I’m awakened by the most delicious smell
I lift my head at the clattering of plates. Jan, in an undershirt and sweatpants, his feet bare, is bustling around in the kitchen. A pleasant sight, I must say. I try to sit and a pain in my neck pierces me.
“Jesus, your couch is not fit for sleeping on. I can’t move.”
“Perhaps that is why it is called a couch and not a bed. I also woke up all stiff, but morning exercises helped. Especially the bends. You should give it a try.”
“I’d love to, but how about you kneel in front of me this time?” I smile playfully.
“Should I kneel?” Jan frowns.
Oh God, he didn’t get it again.
“You said you woke up stiff.” I lower my gaze suggestively to his crotch.
“I was by no means referring to the state of erotic arousal, but to the muscular stiffness caused by sleeping on uneven bedding.”
“Yes, Jan, I guessed. It was supposed to be a play on words, you know, the kind of flirting between a man and a woman who feel sexually attracted to each other.”
“I understand. In that case, I want you to know that the sight of you in the morning was highly stimulating. However, I decided that we wouldn’t be comfortable on the couch and came to the conclusion that I would postpone having sex together until after breakfast. As a result, I was able to carry out my morning plan. ”
“Congratulations. And how are you planning to spend your day today? Before you answer, subtract two hours from yesterday evening and leave them at my disposal. You fell asleep and I failed to implement what I wanted.”
And perhaps it was a good thing. Maybe this will allow us to spend at least two hours together because it seems that Jan will not surprise me with anything interesting.
But I’m wrong.
“At eleven o’clock, I planned to go to the slope, and now I invite you to breakfast. I made scrambled eggs. Five stars out of five.”
“Wait, on the slope? Are we going to ski?” My pulse is speeding up.
On the one hand, I am positively surprised by Jan’s proposal and excited that we’ll enjoy the charms of the snowy mountains together, but on the other hand—I feel apprehensive, and my stomach tightens into a ball.
Because I’ve never, gosh, darn it, skied!
My experience in the art of schussing down the slope is limited to sledding in the city park when I was ten years old.
I must have gone pale because Jan is looking at me intently.
“Only if you know how,” he clarifies. “I’m not fit to be a teacher, and I don’t want to spend a day on the beginner slope.
So if you are not an advanced skier, I suggest you stay home.
I’ll show you what I’m currently working on.
A 1943 pocket OMEGA, reliable Swiss mechanism, the watch case is in very good condition but the minute hand needs repair… ”
“Of course, I can ski!” I interrupt him in mid-sentence.
I’d rather slide down a few times on my ass in the snow rather than sit at home and chisel a WWII-era watch.
The weather is beautiful, and one has to take advantage of the winter.
In addition, I don’t want to come off as an idiot who can’t slide on two boards attached to her feet.
Jan, after all, considers me a genius. I’m smart and a fast learner. I’m sure I’ll catch on in no time.
“So. Now we eat, at ten-thirty we have sex, and at eleven we move on?”
An expression of satisfaction appears on Jan’s face.
“The perfect plan.”
*
Renting a suit and skis—check. Lift ride—check.
Readiness for the descent—zero. It’s a miracle that I managed to jump off the chair and stay upright.
I owe this miracle to the sharpness of my mind and quick learning: on the way to the slope, I looked up tips for beginner skiers on the Internet and had a quick glance, and during the warm-up, I watched other skiers closely.
All this skiing seems as easy as adding in the range of a million.
“Are you okay? You look like you’re about to fall over.” Jan positions himself sideways for the descent at the top of the hill, and I follow suit. I do it grotesquely.
“It’s from sleeping on the couch. I’m still sore.”
“We did a decent warm-up; it should be better,” he declares.
Oh yes, the warm-up was really intense. In addition to the exhausting but divine sex in his house, I went through a rather strenuous workout in front of the ski rental shop. Jan would be suited for the army like no one else. A few squats and jumps he turned into a grueling drill.
“I need a moment to get into the swing of things. To get in touch with the mountain, the wind, the sun… You know, to get this ski feeling .”
He frowns.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He puts his goggles on his nose. “I’ll see you at the bottom then.” He turns to face the slope.
What, he’s not going to leave me here alone, is he? We were supposed to go down together!
“But…” I can’t finish because Jan is already gliding down.
Holy crap, but he does it so smoothly. He gives the impression that he was born with skis on his feet. I would never have suspected him of such flexibility and physical prowess, but I might have expected it from how good he is in bed.
I watch him slalom from edge to edge of the slope, admire his shapely ass in a tight suit, and wonder at the same time how I can get down here as fast as possible and without damage to my health.
Schussing down is absolutely out of the question. I’m not stupid. Brave as can be, but I think I’m in way over my head. This mountain is far too steep, and the spruce trees growing on the sides of the slope pose too much of a risk…
I see that Jan is stopping.
“Why aren’t you coming down?!” he calls out in my direction.
Everyone who arrived here with us by lift is already schussing, and I’m standing as if I’ve planted roots in the ground.
There is only one option left: I’m going to take off my skis and walk down the forest to the bottom in these ridiculous boots.
“I have a cramp in my calf. Keep going alone,” I reply, and my voice echoes through the spruce trees.
I bend down, start wrestling with the ski binding clasp. Shit, how does it unfasten? I feel that my head is spinning, as if the ground under the skis is shifting like a running treadmill… I lift my head and hold my breath. Oh God, I’m slipping—backwards!
A cry escapes my throat. With every second I speed up, crossing my legs to brake, but they spread apart, each going in its own direction.
I’m about to do a fucking split! I try to lean forward, but some force, the existence of which the most eminent physicists have not heard, pulls me back and makes me rush faster and faster.
I drive my poles into the snow. The friction is too weak. I can’t stop!
My heart is beating like crazy, I have no idea what to do. Why don’t I just drive down like this until the very end? How far down is it? Where is Jan?
I glance over my shoulder and I get weak. And that’s because instead of going straight, I’m going right into the woods!
“Turn!” A cry reaches me.
Great advice. Only, how the fuck do I do it?
I tilt and sway, but I’m unable to change course or even fall over.
Oh, Holy Mother of God, I’m about to smash into a tree.
“Help, Jan!” I’m yelling at the top of my voice.
I’m zipping around like the Alpine version of Roadrunner. This is it, goodbye beautiful world.
I squeeze my eyes, tense up all over, wait for a strong thud, but then I feel a powerful blow from the side. Jan knocks me into the snow.
Saved! And for the second time. I definitely need to limit strolling on slippery surfaces. Or maybe I should make it a habit to walk in crampons during winter?
*
Jan is sulking. He’s pissed at me—no joke. Because I lied to him. And it was no use apologizing and explaining that I did it to impress him (because I care about his opinion) and because I wanted to get out of the house with him (because spending time actively benefits interpersonal relationships).
“I do not tolerate lying,” he announces coldly as we leave the ski rental shop.
Yes, I know he doesn’t tolerate it. He has mentioned this before.
“I had good intentions,” I apologize humbly. “You also lied to me about the business trip when you had a hidden agenda to spend a passionate weekend with me in Szczyrk.”
“It was something else. I had to lie. I had no choice.”
“Is that so?” I raise my eyebrows. “So your lie is better than mine? I could forgive you, and you couldn’t forgive me?”
He closes his eyes.
“Good point,” he says in a softer tone. “Just don’t deceive me again.”
Well, he sounds mollified.
“Okay. Then why don’t I buy you dinner at the inn as an apology? We’ll drink mulled wine together.”
“I don’t go to inns.”
“To restaurants?”
“Neither.”
“To a milk bar?”
“No.”
“Pub?”
“No.”
“So you’re still angry.” I’m starting to get irritated.
“No, Maria. I don’t like to eat in public places. We’re going to get groceries at the store and make dinner at home.”
I stop. “Wait, am I to understand that you never eat out? You don’t go out for beer or parties anywhere?”
“Only if I am forced to do so as part of my job.”
I recall an outdoor company event in early summer. Jan showed up only briefly for the CEO’s speech, then vanished like a ghost.
I stare at him as he walks away toward the car. My brain is confused. I’m starting to see that our time together isn’t working out. I don’t want to go back to his place and just sit in silence, I feel like eating something good in a place full of other people.
“You know what, why don’t you go to your place, and I’ll walk to the inn. I’m starving, and by the time we make dinner, I’ll start chewing on my insides.”
“This is physically impossible.”
“What is?”
“Chewing on your own insides.” He opens the car door.
“I don’t know how I ever functioned without your pertinent insights. You are so wise.”
“Thank you. I think you are smart, too.”
“I was being ironic, Jan.” I get my purse from the seat.
“Regarding the fact that you’re starting to chew on your own guts or that I’m smart?”
I smile involuntarily.