Page 78 of Stuck on the Slopes

“See?” Rachel said with a smile. She twirled some lo mein noodles on her fork and then popped it in her mouth with another shrug and nothing more to say.

My savior sat there, chewing her vegetables and noodles, unbothered as my mother gawked. The catch was that Rachel was so polite about it that no one could say anything back. Four months ago, I hated that fake customer service voice she put on in situations like this, but I was grateful for it now. There was only room for two attitudes at this table, and my mother and I both filled those slots with ease. Now, I understood Rachel used her words as a weapon as well as I did, but differently.

“I suppose so,” Mom said. “Sorry, I’m surprised is all.”

“What did you expect, then?” I set my fork down, my appetite long gone. While my medication helped me stress less, it didn’t make me immune to aggravation. “Did you expect to come here and see me on the half-pipe, or what? You know, my health aside, I haven’t been on a snowboard in years. What makes you think this time would be any different?”

“I thought that maybe you would have gotten over it by now!”

“I would, but I’m very comfortable under this blanket of self-pity. Don’t mind me wallowing in my misery for a while longer.” I rolled my eyes. “You really think I chose this? No, but I made the best of it.”

The heavy silence hung over us once more, save for the sound of silverware. It felt too loud, the clanging of plates and knives as my father cut into a piece of orange chicken ringing in my ears. The piece of chicken in question didn’t even need to be cut, a bite-sized piece I knew wasn’t a problem for him. It was something to focus on other than the settling dust.

To clear my mind, I focused on Rachel. Just looking at her made my heart lurch in my chest. I didn’t want it to look like I was staring, so I looked only from my peripheral, but it was enough for me to spot all her little tells I’d picked up on: the light tapping of her foot, the way she tucked her curls behind her ear, and fidgeting with the emerald ring on her right hand. It was either a birthstone or an heirloom, I wagered. I’d never asked her about it. I should.

For as much as Rachel said moments like this and the bullshit with the paparazzi didn’t bother her, I suspected it was a front. At first, I thought I might be projecting my own feelings onto her, but those nervous ticks gave it away. While I appreciated her trying to be brave for the both of us, I didn’t want her to bear that burden alone. The love I felt for her scared the hell out of me, but I wanted to wrap her in it all the same.

I wished it was enough to protect her from everyone who might do or say something stupid or horrible.

In the four years since my accident, I’d experienced my fair share of ableism: nothing life-threatening, but inconveniences and grievances all the same. But Rachel had been Jewish her whole life, which meant nearly three decades of comments not much better than the ones my mother made today. She’d had enough of it that she had her go-to jokes to diffuse the situation and dismiss her pain.

Maybe instead of breaking the window and running into those woods alone, I’d take her with me. In my fantasy scenario, I’d grab her hand and run until we were in the depths of the trees where I could do nothing but kiss her until there was no air in my lungs and love her until my heart gave out.

And to my surprise, it was Rachel—my brilliant, sweet Rachel—who broke the silence, pushing any lingering doubts aside in her mind as she looked at me like we were the only two people in the room. Her warm gaze felt like sitting by a fireplace, wrapped in a blanket and ready to weather the storm.

“Say, Juniper, did I tell you about the email I got this morning?”

I shook my head. “No. Who’s it from?”

“You know that tabloid magazine that ran all those stories about us? The reporter behind them actually apologized. Said he saw the feature that LeAnn ran on Action 6 and felt guilty about reducing me to… well, that.”

I smiled. “No shit?”

“Right? I had to refresh my inbox a few times to make sure I wasn’t hallucinating.”

“Hopefully, he’ll leave us alone from now on, but I’m not about to hold my breath.”

“What do you wanna bet his girlfriend or mom or someone railed into him for being sexist?” Rachel smirked. I couldn’t guess why she was bringing this up now, but there was no way she didn’t have something up her sleeve.

“Probably.”

“Well, Rachel, your outfitwasa little risqué,” my mother said.

But Rachel, instead of fighting back or arguing, smirked. What the hell was she smirking for?

“So, you’ve read them,” she said, no differently than she would have commented on the weather outside. “The tabloids, that is. You read them?”

Oh.

Now I understood.

“It’s the only way to see what he’s up to these days,” Mom justified. “If he called every once in a while—”

“Yeah, I’m definitely not going to be doing that anymore,” I said. “Is this why you’re here? Trying to scope out what Rachel and I are up to?”

“I keep telling you to stop buying that crap,” Dad said. “Seriously, Veronica?”

Before we could say anything else, I caught some movement in my peripheral. At first, I thought it was just the elk outside, but the unmistakable flash of a camera followed. It made me squint.

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