Chapter Twelve Bailey #2
They went skiing as a group for Colin’s birthday in February, all eight of them plus their children crowding into Augusta’s father’s ski condo in Vermont.
Bailey hadn’t been sure about coming—while most of the other kids were old enough for ski school, Dylan would need to be watched all day, but Augusta had hired a babysitter, and said Dylan could stay with her.
The thing that really sold her on the trip was the ski outfit that Kylie loaned her.
The pants and jacket were pink and silver and included a shiny belt, and when Van first saw her, he snickered and said she looked like “Winter Olympics Barbie,” and Bailey pretended to be offended but it was exactly the look she’d been going for.
Back when Bailey and Van were in high school, they’d gone skiing together all the time.
Not fancy trips, not overnights with après-ski at a lodge, or to elaborate mountains with moguls and jumps, nothing like that, but instead they’d taken day trips on a big school bus the town ran from the Greenhead rec center to one sad little ski run in Amesbury.
It cost fifteen dollars to get a pass for the day, and it had been the thing back then to leave your ski tags on your jacket to show how many times you’d gone over the winter.
By March both Bailey and Van had stacks so thick it was like wearing a deck of cards on a necklace.
That little Amesbury slope had closed years ago, and Augusta’s condo was a zillion times nicer than anything they’d done as kids—but in a weird way, Bailey felt nostalgic for their crappy old day trips.
Bailey started off slow, taking a few blues and greens by herself before making her way over to the harder runs.
She spent an hour or two slowly remembering how to turn and building up her old confidence.
On her last run before lunch Bailey spotted Vanny’s red jacket and caught up to him at the top of the mountain.
She gestured that he should follow her and led him in a long, curving path, stopping once to pull out her phone and snap a selfie, both of them covered in helmets and goggles, jackets zipped up to their chins.
Augusta had texted that they had a table for lunch in the lodge and Bailey was starving, so when they finished the run, she led Van over to the entrance and popped off her skis.
“Hey, let’s leave our stuff together and go get food. ”
Van, still in his helmet and goggles, nodded and stacked his skis on hers and followed her inside.
It was hot and loud, hundreds of skiers and children darting around the lodge with plates of burgers and cans of soda.
Bailey found their table, right up front where the band was playing, and pulled off her helmet and gloves, sliding into the booth next to Fran, who gave her a searching look.
“What?”
“Did you pick up a guy while you were skiing?” Fran had to shout into Bailey’s ear over the music.
“Who?” Bailey was confused. Fran tilted her head to Van, and when Bailey turned, she saw that standing next to her was a complete stranger, a man wearing Van’s same jacket, but otherwise different in every way. He grinned enthusiastically.
“Hey!” The real Vanny walked up carrying a tray of food. “I just got a ton of chicken fingers and burgers for everyone. Grab whatever you want.”
The stranger passed Bailey a hamburger and a packet of ketchup and started eating himself. Van looked at her questioningly and she shrugged, blushing.
They had lunch with the stranger, a perfectly nice guy named Kyle, and when he asked Bailey if she wanted to ski a little more after lunch she lied and pretended her knee was bothering her and sent him back outside alone before falling apart laughing with Fran.
In the late afternoon they retreated to the condo to warm up by the fire.
Bailey and Van sat together on the couch, both sweaty and red-cheeked in their long underwear and wool socks, and they played a game with Dylan, pretending to nibble his toes, making him laugh his gurgle-y laugh.
The little boys were sprawled out on the carpet, Charlie and London poring over their Pokémon binders and arguing passionately about mythical creatures, using words like “Gengar” and “Ultra Beast.”
“Do you have any idea what they’re talking about?” Bailey asked Colin.
“Unfortunately, yes.”
“I forgot my bank PIN the other day, but I could literally tell you the three evolutions of Charizard,” said Fran.
“Same,” agreed Augusta. “I don’t understand how to reset the clock on my microwave, but I could talk to you extensively about the hunting habits of a honey badger.”
“Are you talking about the honey badger?” Hale appeared in the doorway. “The honey badger doesn’t drink water. It gets all the fluid it needs from the blood of the snakes it eats.”
“Knew that.” Fran nodded.
Bailey and Vanny put Dylan to bed together, reading him a book, singing him a lullaby, changing him out of one soft outfit into another because one had pictures of moons on it and was therefore “pajamas.” Bailey had set up Dylan’s bassinet next to her own bed and so as Van wrapped him in his sleep sack and laid him down, Bailey put a glass of water, her satin sleep mask, her jade roller, and her lip treatment on her nightstand and pulled down the side of the blankets so that she’d be able to slip in quietly later on without waking him.
They ate dinner, pasta and salad and cake for Colin’s birthday, everyone in their long underwear or pajamas.
They had champagne and then more wine and then while Augusta and Fran went and put the big kids to bed, the rest of them put on a scary movie, The Shining, and piled onto the couches.
RJ was bombed, a red wine stain on his shirt, but he made everyone laugh doing Jack Nicholson imitations and then falling asleep at the scariest part.
Fran had seemed annoyed at RJ all night, wincing when he knocked over his drink, perching on the opposite couch, but when Bailey asked her about it, Fran just grimaced and shook her head.
Bailey and Van sat together, and she rested her legs across his lap. She wouldn’t have done that a month ago, but without Caroline in the picture she could, and he rubbed the arch of her foot with his thumb.
Eben and Max had brought a joint and a huge jigsaw puzzle they set out on the table, half watching the movie and half absorbed in a thousand-piece depiction of a “Roman Orgy,” occasionally muttering “Here’s a nipple,” or “Pass me that foot.”
Bailey nestled closer to Van, and he wrapped an arm around her shoulders.
He had taken a shower after skiing and was wearing soft sweatpants and a long-sleeve T-shirt Bailey recognized from years ago, a faded line drawing of a fly fisherman on the pocket.
Bailey took her finger and traced it along Van’s knee and he grew very still, and she could tell that while he was pretending to watch the movie, the only thing he was paying attention to was her.
She caught his eye and cocked her head toward the kitchen.
In the kitchen they kissed, Van holding Bailey’s hips with two hands.
It was something they had done thousands of times, but it felt somehow different, charged with a new spark that was both tender and fluttery.
Van slipped a hand in her shirt and under her bra and Bailey felt everything go warm.
Van’s bedroom was upstairs, they couldn’t pass through the living room and disappear up there together without everyone seeing, and Dylan was asleep in Bailey’s room, so instead they opened the door to the pantry, a closet six feet deep lined with cans of soup and soda.
In the dark they whispered quietly as they pulled off Van’s shirt and Bailey’s long underwear.
Van kissed her breasts and then moved his mouth down further and further.
Bailey leaned against the wall, knocking a can to the floor with a crash.
They quietly giggled and Van kept going, Bailey’s hand in his hair.
She was about to come, Van licking and pressing with his thumb, when suddenly the pantry door opened and the lights clicked on.
From the kitchen their entire friend group screamed, first with horror and then, when they saw who had his face between Bailey’s knees, with total and complete delight.
So, it turned out that Vanny was Bailey’s bacon; he always had been.
They had sex that night and again in the morning, and they spent the day playing with Dylan in the lodge and drinking hot cocoa while everyone else skied.
They drove home together on Sunday night, and without any real discussion, Van followed her into Budweiser Manor and stayed.
Of course, everything was a million times easier with Van around.
He fed Hissy and Prissy, he brought out the dreaded diapers, and he took over the arduous process of sterilizing all the bottles and pump parts.
With Van at home in the mornings Bailey could do a workout on her exercise bike, could blow-dry her hair, could even read the newspaper, which she really could have done all along, on her phone while feeding Dylan, but without Vanny watching over her shoulder she had ended up mostly reading Page Six and feeling very guilty about it.
Van was a force for good in more ways than one, and together with Dylan things felt almost perfect.