34. Delicate
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
delicate
ROMAN
ASPEN COLORADO
DAY ONE OF THE ASPEN SOCIOLOGICAL CONFERENCE
Cross country skiing is hell.
Cross country skiing after I’ve eaten ten tacos is even worse.
My legs hurt, my hip hurts, and my back is killing me. I want to shove Logan’s face into some yellow snow for this, but I keep pushing forward out of spite instead.
“You know, this isn’t so bad,” Imogen grunts. “I’m starting to get the hang of it.”
“I don’t know,” I sigh. “It feels more like a big long fucking walk than skiing.”
“What’s the problem?” Logan asks, gesturing to the scenery. “Look at all of this! If we were going downhill, we’d just be zooming past all of it!”
“You mean falling past it.”
Abi chuckles, holding up her camera in front of the group and snapping a photo. I’m pretty sure I’ve never looked angrier in a picture before, but she’s beaming.
Today was the first full day at the conference. Logan presented in the morning, and Abi in the afternoon, with both Imogen and my presentations relegated to the next day. The four of us got in late last night, but it turned out the hotel we expected to be staying at was overbooked, so we were taken to a large four-bedroom cabin about 15 minutes from the resort. By snowmobile, of course.
Logan, of course, wanted to ski back tonight. Just a quick trip, he said. Now I’m stuck in a snow suit that makes me look like the goddamn Michelin Man, locked in a purgatory of never-ending cross country skiing. It was pretty fun at first, but now the sound of ice crunching beneath our poles is starting to drive me crazy.
That said, as much as my knees and legs hate Logan right now, I have to admit the setting is gorgeous. Lush trees and soft white powder surround us, and you can see little cabins with their windows lit up in the distance.
Everything looks so cozy and tranquil.
“So, where’s this lookout you wanted to see?” I ask, pausing next to our fearless leader.
Logan points up ahead with his pole, gesturing vaguely into the distance.
“Guy at the conference said that’s a great spot, right near that clearing there. Claimed you can see the entire resort.”
We head toward a small group of trees, Abi and Logan in front while Imogen and I trail behind. She’s still a little unsteady and awkward with her ski poles, so I rest my hand on her back to keep her from accidentally tripping over them.
“Thanks,” she laughs, her cheeks pink.
Imogen’s been so focused on preparing for her presentation for the last month that we haven’t had much time to spend together, mostly just texting or FaceTiming when we can. Needless to say, I’ve been itching for some physical contact.
When we thought we were getting a hotel, we had all these elaborate plans to sneak around, maybe even have dinner somewhere private. But with her room just above mine in a tiny cabin, it’s been hard for us to have any physical contact. Last night, we talked on the phone until we both fell asleep. Today, we couldn’t stop texting each other, even when we were in the same room.
It’s been hell trying to keep my hands off of her. When we were walking to get lunch, I almost reached out for her out of habit.
“Oh! I see it!” Logan’s excited yelp brings me right back to the present. “Just up there!”
We glide through the snow for another few minutes before finally making it to the clearing that Logan was talking about. I look up at the sky in all of its vastness to see a beautiful shade of lavender, bleeding into the pink and orange swirl of clouds. It’s the color of Imogen’s hair, as if it was painted into the sky with gigantic brush strokes.
We take a bit of time, everyone snapping pictures of the sunset before Logan puts his hands on his hips, staring at us through massive ski goggles. He looks like a mad scientist as he takes off his hat, shaking out his shaggy hair.
“You guys wanna head back?”
“ God yes!” Imogen calls out. “I need a fucking bottle of wine and some Advil. My legs are killing me.”
“You actually shouldn’t mix Ibuprofen with alcohol,” Logan cuts in. “It’s bad for?—”
“The last time I checked, you were a doctor of philosophy , dude.”
“It doesn’t mean I don’t know how to read the back of the bottle, dipshit.”
Logan laughs, giving his sister a shove, and she yelps, stumbling back into me. I grab her by the waist, letting out a nervous chuckle as she turns around. I can’t tell if it’s just the winter chill that’s making her cheeks flame or if it’s me.
“Are you okay?” I remove my hands the second she nods, glancing over at Logan with a scowl. “Be nice to your sister, jackass.”
“She started it!” He turns to Imogen, flexing his bicep. “Sorry, just getting too buff in the gym, I guess.”
“You look like Gumby’s anemic cousin,” she spits, flipping him off.
I hear the sound of a camera shutter from off to the side, and turn to find Abi beaming.
“Aww! Look at that! It’s like you’re a little family! I’m printing this and putting it in my office.”
Logan puts his hat back on, grinning from ear to ear.
“Alright, sibling-abuse out of the way, you fuckers wanna get drunk and play the board games I found in that creepy old basement?”
“Sure,” Abi replies. “So long as you promise they’re not haunted.”
Logan laughs as we start to trek in the direction of the cabin.
“Haunted?”
“Yeah, like Evil Dead.”
“That was the Necronomicon in the basement,” Logan chuckles. “I thought you knew your horror movies!”
“That all sounds great, but before we get into evil board games, how about I cook something up?” I ask, shooting Imogen a knowing look. “Logan shouldn’t be losing on an empty stomach, after all.”
Logan lets out a dismissive snort, smacking me gently with one of his poles as he passes me.
“ Wow ! Okay, I see how it is, Burke. I’ll kick your ass any time, any day.”
“Bring it on, pipe cleaner.”
The cabin is beautiful, with four bedrooms and two bathrooms split between two floors. The downstairs is all open-concept, with a kitchen, a living room, and a small dining area that I’ve set up for dinner. It’s softly lit with a bit of a rustic feel, the only exception being the ridiculous crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling.
I feel totally at home in this kitchen, pouring white wine into the pan to deglaze it and make a sauce. I’m cooking chicken breast and roasted vegetables, something simple and warm after being outside for so long. For dessert, I’ve got some of those mini cinnamon buns that come in a tube. All I need to do is make some more cream cheese icing. They never give you enough in those store bought containers.
Logan tosses the veggies in olive oil and seasoning before taking out a baking tray. Behind us, I can hear Imogen and Abi laughing from the couch, both of them clutching big glasses of red wine. Every so often, I catch Imogen’s eye and she tosses me the tiniest flirtatious glance. It feels like the dinner party all over again.
“I’m so glad Frankie got us this cabin,” Logan sighs.
“Yeah, turns out it’s pretty great.”
Except that I would have been just fine eating room service and having a hell of a lot more privacy. Somehow, Imogen and I will have to find a way to make it work, because there’s no way I can stay away from her all weekend.
I know myself, and I am not a strong man, not when it comes to her.
“How’s your presentation coming?”
“Finished,” I reply, glancing over at Logan and panicking as he lifts the bottle of olive oil like he’s going to pour it directly on the pan. “Hey, hey! Parchment paper.”
“The oil will make sure it won’t stick,” he replies.
“Yeah, and then that shit’s gonna be swimming in grease,” I fire back. “Parchment paper, Flynn.”
“Abi! Roman’s bullying me!” Logan calls over his shoulder.
I roll my eyes.
“Abi, do you even need me to list the dozen things he’s done wrong, or…?”
“I believe the chef!” Abi calls back, her laughter ringing through the cabin.
Logan frowns, muttering to himself under his breath, but grabs the parchment paper and spreads it out on the tray anyway.
“So, did you enjoy the first day?” He asks.
“Yeah, it’s been, uh… it’s good. Informative.”
It’s not really a lie, even if I’ve spent more time in the presentations texting Imogen than actually paying attention to the material. That big brain of mine doesn’t stand a chance when we’re in the same room. I’m surprised I can even focus on cooking.
“Yeah? Because you’ve been on your phone. A lot.” He tries to ruffle my hair but I smack him away. “Oh my god, is it the girlfriend?”
I exhale, glancing out the window at the snow falling in thick white flakes.
“I need to add some butter,” I tell him. “Make a cream sauce.”
“Look, you’re distracted right now,” he laughs.
I shake my head, walking to the fridge to grab a big block of butter.
“Look, it’s not like I wanted to be here,” I tell him. “Frankie put me up to it.”
“Oh, I know,” Logan replies. “Because I asked him to.”
I raise a brow in irritation, but Logan only shrugs in response.
“You’re up for review, Roman! You haven’t published anything in a while and the clock is ticking. This shows that you’re engaged with your work, at the very least.”
I want to tell him that I’ve been checked out for so long that the thought of failing a review doesn’t scare me anymore.
“You’re meddling.”
“Of course I am! Because I give a shit!”
Logan grins, clapping me on the shoulder.
“What’s going on? Besides the obvious, I mean.”
I stare at him, blinking as the butter melts in the pan.
“What’s the obvious?”
“I mean Christa, and everything you’ve been dealing with.”
Logan talks about my grief like it’s a fresh wound and not the dark cloud that’s been looming over me for the last few years. He’d have no way of knowing that I’ve managed to start moving past it, to some small extent at least.
“I don’t know,” I sigh. “I guess I’m just working my way back to the person I used to be.”
Even if he doesn’t really exist anymore. Not in the same way.
“You know you can talk to me, right?” Logan asks. “I’ve been worried about you since you came back from sabbatical. It feels like your heart isn’t in it anymore.”
“It is,” I retort. “I love teaching, but you know how exhausting this job gets. All the red tape and bureaucratic bullshit we have to deal with. It’s not just a job, it’s… draining.”
And I think it’s the reason why Christa felt like she couldn’t talk to me about everything that was going on inside her head. I was married to her, sure, but my work was ever present. Because that’s what was drilled into me from graduate school: above all else, my research was the most important.
But now that old identity is starting to fracture, and the more Imogen helps me to rediscover the pieces of me that I’ve locked away, the more I realize that I want something else. I want simplicity, I want passion, I want her.
“You know, sometimes I feel like I’m just moving on autopilot in this job.”
“And how long have you felt that way?”
“Since she died.” My voice is tight as Logan loads the veggies into the oven. “Is that normal?”
“I think grief is different for everyone. I was just talking to Iggy the other day about this guy she’s seeing, and how she hasn’t been letting anyone in because she’s afraid she’ll lose them.”
Part of me wants to ask what she said about me, but that would open up an entire can of bullshit that would ruin the weekend.
“There’s no handbook for how to get through this shit– not really, anyway. We all cope in different ways and if you have to numb yourself out for a while, then that’s something you have to do, but it doesn’t stop me from being worried about you.”
“You don’t have to worry,” I assure him. “I’ll be okay. Just gotta get back on the horse.”
Logan flashes me a small smile, and I can tell he doesn’t believe me, but that’s fine. He doesn’t need to.
“Hey!” Abi calls from her spot on the couch. “How long until dinner’s ready?”
“Yeah, we’re starving!” Imogen echoes after her.
“Fifteen minutes, ladies! Logan, be a doll and refill their wine.”
“When did I become the butler?” He scoffs.
“When you argued with me about the vegetables,” I reply, elbowing him in the ribs. “Go on. Those ladies are dying of dehydration and you’re just standing there.”
Imogen grins at her brother, shaking her wine glass.
“Come on, Jeeves. Don’t be stingy with your pours, either!”
“I take it back,” Logan grumbles. “This whole group cabin thing was a terrible idea.”
I smile as he grabs the wine bottle and saunters toward the girls, pouring them both generous glasses. Amidst the laughter and the playful ribbings, I catch Imogen’s attention for just a moment, the loving look in her eyes setting my heart on fire all over again before she quickly looks away.
“I don’t know," I mutter to myself, quietly plating the dish. “Maybe it’s not so bad after all.”