Chapter 8 Ford
Short Snowman, Long Story
The Lord sent Presley to me, because He’d been trying to reach me in other ways, and I wasn’t getting the messages. That was the only explanation for how someone could speak the language of my heart so naturally.
When Presley brought up forgiveness today, it was all I could do to stay seated, as I nearly toppled over when another weight was lifted from me.
One that I had been carrying for so long, the entirety of my life.
I wanted to forgive those who had hurt me.
Oh, Lord, now I see that even the hurt was a gift, as every hardship is, because through our pain we find You.
I had really enjoyed my day with Presley. She was outgoing in almost a strange way. I didn’t mean that negatively; it was just foreign in today’s day and age that someone be so open and honest without fear. Presley had no hidden agenda or tricks up her sleeve.
And we did share a moment; one that I had to try very hard to remember the boundaries I had asked God to instill in me.
The respect I wanted to show this woman.
In another life, I would have wanted to kiss her.
. . Heck, in this life I wanted to kiss her.
I still very much did. But that was something that I didn’t want to cheapen.
If it were to happen, I wanted everything to be out in the open and that it would be a clear, God-ordained relationship.
I was done with empty relationships that had no foundation, no promise, and were full of secrets and lies.
The girl also knew her way around a ski hill, which admittedly, I found very charming.
As we walked back to the chalet late afternoon, I found myself laughing hard for the first time in ages, as she recounted the splits she did when I knocked her out of the way from that snowboarder.
Presley was so animated and entertaining.
I found myself looking forward to seeing Priscilla, too.
Still, I couldn’t think of her name without smirking.
When we reached the chalet, the snow was blowing off the roof like puffs of smoke.
The wind was picking up, which could have meant some major drifts tonight.
As Presley went on about how much fun she had, I set the skis down outside in a snowy bump reserved for just that.
She poked the poles into the mound, and we both went to the door.
As Priscilla greeted us as if we’d been away for forty days, Presley took her outside to do her business, and I found myself watching and reflecting on the day and the kind of woman that Presley was.
Poppy didn’t know how to ski, which was never a problem for me, of course. But her lack of willingness to try did upset me from time to time in our very short-lived romance. I tried my best to immerse myself into her hobbies and interests; why didn’t she want to do that with me?
Looking back, Poppy’s interests were mostly attending galas for various foundations that “big wigs” attended and shopping for those outfits.
I knew this because it was my credit card coming to the rescue more than once on those shopping trips.
In retrospect, Poppy likely met her now husband at one of those events.
The only one I could recall us all being in the same room with was the fundraiser for the Sage Mountain Charitable Foundation.
I closed my eyes and thought back to it; I thought they were raising funds to create and maintain a trail system for cross-country skiers.
It was something extra for the community; a way to give back and help those who didn’t use the ski mountain recreate.
I personally enjoyed cross-country skiing, so I had asked Poppy if she wanted to attend with me.
It was at this function that Trent Langley had been in attendance; and now that I really focused on the memories, I did recall that Poppy had been chatting with him at the champagne bar.
Poppy was fantastically good looking, in a high-maintenance sort of way.
She wasn’t the type of woman who could just roll out of bed, brush her teeth, and head out for the day.
No, Poppy needed a team of people working on her skincare, her bronzed glow, her nails and feet, and her clothing.
Poppy’s hair was another story. She went to a stylist who flew in once a month from Milan.
Her blonde hair and extensions didn’t let her just jump into a pool or be out in the rain.
Her look was curated. It wasn’t a bad thing to me then, and it wasn’t now, but when I compared her to Presley (whom I admitted that I did not know her beauty routine), it seemed like a stark comparison.
Presley was more of a natural beauty. I’d seen her both wearing a little makeup and none—she looked great either way.
Her hair was soft and in her natural color.
We got snowed on during our ski day together, and it wasn’t a bother to her or a big deal at all.
Poppy and Presley couldn’t be more different, but the last few women I had dated were very much like Poppy: wrong for me. I couldn’t put my finger on why that was, but I knew it had everything to do with God and my not waiting for the woman that He would send me.
Despite it all, I did want a woman whom I could take care of.
Who would let me pay the bill at the restaurant and fill that traditional role of a wife.
I didn’t care if she worked, and the housework could be done by a paid cleaning service, but my dream for my life was to have a woman who was present.
Not overwhelmed by the burdens that came from keeping a household, job, and children in line.
I wanted a partnership—someone whom I could do all of these things with, instead of a one-way thing on either of us. Sigh.
Today, when Presley sat across from me with frosting on her nose, I was taken aback by her willingness to share with me about her past hurts.
People had not treated her as they should have, and I found myself relating to it.
But what really got me was when she told me that someone told her she was annoying.
That stung for deeper reasons; growing up feeling like I wasn’t always wanted or a burden to my parents, my fear every time I spoke was that I was being annoying.
So, I created a pattern that I didn’t allow myself to voice my feelings.
Or, as Presley alluded to, “to take up space.” It hurt me later in my adult relationships because without ever verbalizing who I was or what I wanted, I didn’t know that I’d ever been loved for who I was, either.
Presley brought her little fluffy dog back inside as she held her in the crook of her arm.
“Someone is over the snow,” she said giggling.
Priscilla had snow all the way up to her chest from the looks of it—her little boots and the bottom of her jacker were covered in the white stuff.
They went into the mud room right off the front door where Presley kept a towel on top of the bench to wipe her down.
At some point during the stay, it appeared she had also brought in a blow dryer as she was now using that to warm the dog back up.
I couldn’t hold back my laughter this time.
“I’ve never seen a dog enjoy that so much.
” My mind thought of dogs out a car window, but they had their mouths open and tongues out.
This dog had her eyes closed, mouth closed, and if she could have purred like a cat, I imagined she would have been, as Presley was taking each one of the dogs’ paws, one by one, and making sure everything was entirely dry.
“She’s a spoiled Victorian child in a dog suit,” Presley laughed, turning off the blow dryer.
“Ready for a snack-y?” she asked Priscilla in a high-pitched voice.
The dog went wild; I didn’t know if it was for the incoming treat or because of the mild dampness that she felt somewhere on her fur, but she started tearing around the chalet in her bright, pink sweater.
After getting a treat, she rounded the coffee table several times before coming to me and jumping up on my legs, prompting me to pick her up. I gave in immediately.
Once in my arms, Priscilla became calm and started licking my hand. Presley politely asked about doing a load of laundry to which I quickly obliged. “There’s a basket in that cupboard right there,” I pointed with my free arm, but when I went to open it, she shooed me away.
“I got it, thank you. You just entertain Priscilla for me.” Looking down at Priscilla, who had two bows in her hair from this morning, perfectly done still, let me know she’d been sleeping all day and was likely still full of energy.
I set her on the floor and squeaked one of her toys, and she went wild again.
“Do you want to order a pizza?” I asked Presley, who had just finished loading her laundry. “After that, I gotta go take care of the horses.” Her eyes lit up.
“Yes, to both,” she said. “I would love a cheese pizza with extra olives and to meet your horses.” I smiled.
“It’s settled then,” I said, reaching for the phone I kept forgetting was broken. “Can I, uh, use your phone? Mine is still out of order,” I said, embarrassed.
“Of course. Let me go get it,” she said, slipping out of the room and returning quickly, staring at it as she walked. “Sorry, I had a lot of notifications. Here you go.” She handed it to me, looking away.