Chapter 17 Liam
Liam
Our flight is blissfully uneventful. Henri makes fun of me for paying attention to the flight attendant’s safety demonstration. I tell her I’d hate being up there and feeling like everyone is ignoring me, so she stops and listens along with me.
When she scrolls through the movies and selects Crazy Rich Asians, I say that I haven’t watched it before. We end up watching it together on our own screens. But really, I’m less watching the movie than I am watching her.
It’s safe territory, her knees knocking against mine when she lets out a laugh that causes the couple next to us to shoot us a set of disapproving glares. Then there are the moments when I just know a part is her favorite because she reaches for my arm and squeezes.
We land and are sucked into the tide of passengers rushing to the baggage claim.
I rent a blue Subaru Crosstrek and maneuver onto the familiar streets of Denver. Beside me, Henri has turned up the music on the radio, singing along, making up lyrics as she goes. Every ten minutes or so she changes the channel.
With each mile, I feel myself growing more tense.
My palms sweat against the wheel and I have to wipe my hands against my sweatpants.
The city eventually gives way to winding mountain roads lined with towering pines with branches laden with snow.
The sun has started to kiss the horizon, blue sky blending into a mix of pinks and purples overhead—it will be dark by the time we arrive.
It’s another half hour before we reach Dulcet Point. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Henri straighten and hear her gasp as we round the final corner. It has that effect on people—a sprawling resort appearing out of seemingly nowhere.
There it is, burned into the massive wooden sign, notched into two poles the size of tree trunks: Welcome to Dulcet Point Resort and Lodge.
The road snakes lazily past the main lodge, a massive green-roofed wooden complex that stands at the foot of the slopes.
Lifts trail up the incline, disappearing into the distance and depositing vibrantly-dressed guests to their desired destination.
“Is this shit designed after a snow globe or something?” Henri’s nose is all but pressed to the window, breath fogging the glass.
“I believe snow globes are traditionally designed after places like this.” I have to admit I love it, sharing this part of my life with her. Her mouth is agape in pure awe, and my heart soars. I feel a few pounds lighter.
“I’ve always had a hard time with the basics of cause and effect, but I’m assuming you mean that if I wander into the gift shop, I’ll be able to walk out with a snow globe. After purchasing it, of course. Both of us can’t be shoplifters.”
“Funny,” I deadpan and adjust my grip on the wheel.
Henri’s gaze darts to my fidgeting hands. “Anxious about your family meeting me?”
“They’re going to love you. Penelope is probably already scheming how to steal you from me and become your best friend because she thinks I’m boring.” Honestly, she’ll fit in with them perfectly. She’s hard working and driven, loud enough to make sure she’s heard over the chaos.
“But does she think you’re a virgin loser like your parents do?” I can tell she’s joking to lighten the mood and it works.
“Nope. When she was little she used to be the first one up so she could get out on the slopes, and sometimes that meant four or five in the morning, and I’d be sneaking back in, wearing the same clothes as the night before.
” My shoulders lower from where they’ve creeped up to my ears as I recount the memory.
“Then, of course, this meant I was stuck being the one who would take her out to the slopes. I liked it, to be honest. It meant I got out of some of my own training.” I sigh.
What I don’t say is that I think she waited for me because she’d rather have me coach her instead of our dad, and I couldn’t say no to that.
“Just being home reminds me of all the expectations I’ll never live up to.
How I’m so different from them. I feel caught up in a wave, choking on water and barely breaching the surface to suck in air. ”
When I applied to MFA programs I got accepted to three across the country, NYU was the farthest choice. I needed space, needed to be able to breathe my own air. But I always knew it would be temporary. And here I am, back again.
And this time, I’m not leaving.
“No matter what, I’ll be there,” Henri promises. “And I’m a pretty damn good swimmer.”
“Are you now?”
She shrugs. “I was sixteen and had a crush on a lifeguard at the country club. I’d get up early to swim laps and show off. I wanted him to see that I was serious and mature.”
“Tale as old as time,” I say, drinking in this new tidbit about her, itching to write it down. Each part of her that she offers is precious and I don’t take it for granted. So often she’s other people because that’s who people want her to be.
But I just want her.
“What’s with all the banners?” she asks. “Is that the competition you mentioned? This seems like a pretty big deal.”
“Yeah, it’s what we do on Christmas day.
Rich people and a few pros pay thousands of dollars to enter into different events that are streamed live.
Then, that night, they all go to the gala and talk about how, if they wanted to, they could do international competitions while drinking a shit ton of champagne,” I explain.
I guess I didn’t convey how massive it gets.
To me, it’s just what we do over the holidays.
“Do you participate?”
“Not anymore. Our dad used to sign us up because it was a way to keep us active. Pen still enters because she takes every chance she can get to throw herself down a hill. I haven’t for years though, and Juniper helps run the whole thing so she’s ineligible.
The money goes to kids who need financial support to be able to participate in winter sports. ”
We grew up with all the resources anyone could dream of, but for most kids, that’s not the case. Sports can lead to scholarships for people and create opportunities for their futures, but equipment and lessons cost money.
June can come off as cold and harsh, but she’s always had a secret soft spot for kids. She used to say that she was only helping them because she hated watching people with bad form. But now, she coaches whenever she isn’t competing and helps organize the Dulcet Point Christmas Fundraiser.
“It’s fun to watch. Some people dress in costumes, and there’s good food too. My parents will probably want us to stop into the gala to show our faces, if you don’t mind,” I say.
“That all sounds good to me, but remember, you don’t have to ask me to do anything. I am your perfect adoring girlfriend for the week, and anything you want or need to do, I’ll be right there with you.”
I eventually stop the car another mile up the road to let us through the gate that blocks off access to my parent’s private driveway.
The house itself is two stories tall—a sturdy log cabin style with black shingles and three stone chimneys spearing upward, visible as we slowly rumble our way down the last hundred yards.
Christmas lights fixed to the gutters gleam in the rapidly-dimming golden dusk light, now that the sun has melted against the horizon.
A set of winter-weather-ready vehicles are parked out front.
“Is the house as old as the rest of this place?” Henri asks.
“Yeah, three generations. Originally, it was just a few cabins that people would rent. My grandpa was the one who made it into what it is now. My grandma was the first athlete in the family—a downhill skier. She was one of the first women to be in the Olympics for it. She’d come here every year to train, and he made sure to keep improving it so she’d come back. ”
“So, who’s the next lucky owner?”
“I’ve been meaning to talk to you about—” I’m cut off by a neon pink form that launches in front of the car.
I slam on the brakes and the vehicle threatens to fishtail on the ice-speckled road.
“Shit!” I yell as the world blurs while I wrestle back control of the car.
Panic consumes me even after we stop moving.
“I guess I don’t need any coffee to keep me awake through dinner now,” Henri says. Her eyes are flared wide, chest rapidly rising and falling as she sucks in air, and hands braced on either side of the car.
A thump comes from in front of us as Penelope, a wild smile tearing across her face, slams her hands against the hood of the Subaru.
I shove open my door and stride up to her. “What were you thinking?”
“I knew you wouldn’t hit me.” She crosses her arms defiantly over her sweatshirt-clad chest. Twin braids drape down her back and the baby hairs around her face have been flattened to her face, letting me know she’s recently had a helmet on. Her brown eyes gleam with mischief.
“And what if I did?” I demand.
Penelope grins, stepping around me and closer to the car. “You’d feel really bad and owe me for the rest of your life.”
“Are you sure about that? My life would be a whole lot easier if I didn’t have to worry about—” I try to say you but the word is knocked out of me. The world tilts then goes dark and very cold as I sink and hit the ground.
Did she seriously shove me? Hell no.
I scramble, my fingers met with powdering snow. My hand thrust up into the air, breaking the surface like a zombie in a B-horror film, sending up a flurry of white directly into my eyes.
A car door slams and then Henri calls my name. “Liam!”
“Oh, he’s fine,” Penelope says. “He forgets that his life would also be monumentally boring without me.”
“Pen. I swear to God.” I shove up to my feet and, without thinking, run after my little sister. She leaps just out of reach on those deer-like legs of hers, taunting me. When I get close enough to exact my revenge, she darts away all over again.