The drinks arrive, and in short order, Thomas is drinking hot chocolate, his face smeared with whipped cream.
“You know, sometimes when we’re all together like this, it feels like we’re in a Wes Anderson movie.” Latika wipes Thomas’s mouth with a napkin. “Anyone else feel like that?”
“What’s a Wes Anderson movie?” Anika pipes up curiously. “Have I seen one?”
“Fantastic Mr. Fox,” Aksel replies.
“With the sneaky fox and the weird music?” Anika remembers and is excited.
“We saw it with you, Uncle Ransom.”
He ruffles her curls. “We did.”
I want to know when they watched the movie together, and how? Where?
She’smyniece. Hands off.
I feel his gaze, like static against skin.
The conversation moves back to skiing, and everyone talks about the best slopes.
“Park City, hands down,” Aunt Tanya exclaims.
Aksel shakes his head. “Cortina d'Ampezzo.”
Ransom looks at me, holds my gaze. “Aspen,” he says softly.
My heart stalls.
We went to Aspen once, three glorious days together. I remember a candlelit dinner with aching clarity. That was when I thought we were becoming somethingmore.
He kisses my wrist. “It feels so damn good to be with you, Em.”
Now, he’s looking at me the same way. He remembers. He wants me to remember as well. Like I could forget. I was the one crazy in love with him, he was the one who told me to take a hike.
For five years…he’s been Ransom, family friend, and now he wants me to believe he loves me? Always did? But was he just too stupid and too much of a coward to know it?
How gullible would I have to be to accept that? How blinded by love would I have to be to believe it?
Mama, who is sitting next to me, nudges me gently with her shoulder. “Talk to me, Ember.”
I hesitate. “It’s just….”
She waits for me to say more, and when I don’t, she finishes, “You don’t know if you can trust him.”
“Or myself.” I stare into my wine. “I’m terrified of gettinghurt again.”
Mama takes a long sip of mulled wine, then sets her glass down and turns to face me fully.
“Darling, I cannot guarantee you that life will not be painless. That’s not how it works.” Her eyes fill with quiet affection. “You can’t make choices out of fear. You make them out of love. Out of hope. Out of who you want to be.”
I give her a soft, contemplative glance and a nod that says, “Continue, please.”
“If you choose to send that man packing, we’ll help you pack his bags.” She grins. “I’ll drive him to the airport myself.”
“Please don’t. Not the way you drive in the snow.”
Mama waves a hand. “Whatever!” Then she sighs. “If you love him—and I think you do—then we’ll back that, too. Even though I’m furious with him for hurting you. For treating you so carelessly. Still—I trust you to choose what’s right for you.”
