Page 6 of It’s Me, but Different (Merriweather Sisters #3)

Esme

“Please, can you stop already? My head is going to explode,” I protest, maybe raising my voice more than necessary.

Ana Sofia's complaints about her ski boots are driving me crazy.

She's been complaining all morning that they hurt her ankles, and no matter how much I try to reposition them, tighten the buckles, or loosen them, nothing seems to work.

I watch her limp toward me again, with that characteristic gesture of frustration, identical to the one her father made when some situation overwhelmed him.

“Mom, I really can't,” she insists, taking off her boots and throwing them on the ground. “They're destroying my feet.”

Theo watches us from a few yards away, already tired of waiting. We're an hour behind schedule, and the day threatens to become a real disaster.

“Look, let's go to the ski school, see if they can do something!” I give in, picking up the boots from the ground with a gesture that's maybe too brusque.

But when we arrive, I immediately regret it.

“Well, I didn't expect to see you here,” I sigh.

I find Sloane sitting in an office with the door open, and when she sees me, she gestures for us to come in.

“Anyone can handle this, really; it's silly,” I rush to announce. “It's just that Ana Sofia is having problems with her boots and…”

“Of course, let's see what's wrong with this little champion's boots,” she interrupts with a smile, getting up to approach us.

My daughter nods, handing over the footwear with a look of hope that breaks my heart, and remains seated, swinging her legs in the air while Sloane examines them.

“The problem is they're too stiff for her,” she explains, indicating for me to come closer.

“They're good boots, but see this part? It's designed for skiers with more experience. Look, press here,” she insists while guiding my hand toward the back of the boot, and our fingers brush, making me more nervous than I should be.

“They're from a coworker's daughter, and she assured me they were very good.”

“They are,” she assures me, gently stroking my left arm. “They're just not right for your daughter right now.”

Shit, that caress immediately transports me to another time and another place. To when my naked body literally trembled under her hands.

I shake my head, trying to push those thoughts from my mind.

Luis has barely been dead for two years.

Feeling this, whatever I'm feeling, seems a bit rushed.

And Sloane is history. Maybe it could have worked, maybe we could have had a wonderful relationship, but she was the one who decided to end it, not me.

“The problem is she needs different boots,” she explains. “These are too advanced for a beginner skier, even if she progresses very quickly like she does. They'll end up hurting her or even causing an injury. We have some in the store that would be perfect for her.”

“New boots?” I ask, feeling a knot form in my stomach when I see my daughter's eyes.

“Yes, she needs ones with a softer flex,” Sloane insists. “With them she'll progress much faster, and above all, her feet won't hurt. At this rate, in a couple of days, she might not want to keep skiing.”

The girl looks at me with those abandoned puppy eyes she puts on when she wants to get something, and I break inside.

Since Luis died, every extraordinary expense is a small earthquake that opens cracks in our tight budget.

We had barely started paying the mortgage on our first house, and maintaining ourselves on one salary is complicated.

“Come here for a moment,” I whisper, taking her by the elbow to move us away so Ana Sofia can't hear us.

“You see, things are… somewhat complicated since Luis passed away.

This trip is already a financial effort for me, and I don't even know if the kids will want to keep skiing or if we can afford it. Buying new boots right now…”

“Wait, I think I have a possible solution,” she announces, leaving the office before I can respond.

I breathe deeply, cursing the moment I agreed to come here.

It's not that I'm worried about admitting in front of Sloane that I'm tight on money.

There's nothing to be ashamed of. Of course, she probably doesn't understand it; she was born into a very wealthy family and has never had to worry about those things.

What really worries me is disappointing my daughter.

At eight years old she understands I can't buy her everything I'd like to, but I know it's hard for her.

“Look, these boots belonged to my niece Lumi,” she explains, sitting next to Ana Sofia when she returns to the office.

“She only used them a couple of times before they started getting too small. You know how much feet grow at these ages. They have the perfect flex for you, kiddo,” she adds, addressing my daughter, who looks at them as if they were the most beautiful thing in the world.

The girl smiles while trying on the boots, practically jumping with joy, but suddenly, I discover something that makes me sigh. In her rush, Sloane forgot to remove one of the tags. They're not from her niece; they're new… and the price is absolutely crazy.

“Are they really for me?” my daughter asks.

“Of course, they're already too small for Lumi,” Sloane insists.

I just smile while stroking Ana Sofia's hair.

I don't mention that I saw the tag. I don't mention that I know perfectly well they're new and very expensive boots.

Instead, I give her a look that I hope conveys everything I can't express with words.

Gratitude. Confusion. And something else I don't dare name.

“Thank you so much,” I sigh, placing a hand on her waist.

“The girl deserves it,” she responds with a smile and a wink.

And as we leave her office at the ski school, I wonder how much Sloane has changed in these last years.

The impulsive and ambitious young woman I knew, the selfish one who put her Olympic dreams above everything else, seems to have given way to a much more centered woman.

And that, for some reason, makes my heart race in a way I hadn't experienced in a long time.

“Would you like to learn how to make croissants?” River's question catches us by surprise when she approaches us in the resort cafeteria.

“Mom, can we?” the twins ask almost at the same time.

“I'm sure River has better things to do, besides, it's a very nice afternoon to go to town and…”

I stop, because it's clear from the faces they're making and the way they're putting their hands together, as if they were praying, that the idea of croissants appeals to them much more than taking a walk.

“I have the afternoon free, and I'm going to be making some croissants and cookies with my niece, so they won't be in my way at all. It'll be fun, and I'm sure you could use a few hours of rest. Being a mother has to be exhausting,” she adds with a wink.

The twins look at me with wide eyes, waiting for my approval, and I can only shrug and let them go. Even so, the idea of having a few hours to myself feels almost strange. Since Luis died, I've barely had time to breathe, always watching them or working. Always in survival mode.

“It's no trouble, really,” River insists. “It'll be fun. Besides, Anika took Harper and Julie to San Francisco to show them some tech investments, and I could use the kids' company.”

Before I know it, I find myself alone, looking out the window and not really knowing what to do with the hours I just gained.

“Would you like to ski for a while?”

Sloane's voice startles me. Suddenly, she's standing next to my table, with a smile on her lips.

I think they've set a trap for me.

“It's been many years since I put on skis,” I confess.

“It's like riding a bike,” she jokes. “You never forget. We can start with a very easy slope so you can gain confidence,” she suggests.

Maybe I should refuse. Perhaps invent some excuse. But there's something in her gaze, in the way the sun coming through the window illuminates her eyes, that makes me forget common sense.

“Okay, but don't laugh if I fall,” I agree.

A few minutes later we're on the chairlift going up to the top of the mountain. Our bodies almost pressed together in the reduced space. Every time it sways, her shoulder brushes mine, sending small electric shocks through my entire body.

“So… environmental lawyer,” Sloane comments, finally breaking the silence. “I always knew you'd do something important with your life.”

“It's not as glamorous as it seems,” I smile. “I spend more time buried in legal documents than saving the planet.”

“Still, it's admirable,” she insists. “How did you end up in that?”

I breathe deeply, trying to organize a story that doesn't include the part about the year I spent crying when she left me.

“After finishing college, I worked for a while at an NGO,” I explain with a melancholic smile. “That's where I met Luis. He encouraged me to study law.”

I notice how Sloane tenses slightly when I mention my late husband, but she continues listening attentively.

“He was… incredible. So passionate about his work.”

The words get stuck in my throat. It feels too strange to talk about Luis with Sloane. It's as if two parallel universes of my life are crossing when they should never do so.

“I'm sure he was an extraordinary man,” she whispers, squeezing my knee with her hand.

“He was,” I nod with a long sigh.

Luckily, we reach the top before we can continue the conversation, because the tension in Sloane was starting to be more than evident.

At first, as we descend downhill, my movements are clumsy.

It's been a while since I skied. Even so, little by little, my body remembers the sensations.

It's as if every muscle, every tendon, preserved the memory of those college years when gliding through the snow next to Sloane was as natural as breathing.

She moves in front of me with that perfect technique that always fascinated me.

With precise, elegant turns, almost as if it were poetry in motion.

It's dangerously easy to fall back into that perfect synchronization with her.

Following her down the slope, as if a part of me had been waiting all these years to return to this dance.

The wind whistles in my ears, adrenaline pumps through my veins, and for a moment, only this exists: the mountain, the snow, and Sloane. Like eleven years ago.

I accelerate, trying to leave behind not only Sloane but also the memories that sneak into my mind.

The first day we skied together in college.

The time she taught me to go down a black diamond slope, the sensation of her hands on my waist while explaining the turns.

That night when we made love for the first time in her room.

But memories are faster than my skis. They catch up to me, wrap around me, awaken sensations I thought were forgotten. And the worst part is they don't feel like a betrayal to Luis's memory. They feel like a part of me that has been asleep, waiting to be rediscovered.

“Esme!” Sloane shouts with concern, stopping next to me. “Are you okay?”

I try to get up, more embarrassed than hurt.

“I'm fine, don't worry,” I assure her, brushing the snow off my suit. “I don't know what I was thinking.”

We do the rest of the route slowly and in silence, as if neither of us wanted to break the moment of connection.

“I've missed you so much,” she suddenly admits when we reach the base, lowering her voice until it becomes an almost inaudible whisper.

I don't know what to answer. I don't know what to feel when I hear her words. I'm practically trembling. That young woman who fell madly in love with Sloane Merriweather years ago no longer exists. She transformed into a lawyer, into a wife, into a mother, and now into a widow.

And yet, something deep inside me still responds to her presence as if not a single day of separation had passed.

And that terrifies me.

“We should go back to the hotel,” is my only response.