She took a day off work, went skiing, andbroke her leg.
Then told someone, who posted it for all of us to see, that if she’d known she was going to break a leg, she would’ve gone ahead and started on a double black diamond run so she’d have a better story than getting tangled up with a newbie on a warm-up run.
She was serious.
She wants tolive. Have fun. Take chances.
And the first time she did it, shebroke her leg.
Shit.
Shit.
She’s probably sitting home telling herself she’s not supposed to have fun. Not supposed to be adventurous. That this is a sign, and she needs to put herself back into the frumpity-dumpity fuckingboxlabeledPerfect Little Princess Plainy-Laney.
I have to do something.
I have to.
Even if she doesn’t want me, I need to make sure she still wants tolive.
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Laney
If my momdoesn’t quit fussing over if I have enough pillows under my cast, I’m going to scream. “Mom. Please. It’sfine.”
She and Dad flew home early from Hawaii when they caught wind of my accident on social media. I’ve already had an earful about how I should’ve called, and I’ve already given an earful back about how I can handle having a broken leg all on my own.
Which is maybe an exaggeration, but Sabrina’s around, and our old middle school science teacher is recently retired and bored and has an entire crew lined up to check on me and bring me food at least three times a day, and my poor neighbor who was with me is checking up on me too.
Beauty of small-town living. Even when your blood relatives aren’t around, the rest of your town family is.
“We’ve never had broken legs in the family before,” Mom says. “This is terrifying.”
“The doctor says it’ll heal just fine. I can work remotely for a few weeks.” And then, when I’m out of this damn cast, I can go hiking again. Take time off to maybe even do an overnight backpacking trip with Sabrina. Ask Emma to go on a hot-air balloon ride with me in Denver when she gets back, given that it’ll almost be warm enough by the time I’m cleared forfunagain.
Which I’m not telling my mom.
Not today, anyway.
“Are you hungry?” she asks. “Betty dropped off lentil stew for lunch. I can heat it up for you. She makes the best lentils.”
“I’m fine, Mom. I really am.” I’m not fine.
My leg itches, and it’ll be six damn weeks before I can scratch it. The painkillers are working, but there’s still some achiness in my shin. I slept like crap.
And I keep worrying over Emma on her solo honeymoon.
And then wondering what Theo’s doing.
If he’s in town or if he found a place to hide out while Snaggletooth Creek is crawling with reporters who are hoping for an exclusive photo of him.
Freaking Addison posting the video of Emma’s wedding disaster on TikTok.
I hope she gets fleas in a place that she can’t reach to scratch. That video exposedallof my best friends in our worst moments.
Mom purses her lips while she looks at me.
