“Breckenridge?” A wide smile breaks across my face at the memory. “Actually, I have. My best friend and I went our senior year of high school.”
The memory floods back with startling clarity—Brandon convincing the uncle he rarely sees to let us use his timeshare, the two of us piling into his car with our secondhand ski gear, singing off-key to road trip playlists for hours.
“We were terrible skiers,” I laugh, shaking my head. “We spent more time falling than actually skiing. By the second day, we gave up and just hung out in the lodge drinking hot chocolate and playing card games.”
Diana’s eyes crinkle with amusement. “That sounds lovely.”
“It was,” I say softly, remembering how we’d fallen asleep on the couch watching cheesy Hallmark movies. How he’d made me laugh until my sides hurt when he tried to cook us dinner and nearly set off the smoke alarm. Or the night we got snowed in and built this ridiculous snowman right outside our window.
I smooth a hand down the front of my dress, trying to ease the sudden, inexplicable ache in my chest, while Ethan shifts beside me. “So, you’ve been there with Brandon,” he says, his tone stiff.
“Brandon?” Diana asks.
Ethan nods and glances up at his mother. “Her best friend.”
Diana’s eyes land on me, tension etched in the furrow of her brow. But it’s Mr. White who breaks the silence. “Your best friend is a man,” he says, cutting a look between me and his son. “How exactly does that work?”
“We’ve been friends for—”
“It doesn’t,” Ethan grinds out.
My gaze darts to Ethan, stunned at his rude outburst. While he hasn’t made it a secret he’s not a fan of our friendship, the last thing I expected was for him to bring it up in front of his parents.
Silence settles between us as I try and grapple for something to say and fail.
“Forgive me for interjecting here,” Clark says, motioning between us. “But it just seems if you’re serious about this,” he motions toward his son, “it’s inappropriate for you to be hanging out alone with other men in your free time. Am I wrong?”
“You’re not,” Ethan says, twisting the knife of betrayal a little deeper.
My hands curl in my lap, angry and annoyed and embarrassed with the trajectory of our conversation. Whether Ethan agrees with his father or not, it would be nice for him to defend me, not throw me under the bus.
My friendship with Brandon isn’t ordinary. Ethan knows that. Just like he knows there’s nothing between us.
“In fact,” Ethan continues, casually taking a bite of his dessert, like he’s discussing the weather, “I suggested as much just last weekend.”
I swallow. Cheeks burning as I search for a proper reply. “And I respected your opinion, which is why I went out with a nice group of girls just the other night.”
Little does he know half of them are dating Ann Arbor football players.
“Okay, you two, let’s leave our dear Tatum alone.” Diana reaches out and pats my hand, clearly taking pity on me. “Michigan State will be a fresh start. I’m sure you’ll meet lots of nice young ladies.”
I force a polite smile, even as my stomach twists.
A fresh start.The words land heavier than she probably intended, as if they’re code for leaving Brandon behind. And though I know that’s exactly what I’d be doing by transferring, the significance of it hits me like a ton of bricks.
Even when the conversation shifts from me and my friendships to Colorado ski conditions and the best hot chocolate in Breckenridge, the elephant on my chest remains.
I take a small bite of my tiramisu, letting the sweetness coat my tongue as I smile in all the right places and nod along. But inside, my mind is a hamster wheel with my thoughts turning over and over in my head at warp speed. And I can’t help but wonder, when winter comes, and I’m in the mountains with Ethan, will I be wishing I was with Brandon, building anotherridiculous snowman and playing games with someone I’m not supposed to miss?
By the time dinner with Ethan’s parents is over, it’s late, and I’m exhausted.
I place my overnight bag on the bed and begin to unpack, ready for a shower and sleep before returning to campus tomorrow.
“You’re quiet,” Ethan says from his perch in the doorway of the guest room where he watches me work.
“Just tired,” I say, avoiding his eyes.
“They loved you, you know.” He steps into the room and leans against the dresser, his feet crossed at the ankles. “Mom’s already filling my ear with Christmas plans.”
