Page 16 of On the Slopes of Tahoe
“Okay, let’s go!” Willow cries, jumping up, and my mouth drops open.
Rory turns a smug smile on me and winks. “Would you mind staying here with my stuff so I don’t have to get a locker?”
“Sure.” I turn to my daughter. “You okay with that, Willow Bear?”
“Yup! You can get the hot chocolate for when we get back. Get Rory one too,” she demands. Little bossy human.
Rory grins wider, eyes glittering. “I never say no to hot chocolate.” She grabs her gloves and helmet, then slides on herjacket. I didn’t even register she had her gear with her when I sat down. She heads for the door with Willow in tow—wearing a grin she didn’t even attempt to offer me when I dragged her up the mountain this morning.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Rory
Iflash Breck one last smile before we walk out the door and into the sunshine. I have no idea why I thought I was the best person to do this. I’ve helped a few friends learn to snowboard over the years, but I’ve never taught a kid. I have seen enough parents yelling on the slopes to know that they typically learn better from anyone who’s not mom or dad, though.
I knew as soon as they walked into the lodge—and from the few peeks I took out the window to watch—that this morning didn’t go quite the way Breck planned. Willow’s ever-presentsmile was missing, and he looked weary—even if he was trying to hide it. Willow’s going to need some real lessons, like the ones I had growing up, but maybe I can help her end today on a good note.
Willow points to her board on the rack, the standard Burton Grom the ski school rents to all the kids. It’s propped against a solid black board with vibrant teal bindings and stickers from a handful of Australian ski resorts. Breck’s board. I run my fingers over it and smile. It’s practically the reverse of my own, which is sitting right where I left it this morning, a few rows down. Teal and mint swirling together in an abstract design on the top, solid black on the bottom, with black bindings. I tuck one under each arm and head for the magic carpet, Willow’s snowpants swishing beside me as we walk.
At the base, I ask, “Do you surf with your dad back home?”
She looks at me, a little confused, and says, “Duh.”
She’s got spunk, I’ll give her that.
“Okay.” I hide my smile behind my gloved hand. “So when you surf, which foot do you have forward?”
“This one.” She shakes out her left foot in front of her.
“Alright, good to know. I ride with my right foot forward, and we call that goofy foot here. Do they call it that in Australia?” I ask, and she shrugs. “I bet your dad is regular foot like you are.”
“I don’t know…” Her lips tip up in a half smile and she says, “He’s pretty goofy if you ask me.”
I snort a laugh. It’s not a side of him I’ve really gotten to see, but I can imagine it based on the stories I’ve heard.
She shows a certain level of comfort when we clip in and skate over to the carpet, so that’s a good sign.
“If you’re a surfer chick, you should have no problem with this. We just need to get you as confident on the snow as you are on the water,” I say when we reach the top. Willow smiles and straightens her shoulders, a hint of pride in her features. “I’mgoing to start here.” I slide down the slope a few feet and stop right in front of her.
Reaching forward, I grab her pink gloved hands in my teal ones and tell her to lean back into her heels. Then I start inching my way backward down the hill, her following along facing me. “Good job. Keep all your weight on your heels, okay? Better to fall on your butt than on your face.”
She giggles. “You saidbutt.”
I blanch… Does that count as a bad word? “Uh… well, what should I call it?”
“Daddy says it’s my bottom, but I’ve definitely heard him say I’m a pain in the ass so…” She lifts her shoulders and giggles. I choke back the laugh crawling up my throat—I can just picture him mumbling that under his breath with an eyeroll.
“Let’s stick with bottom, I think.” It sounds like her swear jar gets enough donations. She gives me a look likeif you say so.
She inches forward as I inch back and I guide her back and forth across the small slope, like a falling leaf in the wind. We reach the bottom and with a smile she exclaims, “Let’s go again!”
“Sure thing, Bug.” Her head whips my way and she smiles, her cheeks turning slightly pink. The endearment slipped from my lips just as easily as it did that first day at the airport. I like it, and I’d say she does too.
We’ve gone up and down the hill three more times and she hasn’t fallen. This time I’m not even holding her hands, so I pull out my phone and hit record to capture the last few seconds ofher run. She stops in front of me—on her own, thank you very much—and I woop, lifting both hands to give her a double high five. It knocks her off balance, arms flailing by her sides before she falls flat on her “bottom.” Luckily she laughs and lies back, swiping her arms through the snow. I snap another picture of her makeshift snow angel.
Once we’re both unclipped, we walk back to the lodge where I see Breck watching us from the window, a wide grin lighting his face. He’s not smiling for me, but it makes my cold cheeks warm with a blush all the same. We climb the steps hand in hand and Breck abandons his position by the window to run over and pull Willow into his arms as soon as we’re inside.
“You did awesome, baby girl! Wow!”
