Part 6 (2/2)
”Yeah. When I got dressed this morning, I felt young, maybe even a little bit cool. But now, as we head back toward town, I feel a little...I don't know...wrong, maybe? I'm so used to dressing more professionally that it feels funny to be so comfortable.”
”I do love your sneakers and jacket,” Mich.e.l.le admitted.
Yes! ”Really?”
”Uh-huh. You look great, not so...stuffy.”
They both laughed.
”Yeah, not so stuffy. That's exactly how I feel. In fact, I like it so much that I'm going to try to dress a little more like this every day. I like how I feel when I wear this. My whole outlook is different.”
”You totally should.”
”Mich.e.l.le.” Danica reached for her hand, then thought better of it and pulled back. ”My sister said something to me that really rang true, and I think it will for you, too. We don't have to be who our parents or people around us expect us to be.”
”You have a sister?”
”Yeah.” Danica smiled, thinking how odd it was for someone not to know Kaylie. ”A beautiful, fun, outgoing, treacherously risky, younger sister.”
Mich.e.l.le laughed.
”Anyway, what my sister meant was that we don't have to live up to the expectations of others.”
”What do you mean? You always tell me to be the best person I can be. So does Grandma.”
”Yes, you should be the best person you can be. That's not really what I was referring to. Let me give you an example. All my life, I've been seen as the smart one, the responsible sister. And everyone saw my sister as the creative one, like that's all they expected of her. She was allowed to be less...I don't know. Academic, I guess. But with me, they expected the bookworm, the college graduate.” Danica thought of her inability to separate who she was at work from who she was at home. ”The conformist. So, that's who I am, and I'm trying to figure out if that's who I am because of what was expected, or if it's what I really wanted.”
”And?”
Danica sighed. ”I don't know. I just realized this recently, and I'm only in the thinking stage. But don't you see? This relates to you, too.”
”Yeah, I'm totally not the bookworm, so I don't think so,” Mich.e.l.le joked.
”That's not what I mean. With you, everyone expects you to be the-for lack of a better word-the damaged girl, and I don't mean that you are damaged. What I mean is-”
”I know just what you mean.” Mich.e.l.le turned her body to face Danica. ”I'm that girl! I live it. Everyone looks at me like there's something pitiful about me because of my mom or because I live with my grandma. It's like, my normal is their pity. Is that what you mean?”
Danica could not believe she was having this discussion in such a calm, meaningful fas.h.i.+on. She expected a snippy retort, a teenage rolling of the eyes. ”Yes, that's exactly what I mean. And you don't have to be that person if you don't want to.”
Mich.e.l.le looked down, fingering the fringe on the scarf. ”I kinda do. I mean, I am damaged.”
Danica touched Mich.e.l.le's hand. ”No, you're not. Your mother is damaged, not you. Your grandmother is a sweet woman doing the best she can to raise a teenager. It's not you who is damaged, Mich.e.l.le. It's what you were born into. I won't say you're perfect, because that would be a lie.”
”You hate lies.”
”Yup.” Danica smiled, pleased that Mich.e.l.le understood this about her. She'd been lied to only once by Mich.e.l.le. When they first began the Big Sister program, Mich.e.l.le hadn't called Danica to cancel an outing, and when Danica had shown up to pick her up, Mich.e.l.le had lied and said she'd left a message. Danica had made no bones about her requirement of honesty, and Mich.e.l.le had never lied to her again. ”I do hate lies. The truth is, we're all imperfect. Those girls in your cla.s.s who think you are a pariah are just scared. What if their moms had trouble? What would they do? How would they cope? See, you scare them because your situation makes them think.”
Mich.e.l.le squinted, nodded. ”I guess I can see that.”
”I don't want to lecture you. Just know that you aren't damaged. You don't have to fit into that square that everyone wants to put you in. You can wear your colors proudly, wear your necklace, and own your imperfections. Because, Mich.e.l.le, that is more attractive than the fear those other kids are wearing.” Now, if only I could take my own advice.
Chapter Fourteen.
Monday morning rolled in with a flurry of snow and bl.u.s.tery wind. Blake rolled out of bed and walked groggily to the bathroom. He leaned over the sink wearing nothing but a pair of black Calvin Klein boxer briefs. His lean, muscular body moved stiffly. He stretched his arms above his head, gearing himself up for returning to AcroSki; Dave's absence had settled into his bones and muscles like a dull ache.
He splashed cold water on his face, then patted it dry with a towel, mentally ticking off his agenda for the day: Coffee and egg whites, open the store, more coffee. He wondered if he'd see Danica at the coffee shop. A hint of a thrill ran though his chest. He lifted his lips into a smile. He'd made it through the night without the company of a woman and without falling apart. That had to be a good sign. He'd take things day by day. He wondered if, while he was working out of his womanizing ways, he'd be like a heroin addict, begging to get laid.
He had an appointment with Danica later that morning. Dr. Snow, off limits, he reminded himself. After seeing her, he would call Sally and talk about Rusty. He felt guilty for not telling her about his ditching sooner, but every time he picked up the phone, he remembered Dave's recollection of the basketball practices. Something wasn't right, and he didn't want to open a can of worms he couldn't handle. He hoped Danica would have solid advice on how to handle that situation.
He turned on the shower and pulled off his boxers, flexing his thighs reflexively. Feeling the tension build, then release. He repeated it again, enjoying the rush of adrenaline as his muscles came to life.
He continued his daily to-do list: Hire someone to do some of the work that Dave handled, and think about finding a hobby. A hobby. What was there besides women and skiing? He'd wondered, right after the accident, if he'd ever ski again; then he'd quickly realized that skiing was not something he'd ever want to give up, and he was sure Dave wouldn't have wanted him to, either. He'd certainly take more care and fewer risks. He couldn't ski every day. He had quickly adapted to that change in lifestyle when he'd gone from being a ski instructor to owning a ski shop. He'd given up a lot of freedom, but it had been the right thing to do. Financial freedom was not overrated.
He stepped into the shower and stood beneath the flow of water, letting it roll down his face and back. He closed his eyes, feeling the strain in his muscles ease. Blake turned around and set his palms on the ceramic shower wall. The water beat the tension from between his shoulder blades.
One day at a time. He could do this.
AcroSki came to life at ten o'clock. After Alyssa, the part-time employee, showed up, Blake set a sign on the counter in the hopes of avoiding multiple inquiries about Dave. It read: Dave Tuft, co-owner of AcroSki, pa.s.sed away this past weekend. He will be deeply missed. Please send condolences to...” followed by the address of the church Sally attended. Blake longed to hear Dave's taunts and stories about his family-filled weekend, although now Blake wondered how much of them were true.
Blake had looked over the files on Dave's desk and realized just how much Dave had taken care of. They'd been so in sync with each other that dividing and conquering had become natural. Now he'd have to sort out the dealings of the inventory, accounting, and staff schedules. Anxiety p.r.i.c.kled his spine. He needed a few minutes to regroup before he dove into Dave's desk.
”I'm gonna grab a coffee. Would you like one?” he asked Alyssa.
Tall and lean, with a skier's muscular build, Alyssa turned her ponytailed head in his direction. ”Nah, I'm cool. Go ahead. I've got this.”
Blake headed out the door. He'd been disappointed when he didn't see Danica at the coffee shop before work. He braced himself against the cold and headed there again.
The aroma of coffee reminded him of the morning he'd accidentally struck Danica. He laughed to himself. It is a small world. Three women looked up from their table, their eyes devouring him like he was a giant chocolate bar. He took his place in the back of the line.
The line moved quickly, and when it was his turn, the familiar barista said, ”Hiya, Blake. The usual?”
”Yeah, sure.” He thought about it, then said, ”No, wait. How about a vanilla latte instead, and a bagel with cream cheese.”
”Wow, bring it on,” she joked.
Change is good. Blake hadn't eaten a bagel in what felt like years. He stuck to a strict diet of coffee, protein, veggies, alcohol, and-of course-women. He took the bag and cup from the barista, paid, and headed back out into the snow. He walked with his head down, shoulders hunched against the wind, rethinking the bagel.
The door to AcroSki pulled from his hands with the weight of the wind. He tugged it shut behind him and wiped the snow from his shoulders.
”It's a cold one, huh?” Alyssa said.
”I brought you something.” He took off his parka and made his way to the office. He set the coffee down and handed Alyssa the bagel. He was already tackling changing his personal habits; changing his eating habits would have to wait.
<script>