that a stranger asked if I needed them to call someone on my behalf.
Day 234 without Aiden: snooped on social media trying to decipher if the girl who tagged him in a photo was just a friend or something more.
I’ve since stopped counting the days since he moved away in a pitiful attempt to pick up the pieces of my life, but now I see that it was all in vain. Count, don’t count, pretend to move on—whatever. The fact is, Aiden will always feel like home.
This time apart shouldn’t have changed him all that much, but it’s like I forgot the effect he has on me. His tall, lean body sheathed in jeans and a blue sweater. His easygoing, smooth confidence. His sculpted cheekbones and matching pair of dimples.
He could break my heart with a single word.
WRONG.
He used to be capable of that, but not anymore.
I’ve changed too. A lot.
I just have to keep telling myself that until it rings true.
As a group, we stroll down the heated sidewalks on our way to the gondola. James and Jolie are telling us about Vail and all the different walking trails and shops we should visit while we’re in town. I’m actually happy for the distraction. I can halfway convince myself I’m focused on what they’re talking about instead of giving in to the urge to glance in front of me.
Aiden is walking up ahead, carrying Ford on his shoulders. He stops and dips down quickly, eliciting a slew of giggles from my nephew. I scowl and focus extra hard on the explanation of the restaurant James loves.
“Is everything okay?” Brent leans in to ask me.
I give him a hearty nod. “Peachy.”
Brent.
I cannot focus on Brent at a time like this. I have enough on my plate as is, and if I start to unravel that spool of thread, I’m worried I won’t be able to stop.
Aiden turns around to face the group, his cheeks and nose adorably red from the chill.
My heart sputters and then I clamp down on it with an iron fist.
Any love I might have had for him has to go away—for good.
I want it to sour and spoil, so I tell myself I despise him. The dimples, the hair, the personality…all of it.
I want to reach down to form a snowball in my hand, compact it really tight, and chuck it right at his face. Oh that would feel good.
“There’s the gondola,” James says, pointing ahead. “You guys can go ahead and get in line. I’ll go into the store there and buy our tickets.”
It’s the holiday season, only a few days shy of Christmas, so Vail is full of families trying to take advantage of the ski town. The slopes are packed, and the wait for the gondola will be a while.
“Don’t worry, there’s a great restaurant up top where we can get a drink and something small to eat, just to make the trip up worth it,” Jolie says, taking a fussy Ford back from Aiden.
“I’ve heard the views are amazing,” I say.
“I’m surprised you’re willing to go up and see them. I thought you were afraid of heights,” Aiden says.
“Really? You are?” Brent asks.
I jut out my chin and shake my head. “No.”
I am. Deathly.
But I’ve been too preoccupied with Aiden to let my fear fester. Unfortunately, now that we’re in line and I can see the enclosed lifts up ahead, filling with people and then whisking them high up the mountain, I feel a little woozy. There will only be a tiny guide wire between me and my imminent demise. What’s not to love?!
“Line’s moving,” someone says.
I can’t take my eyes off the gondola.
“Move it, lady!” says some snot-nosed kid with a snowboard.
Oh, right. I’m holding everyone up.
I move forward—one step closer to death—and catch Aiden asking Brent a question about whether he enjoys skiing.
“No, growing up in Texas, I never really had the chance.” Brent laughs. “Doesn’t snow much in Austin.”
I can’t even concentrate on the fact that they shouldn’t be talking. I do not need them becoming chummy-chummy with each other.
My hands get clammy in my gloves. The line is moving much faster than I thought it would. James joins us with the tickets and hands me one. I take it and step forward.
Some teenagers are in front of me, laughing.
I lean toward them. “Hey, have y’all done this before?”