Chapter 23
23
By midafternoon on Wednesday, the entire resort is buzzing about the change in the forecast. Unfortunately, the change is not for the better.
Now they’re predicting even more snow—and even sooner.
The Yeti has gathered more energy than expected, and instead of late Thursday or early Friday, some are saying it could start as soon as tomorrow morning.
The train is already running on a limited schedule, and they’re booked solid today with people trying to get out in time. I’m guessing the opposite is true for the incoming trains they haven’t already canceled—who would intentionally try to travel up this way with the massive blizzard on the horizon?
Chloe. Chloe would.
I pick up my phone, initiate a FaceTime.
She answers almost immediately.
“Aliiiiiix! This forecast is ruining my life .”
“There’s, like, one meteorologist still insisting it won’t be terrible?” I say. “But I honestly think he’s just trying to go viral.”
“Trains run in the snow all the time, right? They have all sorts of protocols in place to keep them going twenty-four seven.”
“Do they?” I say. “I’m honestly not sure. Even if the trains technically could run, they’re anticipating power outages and significant delays, so they’ve preemptively canceled, like, ninety percent of their scheduled departures this weekend. You’re still thinking you might try to come?”
I feel a sliver of hope that she’ll still be able to visit as planned, but it’s dulled by how unlikely it is to work out. I really don’t want her making a treacherous journey on my account—what if she gets stranded somewhere between here and New York?
“Well, I did already pick up some rosé. And some cab. Oh, and also some sort of Italian white the cashier talked me into while I was checking out. And some stuff for a cheese board—”
“Chloe,” I interrupt, before she starts in about Gorgonzola and goat cheese. “You know how much I want you here, right? But please… don’t risk it if it looks like it’s going to be too bad—I don’t want you dying on the way over from the train station to the lodge.”
She goes quiet, then sighs. “Text me the name of that optimistic meteorologist? If even he gets all doomsday, I promise I won’t come.”
Once we’re off the call, I send her a link to the meteorologist’s website, then dash off a quick text to Sebastian even though he never replied to my last one.
Heads up, the weather’s looking really bad this weekend here at the lodge…
I know from his socials that he’s in Italy right now, so I’m fairly certain our impending Vermont blizzard is the furthest thing from his mind. Still, I feel better just knowing there’s about to be a gigantic buffer of snow between us (not to mention the entire Atlantic Ocean).
Puffin hops up onto my lap, stepping on my wrist in the process—it’s been feeling almost normal over the last day or two, and this time I barely even wince under the pressure of his paws. I smooth my hand over the soft fur of his forehead, and he pushes back, purring, before leaping up to the table I’ve been using as a desk—and walking all over my keyboard.
Honestly, if Puffin could write this book for me, I would let him at this point.
I settle in to work on a fresh Sebastian chapter as best I can. This voice memo is testing my patience more than the others—it’s a true challenge to sound neutral, unbiased, as I put his story onto the page.
A notable example from this particular voice memo: “It was all just so hard—too many girls. Too much money. Too little time to go to every party I was invited to, too tight a schedule to jet off to Phuket at the drop of a hat, so much free swag I didn’t even have time to open all the packages. But at the end of the day, I had the band, and the fans, and it was like the best dream of my life that I never wanted to end. It hasn’t really ended, either: yeah, it’s still hard to go out without getting recognized, without paparazzi on my tail at every single hour of every single day—I think that’s something that will never go away—but it’s a privilege, you know? I might want privacy sometimes, but there’s no way around it. True North will always be a part of me.”
Eye roll, eye roll, eye roll.
I suppress the urge to add a ghostwriter’s footnote: Of course, Sebastian makes every effort to stand out—just look at his attire! He wears his pop star status like a neon sign. It’s actually a shock he hasn’t yet acquired an *actual* neon sign that says SEBASTIAN GREEN with a Vegas-style arrow pointing to his too-white teeth.
If only.
If I weren’t being paid to write this book, I would totally be submitting Sebastian-centered articles to places like Gloss instead—but alas.
It’s possible I’m extra irritated by the fact that he’s ghosted me ever since our last call—and despite my best efforts to stay neutral, I can’t help but feel a bit disenchanted with Sebastian now that I know it was Tyler on the other side of their infamous rivalry.
I shut my laptop and pick up my phone.
Any chance you might want to take a certain stir-crazy writer out on the slopes this afternoon? I message Tyler. My wrist is basically perfect now
Almost immediately, Tyler replies, “basically perfect” lol
So my phone isn’t broken after all.
I’ve got time at four , he writes back in a separate bubble. That work?
I check my watch. I *guess* I can wait a whole hour to see you again
:))))) , he replies—Tyler and his emoticons.
See you then/there , I reply.
Can’t wait 3
His little emoticon heart makes me feel all fluttery inside—the effort of it, the image of his strong hands typing out those two tiny symbols, just strikes me as beyond sweet.
I am in so far over my head.
Tyler is waiting for me outside the ski school when I arrive, just casually leaning against one of the big front windows. As soon as he sees me, his entire face lights up.
“Hey, gorgeous,” he says, and—yeah—I could get used to greetings like this. He takes my hand as soon as it’s within reach and, in one smooth move, pulls me in close for a kiss.
His lips are soft and warm and taste like powdered sugar.
“Did I say I wanted to ski this afternoon?” I say between kisses. “I think I meant to say you should come over to my place.”
He laughs. “Ahhh, yeah, I should have known you meant let’s stay in when you asked me to take you out on the slopes.”
“The weather’s pretty terrible for skiing,” I say, pointing to the lone cloud in the otherwise very blue sky. It’s hard to believe we could be buried in snow by this time tomorrow.
“ So terrible,” he agrees. “How about this: we’ll ski first, and then I’ll make you dinner at your place and we can watch the storm roll in.”
“That sounds amazing,” I say.
A date night at my place with Tyler sounds like exactly what I need. I can picture it perfectly: lights as dim as they can get—fireplace blazing—the smell of herbs and butter and garlic heating up on the stove—a big mug of hot cocoa—his body pressed up against mine, as close as we can get under a fluffy down blanket while the sky outside the panoramic window turns progressively more ominous—Lauren calling—
Lauren. Is calling. Right now.
I texted her yesterday to check in since I hadn’t heard anything after our last call. She insisted things were going okay—but quickly changed the subject when I asked how the conversation had gone with her presumptuous friend.
“So sorry, but I have to take this real quick,” I tell Tyler. “It’s my sister.”
I pick up. “Hello?”
“Okay, please don’t hate me,” Lauren says.
My stomach flips. “What happened?”
“So, I have been looking for a good chance to tell Veronica she can’t stay with me anymore, I swear, but she shuts me down literally every time I try to bring anything up—so I decided to try leaving the museum early again today, alone, and it worked. But it, um, kind of backfired.”
“Backfired how, exactly?”
“She came back to the apartment anyway. I didn’t answer the first time she knocked, or the second. But then she started banging on the door and calling my name, yelling for me to let her in, making this whole scene—and I didn’t want her to get us in trouble by being loud again—so I finally answered the door. Which, it turns out, was a mistake. She asked why I left work without her and why I didn’t come to the door sooner. I tried to be brave, Alix, I really did. I told her she couldn’t stay with me anymore, especially because she has a tendency to be loud and I’m afraid it might get you evicted, and—um—she didn’t take it very well.”
I close my eyes, bracing myself. “What did she do?”
“She got even louder. And, um—she kind of keyed your door. It now says ‘bitch’ on it in gigantic ugly letters.”
“What?”
“I’m so, so sorry—”
“Lauren. This is not okay.”
“I know! I know. I tried to stop her, but I honestly think she would have scratched me with the key if I’d gotten any closer, and I just—I kind of froze. And then I left.”
“Where are you now?”
“Hiding in the corner at a Starbucks.”
“Did she leave, too?”
“I don’t know,” Lauren says. “I left first—I’m kind of afraid to go back.”
I let out a long exhale. This is a mess. At least Lauren’s in a safe place right now. Everything else, though… I don’t even know where to start.
“She seemed so nice when I first met her,” Lauren says ruefully.
“Some people are like that,” I say, thinking of Blake: how charming he seemed on the surface, and how quickly that charm disappeared whenever anyone dared to question or challenge him.
“I don’t know if I can go back to the apartment, Alix. What am I supposed to do if she shows up again?”
“Maybe you can stay with Chloe for the night?” I suggest, knowing that’s far from ideal—and I would have to ask on Lauren’s behalf, since Chloe blocked her days ago.
“I wish I could come stay with you . I think I made things weird with Chloe when I asked if Veronica could move in with her.”
My heart sinks. Staying with me is absolutely, unquestionably not an option—I have too much work to do, not to mention the impending storm.
At least the snowstorm makes for a good excuse.
“I’m so sorry, but everything’s a little chaotic around here right now—there’s a huge blizzard headed this way. Chloe was actually planning to come up this weekend, but it’s looking like she’s going to have to stay in New York.”
Lauren is quiet on the other end.
“You can handle this,” I tell her. “It’s going to be okay. Do you have any other friends from the museum who can make sure you get home safely? You could ask one of them to walk you up if you’re afraid to go on your own.”
“That’s a good idea,” she says.
“Call me if you need anything, okay? And worst case, I know Chloe will be there for you in an emergency, even if you feel awkward.”
I make a mental note to fill Chloe in ASAP—and to tell her to unblock Lauren’s number.
When we end the call, I look up to see Tyler rubbing out some smudges on his ski goggles, trying to pretend he hasn’t overheard every single word.
“So, uh,” he says. “That seemed… rough. Are you okay?”
I blink back tears. Now that I’m reasonably sure Lauren will be okay for the night, it’s sinking in that I truly might lose my apartment over this—noise complaints, property damage, people staying there who aren’t on the lease. I could have handled things more responsibly, should have been more on top of things somehow, shouldn’t have let it even get to this point.
“Could be better,” I admit. “Hanging out with you will help.”
“Well, I’m glad I’m here, then.”
Tyler pulls me into a tight hug, and I bury my face against the firm muscle of his chest.
“I’m really glad you’re here, too.”