Chapter 28
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
PETRA
“You’re going to get through this,” Jackson assures me as she hands me a fresh cup of coffee.
When I dip my nostrils over it to inhale the scent, it feels like my nose hairs are singed off. “Holy shit.” I draw back. “What’s in this?”
“It’s Irish Coffee. Seemed like the right kind of drink for today.”
I glance out at the mist that hangs over the tree tops. We’ve taken the chairlift up to the top of Blackstone Mountain and are planning to hike down.
“You’re getting me day drunk? I don’t know if flying up here last night was the best or worst idea I’ve ever had.”
She holds her mug in two hands as she sits in the Adirondack chair on the deck outside the upper lodge. The view will be spectacular if the sun burns off this mist. “Tell me everything,” she says.
My flight out of New York last night was much like my last one—full of nonstop tears.
But this time I wasn’t crying because of what I was leaving behind, I was crying through the frustration of having been taken advantage of and lied to once again.
I was crying for the life I thought Aleksandr and I were going to have together, only to find that it was all built on lies.
I tell her his side of the story and end with, “Lying is a deal breaker for me.”
“Shit, Petra. I don’t know what to say. On the one hand, it’s horrible that he knew details about your mom and his father, and about your mom and brother’s death that he didn’t tell you.
It’s horrible that he deserted you the way he did, especially knowing how you felt about him.
But on the other hand, he made sure you got to go to the boarding school you wanted, for the ski training you needed.
He made sure your life didn’t get signed away in a marriage you weren’t ready for.
And he did it because he loved you and wanted what was best for you. ”
I take a big gulp of the Irish Coffee, expecting the whiskey to burn but it’s tempered by the sugar and the whipped cream. It goes down far too easy. “You can’t possibly be taking his side here.”
“I’m always on your side,” she assures me. “I just want to make sure you’re looking at this from all angles.”
“Are there really multiple angles here?” I glance down at my lap and am alarmed for a second to find myself in unfamiliar clothes. Everything I’m wearing is Jackson’s: her hiking boots, socks, leggings, and sweatshirt. Even the underwear and sports bra.
Because that’s what happens when you leave a party in a fancy dress and strappy heels and head to the airport, unsure of your destination.
It might have made more sense to call Emily or Avery, but the thought of staying with someone who knew Aleksandr, who knew us together as a couple, had my stomach in too many knots.
Instead, I called Jackson, who suggested I come up for a day or two.
I’m supposed to be back at the studio tomorrow. I still have to figure out what to do about that. And how to get all my stuff from Aleksandr’s back to LA. But these are future-Petra’s problems and more than I can handle right now.
“There are always multiple angles. Sometimes it’s just hard to see things from a different perspective when you’re standing at a fixed point.
You and Aleksandr have a past together, like Nate and me.
That’s part of what makes your current relationship so strong but it’s also something that can cause friction because when you’ve loved someone since you were a teenager there are bound to be dozens of mistakes and missteps—big and small—along the way. ”
I take another gulp of coffee, draining it and setting it on the arm of the chair. “I’m going to need another one of these if you want me to start looking at this situation from Aleksandr’s perspective, my wise friend.”
Jackson whips her phone out of the pocket of her tunic-length, full-zip wool hoodie and taps her screen a few times.
I take the moment to marvel at her in her element: dressed like she’s in an Athleta ad, building her dream ski resort one step at a time with the love of her life.
I’m so happy for her I could burst. “Done,” she says triumphantly.
“Is Blackstone so fancy now that you can order food and drinks on an app and have it delivered on the deck?” I mean, I know she and Nate are working hard to make Blackstone a destination ski resort, but that feels next-level.
Her face lights up. “No, but that’s a brilliant idea. I’m going to talk to Nate about that possibility.”
“So . . .” I lead, “what just happened then?”
“I texted Lori, a friend of mine who runs this lodge, and asked if she could have someone bring another drink out for each of us.”
“Must be nice,” I tease.
“This life does have its perks.” She gives me a small smile. “But you know it wasn’t all wonderful getting here. Nate and I struggled a lot to make things right, and I pushed him away because he’d hurt me so badly when we were younger. I wonder if maybe that’s what you’re doing with Aleksandr too.”
“Jackson, when I look back at all the pain in my life . . . he’s responsible for a lot of it. And he lied about it all.”
Just then, a woman comes out of the lodge in a forest-green long sleeve polo with the Blackstone emblem embroidered on the chest. She’s holding two steaming to-go cups. Jackson thanks her and slips her a tip as she hands over our drinks.
“I fully understand that intent and impact are not the same thing,” Jackson says, her voice placating as she hands me a drink and nods her chin toward the trail we’ll take to hike down the mountain.
I stand and follow her as she continues, “And I know how he’s made you feel, so I understand the impact.
But don’t you think the intent matters too?
He was trying to help you, all along he was shielding you from further pain and trying to make sure you got opportunities you badly wanted. Does that count for something?”
“He lied to me,” I say, hating how much I sound like a broken record player. I want her to be as angry at him as I am, and I hate that she doesn’t see this as something fatal to our relationship. “Even if I could get over that, how could I ever trust him again?”
“Do you trust me?” she asks before taking a sip of her drink.
“Of course I trust you.” I follow her around a boulder and onto the dirt bike path that will be open in summer. I’m hoping this is an easy walk down because these drinks are strong.
“But I lied to you. I lied about me and Marco, and I definitely lied about Nate . . .”
“You lied to me about your own life. Marco—protecting a friend. Nate—lying to yourself. Either way, zero impact on me.”
“Aleksandr’s lies were not only about things that had happened to you, they were lies about things that had happened to him as well. And they were lies that were meant to protect and help you.”
I’m quiet as I let the truth of those words sink in.
“Are you sure you aren’t lying to yourself here a little too?
” she asks. “I think he means a lot more to you than you’re telling me.
And I think the reason you’re holding onto this lie, these lies, of his is because you’re looking for a reason to run.
Feelings scare you, Petra. Especially the big kind of forever feelings. ”
I step up next to her when we hit the switchback in the cluster of trees. “I told him I would give up the show and move back to New York to be with him.”
Jackson breathes in sharply, then coughs and clears her throat. She looks over at me. “You—what now?”
“Yeah, and that’s when he told me he’d been lying to me basically since I was thirteen.”
I think I’m pretty strong, but there are only so many times you can be screwed over by a man before you lose faith in the entire gender. And I think I’ve hit that low point I swore I’d never sink to, the point where I’m ready to give up on men altogether.
The worst part is, I can hear my own advice here—I know exactly the kind of things I’d say to a friend in the same situation.
The best way to get over one guy is to get under the next one.
You need some no-strings-attached sex. Or, If you’re truly over men, I know some incredible women I could set you up with.
Why didn’t I ever stop to think that people need time to grieve in a breakup situation like this?
Nope, I was always ready to throw my friends into the arms of the next man they came across.
Now that I’m in that situation, I can see how dismissive I was of people’s very real and very hurt feelings.
Luckily, Jackson is a better friend than me in this situation.
“Okay, now I’m floored,” she says. “And even more pissed at him. But also, I’m still hopeful that you’ll go back to New York . . . talk it out with him. Figure out a way forward. You deserve to be happy, Petra. Even though I don’t think you believe that, it’s true.”
“I deserve to be happy, yes. I don’t think I need a man to make me happy, though. That’s the part I don’t believe.”
She glances over at me and says, “Yeah, and I think you have put so much stock in that belief that maybe you’re sabotaging your own happiness here because it’s linked to a man.”
I think about that as we descend the mountain, my legs and glutes burning with the effort of walking downhill over a 1,500-foot elevation drop.
I think about that as we drive back to Jackson and Nate’s house, and as I text Avery pleading with her to arrange to get my bags from Aleksandr’s and to meet me at JFK with them tomorrow when I fly through on my way to LAX.
I think about them all night, when I can’t sleep because of the anger and the longing that are fighting against each other in my heart and mind.
And in the morning, I know the truth of the matter is: I’m not sure.
I’m not sure if Jackson is right, and I’m not sure how to figure it out.