Ch 23. Twenty (Ish) Questions

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There's an anonymity to skiing that I've always enjoyed. When I'm working my way down the mountain, no one is looking at my face. Hidden behind a helmet and goggles, what matters is how I move, how I handle the snow. No one is judging my hair, my skin, my makeup. Now that I'm nowhere near competing anymore, I know that no one cares what gear I use, whether I'm representing one company or another, whether I have a Dash decal on my skis or not. I prove myself on skill alone. I would respect a ski bum in 1980s gear if they had good moves. What you wear means nothing—working for the upper crust has taught me that. Congratulations, you're wearing several thousand dollars' worth of outerwear and gear. It doesn't make you a skier any more than wearing a fur coat makes you a lion.

I remind myself of this as I walk up to Wren and his Hollywood vultures. Isn't that what he called them? He couldn't have meant Joe, who is nodding to himself like he's just had a brilliant thought. The others, though...Both the conductor, who is laughing like a hyena at what appears to have been his own joke, and Sparkle Pony, whose stiff grin indicates she doesn't get the joke, look like their clothing walked off the runway and onto their bodies. I half expect to see a price tag hover in the air above them—for forty easy payments of $79.99, you too can look like a cog in the Hollywood machine. The conductor wraps an arm around Wren and points at him, presenting him to Sparkle Pony like he's a waxwork at Madame Tussaud's. Wren's smile looks about as genuine as one on a waxwork, as well.

Joe spots me and, after a too-long stare, nods in my direction. I cock my head to the side, baffled by the exchange, and watch him straighten his spine and tap Sparkle Pony's shoulder. Joe's quiet but forceful takeover of the conversation leaves the conductor and Sparkle Pony with twin masks of confusion. Their gazes indicate they know they should listen to what he says, but they appear to have just caught a case of instant arthritis, their body language slow and awkward. Wren appears just as surprised, but he catches Joe's throwaway glance my direction. The grateful smile Wren provides in return confirms that there's no way Joe is a vulture. He is the real deal. 

Wren slips away from the group and walks up to me with a smile so different from the one he gave the vultures that I am almost embarrassed. I freeze, hands clasped in front of my hips, wondering whether I am doing the right thing, whether it is possible in life to avoid the maelstroms that strike the unsuspecting innocents who dare uncage their own hearts.

Wren stops in front of me, his smile slipping into the slight curl of his lips. I wouldn't be surprised if he told me he could see the gears grinding away in my head.

"You didn't disappear." He raises his hand, as though he's about to run his fingers through my loose and messy hair, but he reconsiders, bringing his arm back down to his side. I stand like a rabbit, heart racing and fluttering against my ribs.

"No." I try to measure my words. It doesn't work. "But I hear you're going to disappear tomorrow." I want to sound casual, matter-of-fact, but I know I've failed. Some phrases just won't ever sound casual. Oh, you got the job I wanted? Oh, you're dating my ex-boyfriend?

I plaster on a smile to weaken the weight of my words, even as Wren's face falls. He runs a hand through his own hair instead, then stares at his fingers, rubbing his palms together like his response is somewhere in his grasp. I know the feeling.

"I didn't know when to bring it up...I didn't even know if you would show up tonight."

"It's okay." This is as true as I can manage. I unravel my hands and take a chance to intertwine one of my hands with his, stopping their nervous course.

"No," he begins, but I interrupt him. I pull him closer, leaving only the slightest room for non-corporeal deities to come between us.

"It really is okay, Wren. I've tempered my expectations."

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