go to the Museum of Science—"
"—and the dinosaur museum in New York has actual T-Rex bones—"
"—and my mom makes the best pancakes on Sundays—"
"—and there's a park near our apartment with the tallest slide—"
Tyler edges toward me, his shoulder brushing mine as we back against the wall, creating space for the boys' expanding plans. His fingers find mine, a brief squeeze. "Went well, I take it?" he whispers, his breath warm against my ear.
"Better than expected," I whisper back, watching Karl demonstrate what appeared to be a skateboard trick using his hands. I lean closer, lowering my voice further. "Though there was a brief question about whether you were replacing Mark as dad."
Tyler winces, a flush creeping up from his collar. "Julian asked if I was planning to marry you."
My eyes widen, the room suddenly too warm. My free hand flutters to my throat. "What did you say?"
"That adults take things one step at a time, and right now we're at the dating step," he replies, his thumb tracing circles on my palm.
His voice drops an octave, eyes crinkling at the corners.
"Which seemed to satisfy him, though he did follow up by asking if that meant we were going to kiss all the time—" he mimicks Julian's disgusted expression, nose scrunched, tongue out "—because gross. "
A laugh bubbles up from my chest, the knot between my shoulder blades loosening. "They're handling it well."
"Kids are resilient," Tyler nodded, his gaze following the boys as they dug through a toy bin, pulling out action figures to populate their imaginary cross-country adventures.
Julian handed Karl his favorite dinosaur without being asked.
"Especially when something makes them happy.
And I think this—us—" his fingers interlaced with mine more firmly, "makes them happy. "
"Me too," I agree softly. My free hand twists the silver bracelet on my wrist, spinning it in nervous circles. My calendar app with its color-coded schedule flashed in my mind, alongside train timetables and school commitments. "Though I'm still terrified about how this will work in practice."
"One day at a time," he reminds me, his fingers squeezing mine. His watch catches the light—the expensive timepiece at odds with the faded Star Wars t-shirt Julian had insisted he wear today. "Speaking of which, I had an idea for our last day here. A final adventure before we head back to reality."
"If it involves me on skis again, the answer is a firm no," I warn, pointing a finger at his chest. My hip still bears a purple bruise the size of an apple from my last skiing attempt. "I've provided enough entertainment for the lodge staff. The lift operator still chuckles when I walk by."
"No skis," he promises, a smile playing at the corner of his mouth, eyes crinkling with barely contained excitement. "How do you feel about helicopters?"
"Helicopters?" My stomach lurches like I'd missed a step on a staircase. My hand instinctively presses against my abdomen. "As in, flying machines with spinning blades that dangle over mountains?" I mime a helicopter with my finger, then made a dramatic plummeting motion toward the floor.
"There's a private tour that takes you to the top of the highest peak," he explains, eyes bright with excitement.
"Places completely inaccessible by regular lifts.
The view stretches for miles, and they serve a champagne lunch in this charming mountain cabin.
I thought it might be perfect for our last day. "
"That sounds..." I search for the right word.
"Terrifying. And amazing." My inner accountant starts calculating the probable cost—certainly in the thousands—before I catch myself.
Lottery winner, remember? Still, old habits die hard, and the part of me that once agonized over splurging on name-brand cereal briefly wonders if that money could be better spent on Karl's college fund.
"The kids would love it," he adds. "And it would make for pretty spectacular memories."
I hesitate. "Is it safe? For children, I mean?"
"Completely," he assures me. "The resort has been running these tours for years without incident. The pilot is ex-military with thousands of flight hours. And the views..." he whistles low. "Absolutely worth any anxiety."
I glance at Karl and Julian, now deep in conversation about what appeared to be an elaborate plan involving trick-or-treating in both Boston and New York for maximum candy acquisition.
"What do you guys think?" I ask, raising my voice to catch their attention. "Would you be interested in a helicopter ride to the top of the mountain tomorrow?"
Their reaction is immediate and explosive—eyes widening, jaws dropping, followed by a cacophony of "REALLY?" and "A REAL HELICOPTER?" and "CAN WE TOUCH THE CLOUDS?"
"I'll take that as a yes," Tyler laughs. "I'll make the arrangements."
I study Tyler's face—the genuine excitement in his eyes, the way he includes both boys in his plans without hesitation, how naturally he'd stepped into our lives.
For someone who'd built an empire on calculated risks, he seems remarkably unconcerned about the complications awaiting us back in reality.
And strangely, his confidence was beginning to rub off on me.
Not enough to silence my practical side, but enough to consider that maybe, just maybe, my fears were manageable rather than insurmountable.
"A helicopter," I mutter, still processing. "You don't do anything halfway, do you?"
"Not when it matters," he replies, his voice dropping to a tone that sent shivers down my spine.
Before I could formulate a suitable response, Julian tugs at Tyler's sleeve. "Dad, can we film the helicopter ride for my YouTube channel?"
"You don't have a YouTube channel," Tyler reminds him.
"Not yet," Julian agrees. "But when I do, it would be awesome first content."
"We'll discuss your digital media empire later," Tyler deflects smoothly. "Right now, let's focus on finishing packing."
"I'm already done," Julian declares. "Karl too. Can we go to the arcade until dinner?"
I exchange a glance with Tyler, who shrugs. "I don't see why not. Just stay together and be back by 6:30 for dinner."
"We will!" the boys chorus, already halfway out the door.
"And no more candy!" I call after them. "You've had enough sugar on this vacation to power Rhode Island's electrical grid for a week!"
"WHAT?" Karl calls back, his voice already fading as they race down the hallway. "CAN'T HEAR YOU!"
"Convenient hearing loss," Tyler notes with a grin. "A classic childhood technique."
"I taught him everything he knows," I deadpan. "Though the sugar immunity is all his own genetic mutation. One chocolate bar and I'm bouncing off walls; that kid can inhale a bag of gummy worms and sleep like a log."
"Youth," Tyler sighs dramatically. "Wasted on the young."