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eighteen

MOLLIE

Mom buys a condo—she plans to spend a chunk of the winter in town—and I move into it. It takes a month and a few trips back and forth between the city. I sell a lot of my crappy, one-season furniture and discover I don’t really own that much that I want to keep. Mom sends a truckload of her nicer things, saying it’s a good investment for when she spends time there.

The whole move, I ask myself, “Am I overreacting? Am I being too hasty?” Then I get a ticket for my car edging into the sidewalk while I’m loading boxes into it—I have nowhere else to park!—and my so-called friends bail on helping me pack to go to brunch. I’m ready, if nothing else, for something different. I can always move back to the city if I don’t like it in Telluride long-term.

“Life is about change,” Mom says. “It’s about trying things, seeing if they work out, and then adjusting accordingly. We’re doing the same thing right now, you and I. We’re trying something new to see how it goes. We can always change our minds.”

Hopefully my mom doesn’t change her mind before I do, because I really can’t afford this move without her.

My—our—new apartment is within walking distance to Main Street in Telluride. I could go to Dorothy’s for coffee every morning on my way to work, commuting by foot. I can see the mountains from our little balcony. And there’s a sheltered spot to park, so I won’t be battling snow in the winter. It’s perfect. It’s everything I envisioned when I allowed myself to dream.

Zoe, who helped me move in, asks me how I’m going to fill my time outside of work. It’s a new concept—the idea that I need a hobby. And I realize that what I really want is to do what Hunter told me to do and keep trying new things. So I join a book club and a painting class. I go axe-throwing with Zoe and Tyler, even though I’m still terrible at it.

I have long conversations with Zoe, who understands the challenges of moving to Telluride. She’s a local who moved away and then came back. She didn’t move because of Tyler, she tells me, but he helped inspire the move.

“Inspire.” That’s her word.

“He made me feel OK about the inevitability,” she explains. “Change is hard without a little incentive.”

So I sign up for another mountain biking class at Tom’s. I don’t tell myself it’s because I hope to change Hunter’s mind about us. I don’t want to keep putting off seeing him and I can keep my hopes to myself.

Holding my breath the whole time, I show up at the adventure center. I know Hunter might be my instructor. I haven’t seen him since I moved, somehow, even though this town is small.

Instead of Hunter, the first person I see when I arrive is Tom. He smiles at me and nods approvingly at my jersey and padded shorts. I still feel silly, walking around in these shorts like I know what I’m doing. “We’ll have you clipping into the pedals eventually,” he says.

The idea of being attached to my bike terrifies me, so I shake my head vigorously. That’s one thing I’m not planning to try. He laughs.

“How are the tours going? I guess you’re switching to winter activities soon.”

“That’s right—your first winter here! You’re in for a treat.” Tom shrugs. “We have a lot of new ideas to try this year. Did Hunter tell you? He’s my new partner. Obviously the brains behind this whole business. We’re launching that subscription model he’s been talking about for a year now.”

“Really?” My heart skips a beat, knowing this is a big step for Hunter. Even though we don’t talk anymore, I can imagine how thrilled he must be. He wanted so badly to prove himself to Tom, and to prove that his ideas were sound for business.

“I’d been thinking about it for a while, truth be told,” Tom says. “But he hadn’t asked.”

I’m sad that I might not get to ask Hunter what inspired him to finally make the ask. I’m so proud of him, even if I have no right to be. Hm, inspire. There’s that word again.

“That’s great,” I say. “I think that’s a great decision.”

“Well, he made us one repeat customer,” he grins, nodding at me as the example. “Few people can do this line of work forever; you need a plan B and hell, maybe he’ll end up taking over for me.”

“Maybe so,” I agree. “Not anytime soon, I’m sure.”

“No! This is only the beginning!” He winks. “Anyway, you better get to your class. They’re lining up out by the bike shed.”

I hustle out to the bike shed, my nerves starting to zing. I haven’t been on a bike since I fell off one, and I’m still not sure who my instructor is going to…oh.

Hunter is standing at the shed, helping fit someone to their bike. He turns around and sees me, and I freeze.

He nods at me, a quick chin lift like we’re bros at a bar. I swallow and nod back. This is how it’s going to be now that we both live in town. We’re going to have to see each other casually and not see each other. I can do this. This is fine.

He helps me fit a bike, and while we have our heads together, he says quietly. “I wanted to tell you sorry. For treating you like we were just a fling.”

“Oh.” I pull back. “I didn’t think you did that.”

“Well, I didn’t intend to. But I guess I probably did. And you deserve more than that. So I’m sorry.”

Blinking rapidly, I nod. “Thanks,” I whisper, and try to come up with something else to fill the awkward void between us, and then someone asks a question and pulls Hunter away.

Once I’m on my bike and we’re heading down the trial, I wonder why I signed up for this. It’s hard enough keeping my tire on the narrow dirt track; next I’m going to try to climb a rock feature?

Hunter has everyone stop and explains the first feature, then demonstrates riding over it a few times. It’s probably a really easy one. It just looks hard to me. Like something a bike tire should never go over. Bikes are for flat surfaces, surely? There’s air in these tires. Couldn’t they pop?

Everyone else successfully attempts the feature as I stand there watching.

Hunter, who left his bike on the other side, walks over to me. “It’s OK to walk it,” he says quietly.

“No,” I say. “I’m going to try it.”

“You don’t have to try everything,” Hunter replies. “It’s OK to say no to things you really don’t want to do.”

“I do say no when I don’t want to. And I say yes when I’m scared.”

He nods slowly. “I like that about you.”

“Do you?”

“You know I do.”

Then he steps back, to let me try.

I panic at the last minute before my tire goes up the rock and brake hard. And then I decide to try again. And then again, when I get stuck half way up because I forgot to downshift.

Hunter waits for me, offering me advice every time I circle back around. “You’ve got this,” he says.

Finally, I stop. “I guess the group is probably getting impatient,” I say. “Maybe I can’t do this.”

“I called Scott to come out and take the rest of the group ahead,” Hunter says. “They’re fine. You need to session this. You’ll get there.”

Wondering at his patience, I study his face. Is he like this with everyone? Knowing Hunter, he probably is. I still feel a little special.

Under his watchful gaze, I try again. At least I haven’t completely fallen off the bike yet. I catch myself before I go down.

“You’re braking before you get to the feature, and it’s slowing down your momentum so the bike wobbles and freaks you out,” Hunter observes. “Try pedaling through it instead.”

It sounds so logical when he says it. Just pedal through it. Sounds a lot like life advice.

Maybe I’ll never be good at this—or anything—on the first try. I need a lot of advice, a lot of outside observing, in order to get something right.

“Try one more time,” Hunter urges me.

So I do. And this time, determined, I don’t brake right before I get to the feature. I pedal up and over it, like it’s almost effortless, like the bike was waiting for a chance to do it.

I scrape one of my pedals against a rock as I go over it, but Hunter—running after me, up the trail—shouts that it’s no big deal. “We’ll work on pedal position later!”

After stopping the bike and unbuckling my helmet, I breathe a deep gulp of success. “Wow! I did it! Only a million tries later!”

“The only thing that matters about how many times you tried is you kept doing it,” Hunter says, stopping by my side. He’s grinning ear to ear. “That was great. Congratulations!”

“You’re a great teacher,” I reply, smiling widely back at him.

And then I think he almost—not quite—moves to embrace me. And I decide there’s another hard thing I might as well try again.

“I’ve been thinking a lot about sessioning,” I say. “Trying something over and over again until you get it right.”

He nods, his expression slowly moving from delighted to focused. He’s listening.

“And I was thinking, what about us?” I lick my lips, forcing myself to keep going in the face of his neutral expression. “What if we have to session us to get it right?”

“You mean…try again?”

Pressing down hard on my lips to keep my mouth from wobbling, I nod. I’m scared, so I say yes. “I think I’ve proved I’m willing to keep trying.”

“But…” He pauses, and I hold my breath. “Do you really want to? Or do you think trying is the right thing to do?”

Carefully, I put my bike down on the ground, laying it so it’s not on the gear shift side, or the “expensive side” as Hunter explained it to me. I stand in front of him, spreading my gloved hands. “I really want to, Hunter. I’ve learned a little bit lately about listening to my own voice and I think I recognize it now.”

I hold my breath, because this might be the last time I try to convince him or it might be the first of many. I’m willing to keep going if I have to.

Then he grins. “I do, too.”

“Really?”

“If I have to session us to get it right, I will.” He adds with a little smirk, “It might take a lot of practice.”

Surprised by my own success—I just had to make the ask—I jump into his arms and kiss him. With Hunter, I’m completely willing to practice for the rest of my life.