Chapter 7 Skylar
Skylar
The last time I met a guy’s parents, I was still with Owen.
I could never establish an easy rapport with them, but then again, I can’t even establish one with my own.
It’s not that I’m shy. I talk to people all day at my job.
But at work, they’re mostly teens, and it’s repetitive information.
I don’t do well around people who have time to figure out all my problems.
This is going to be a long dinner with a lot of personal questions, so I’ll need all the help I can get. Analia said to be polite, smile a lot, and avoid arguments. Emy said to screw Pike in the bathroom during dinner. So, we’re going with Analia.
We walk up to Laurie’s timber-framed cottage with floor-to-ceiling windows. It’s beautiful amid the snow, the type of home I’d expect to overlook Canandaigua Lake.
“So.” Pike stops on the stoop, nibbling his bottom lip. It’s almost as tempting as the photo he sent me.
I’m noticing things I shouldn’t, especially regarding his mouth. The way it curves, the slight flush from the cold air, how his lips press together in thought before he gives a response. I need to prioritize self-preservation here and remind myself this is all a facade.
But the man planted a kiss on me the moment he saw me. That mouth would fluster anyone. And now he’s touched my chest. It was an accident, and I shouldn’t embarrass him about it, but it’s taking everything in me not to melt into the snow right now.
“We got Ollie after my dad moved out,” Pike says. “Like a consolation prize. Have a divorce, get a dog.”
As much as I don’t want to be here, I don’t mind learning more about him. Pike’s not bad company, in the end.
“Your dad won’t be joining us?”
“Nope. Last I heard, he was living in Vegas.”
“Well…” I pause, searching for the right words. “I’m glad you got Ollie, at least.”
“Mom was lonely. Ollie was small enough to fit in a tote, so she could bring her along whenever we traveled. To snowboard,” he adds.
“On bigger mountains?” I guess.
“Exactly. Bristol’s fine for ski club or whatever, but you need better terrain for big air.”
“Big…air?”
He laughs. Oh, boy. Have I even seen him smile full-out like this before? His half smile already has too much wattage.
“For tricks.” Pike opens the door. “Big air means you get a lot of height off a jump.”
“Is that how you got injured? Jumping?”
“Yeah. Didn’t stick a landing.”
“You haven’t watched the footage?” Laurie comes back with two filled champagne flutes.
“I didn’t want to relive that trauma with her,” Pike says.
I didn’t realize someone recorded his accident. “I’d rather not watch him hurt himself,” I add. “I’d rather watch him…stick landings.”
Pike stifles a laugh at my ineptitude with snowboarding, but he swiftly places a reassuring hand on my lower back. “Skylar isn’t into snowboarding. She’s familiar with the faces, of course, but that’s different from, you know, following the sport.”
“Speaking of faces,” Laurie says, “did you catch Grace and Jax today?”
“No, I was busy.” He shifts more weight onto his cane. “I’d rather not talk about snowboarding tonight. We’re here so you can meet Skylar.”
I smile with my teeth. “After our funny little encounter online.”
“Yes, what an evening.” Laurie winds her slender frame around her son, the champagne still precariously balanced in her hands. Her soft brown eyes, strikingly similar to Pike’s, grow glassy. “I was so worried about you.”
He withdraws after a quick pat to her back. “Can I get your coat, Sky?”
One of my curls gets caught in the zipper as he tries to help me with it. He gently nudges it free, warm fingertips brushing along my collarbone in the process. I fight to keep my eyes from fluttering shut at the touch.
Wait. Why should I fight it? I’m supposed to be into Pike.
I lean against his chest. “Thanks, boyfriend.”
Laurie beams. “You guys are adorable! Come, let’s start with appetizers.” She passes me a flute.
“I actually don’t drink alcohol.” A few months back, I would’ve accepted the champagne. But mixing alcohol with my meds will make me puke.
“Aw, Brandon doesn’t either.” Laurie’s accent sounds more typically Rochesterian, whereas Pike’s tends to have a strangely Canadian lilt at times.
“How about a Coke, Sky?”
“Sure,” I say, relieved I didn’t get any awkward questions. As soon as his mom heads to the kitchen, I elbow him. “Don’t call me Sky.”
“Shouldn’t we have nicknames?”
“Not Sky. That’s what my mother calls me.” I rub my eye in a futile attempt to soothe the pressure behind it.
Pike scrutinizes me, his gaze locking onto mine. Are those flecks of gold and amber in his irises? That shit isn’t supposed to be real. “A term of endearment, then. Baby. Babe. Cutie. Honey—”
“Can we do something that sounds less contrived?”
“I did! You didn’t like it, Sky.”
“How about something international? Emy said her first boyfriend called her ‘little strawberry’ in Italian.”
“Little…strawberry?”
“Doesn’t sound as good in English,” I agree, as if I have any idea how to say it in Italian.
“Pumpkin,” he tries, and I make a face. “Sugar. Darling.”
“I’m going to go ahead and veto all of those.”
“So what are we going with?”
“I’m partial to goddess divine.”
Pike pinches his eyes closed in annoyance.
“Anything but Sky,” I concede.
“Fine. You do me now.”
“Isn’t ‘Pike’ enough of a nickname?”
“It’s certainly better than ‘boyfriend.’”
“It was a joke! She smiled!”
“Don’t be weird,” he begs.
I deflate. That’s exactly what Owen used to say. Don’t be weird. Act normal. Pike’s not talking about my disabilities, though. I need to remind myself of that.
Laurie ushers us into her rustic-modern kitchen, where a sizable island dominates the space. I sip my Coke, content to stay silent, then gag and nearly spray it out.
“Is it flat?” Pike asks.
“The opposite. I forgot my medication makes carbonated beverages taste metallic. It’s like drinking rust.”
Pike grimaces as Laurie asks, “Medication? Are you sick?”
“I have a brain disease.” It’s easier to say this to people who (1) I’ll never meet again and (2) are probably ableist. Laurie fits both criteria.
“Oh my goodness! Cancer?” Laurie is relatively young, perhaps early fifties, but she adopts a worried expression that ages her twenty years.
“It’s a problem with cerebrospinal fluid in the brain,” Pike explains. “Skylar manages it really well.”
Normally, I’d be pissed someone is explaining my condition for me, but I don’t want to explain it to Laurie, so why not?
“Are you on disability?” she asks.
Pike’s fingers intertwine with mine. “Skylar travels for her position as a college admissions recruiter.”
I elaborate, and Laurie’s expression relaxes.
“That sounds like a great job. Your pain doesn’t get in the way?”
“Nope,” Pike says. “Despite it being called one of the worst headaches imaginable. She’s amazing like that.”
A part of me is touched. Sounds like he looked up IIH, something hardly anyone bothers to do. Still, I tighten my grip on his hand while maintaining a pleasant smile. “I’m not doing anything extraordinary by holding down a job.”
I don’t want to be lauded for working, like that’s somehow inspirational. I wish I didn’t have to work, because it makes my pain worse.
“I’m just doing what’s necessary to pay the bills and have insurance,” I say.
“Some people with my condition work full-time, and some can’t work at all.
I chose this job because I can make my own schedule, so I have more flexibility for appointments and bad days.
Fall and spring take a huge toll, but I get two months off in the summer. ”
Pike draws me to him. He’s still only holding my hand, so technically it’s not off-limits, but it presses me against his side. Our interlocked fingers are the only barrier preventing us from being entirely hip to hip.
“I still think you’re amazing. Everything you do. It’s a lot.”
He doesn’t have any idea what I do, but it is a lot.
In a few weeks, I’ll practically be living out of a suitcase.
But I can’t think of another job where I wouldn’t be confined to a strict nine-to-five and can work from bed half the year.
And hardly any company allows more than two weeks of sick leave.
Finally, Pike slides into a bar stool, so I scoot next to him and accidentally knock over his cane. It falls two more times before we leave it on the floor.
Laurie starts on her second flute. “Travel sounds exciting!” She hands us artichoke dip and sliced baguette. “I’d like Brandon to branch out from his current job.”
My pretend boyfriend stabs a piece of bread into the dip. A storm cloud gathers in his pretty eyes. “I’m happy where I am.”
That’s right. Pike is happy and great. That’s the only perception that matters.
“It’s a sales position, honey.”
“He’s an assistant manager,” I say. “Soon he’ll be running the place.”
“He has so much potential, though. Even now.”
Oof. I’m beginning to understand his hesitancy in speaking up.
I place my hand on his back and rub, breaking my own PDA rules.
But Pike said he was a physical guy, and this is a supportive gesture to make in front of his mom.
I can’t help admiring his back. It’s wonderfully solid and defined.
I’ve never paid much attention to shoulder blades before, but his are delightful.
“I had an idea.” Laurie pulls out a tablet and shows us an article about adaptive snowboarding. “What if we contacted some people? Kids like this could look up to you. See that they don’t need to give up. You’d have to get back on the mountain, though.”
Pike puts his hand on my knee like he needs me to steady him. “Those kids were boarding long before I had my accident, and they’ll keep boarding without me.”
“You could start an organization.”
My eyebrows knit. Honestly, why would anyone care? I guess all moms think their sons are special. But hey, if it’ll help disabled kids…maybe the money they clearly have could end up somewhere useful.