Page 21 of To Her

Geri

T he next two days passed with skiing, drinking, dancing, and just letting go. I allowed myself to get lost in what we were doing. I left my phone back at the hotel and just lived in the moment for two days. It was nice to not think, to not worry for once.

Maybe this is what I needed more—to just be alone, be with friends, and to be without any complications in my life.

But that was vacation life, that was just moment living, and even though we need to live in the moment to have happy memories, we also need to remember that life is long, and we need to prepare for the future.

No one ever told me how hard it was to be an adult, how hard it was to live with feelings and have to consider others along the way.

The days blurred together in a haze of snow and laughter.

We hit the slopes early each morning, skiing until our legs burned and our cheeks were numb from the cold.

Afternoons were spent in cozy bars, warming up with hot drinks that gradually gave way to cold beers and shots as the day progressed.

Evenings found us at the local pub, where the same band played each night, their familiar tunes becoming the soundtrack to our little escape from reality.

I didn't think about Con. I didn't think about Alex.

I didn't think about Matt. I didn't think about my job or my future or my past. I just existed, present in each moment as it came, letting the sensations wash over me—the bite of cold air in my lungs, the rush of speed as I carved down a slope, the burn of alcohol in my throat, the vibration of bass through the floorboards as we danced.

It was freeing in a way I hadn't experienced in years. Maybe ever.

"You seem different," Jenny commented on our second night, as we sat at the bar waiting for drinks. "Lighter somehow."

I shrugged, not wanting to analyse it too deeply. "Just having fun."

"No, it's more than that," she insisted. "You're always so... I don't know, guarded? But these past couple days, it's like you've let your walls down a bit."

I didn't know how to respond to that. Had I let my walls down? I didn't feel particularly vulnerable or exposed. If anything, I felt more in control than I had in weeks—precisely because I wasn't thinking about all the complicated emotions and relationships waiting for me back in Alpine Ridge.

"Maybe I'm just drunk," I deflected with a laugh.

Jenny rolled her eyes but let it drop, accepting our drinks from the bartender and leading the way back to our table.

But her words stayed with me, an uncomfortable observation I wasn't quite ready to examine. Was I really that guarded all the time? Did people notice? Did it make me seem cold or unapproachable?

I pushed the thoughts away, determined not to let them intrude on my brief vacation from reality. There would be time enough for self-reflection later.

And then, suddenly, it was our last day. I had left my bags in Nick's SUV while we hit the slopes one final time. The day was perfect—blue skies, fresh powder from an overnight snowfall, temperatures just cold enough to keep the snow pristine without freezing us solid.

I pushed myself harder than I had the previous days, tackling more challenging runs, seeking that rush of adrenaline that came with speed and risk. It was as if I was trying to store up enough sensation, enough living, to carry me through whatever waited back in Alpine Ridge.

By late afternoon, we were all exhausted but satisfied, that particular bone-deep weariness that comes from a day well spent in physical exertion. I changed out of my ski gear in the lodge bathrooms, and jumped back into Nick's SUV with damp hair and flushed cheeks.

"Ready?" Nick asked as I climbed into the passenger seat.

"As I'll ever be," I replied, settling in for the drive up the mountain.

Nick was going to drive me back up the mountain to Alpine Ridge because I had to get back for the morning shift the next day. They were leaving in the morning themselves, but no one wanted to get up at 4 AM to drive me back up the hill.

We took the drive in silence, like Nick knew I needed a moment to just breathe. I liked Nick; Nick was a sweet guy, and kind. Louise had snagged a good one there, and I was so happy for them.

It wasn't until the sign said "Welcome to Alpine Ridge" that Nick opened his mouth and said, "Geri..."

I answered, "Yes?"

He said, "Can you do me a favour and just let Alex know that you guys are in the fuck buddy category? Because I think he might be wondering that question a little too hard."

I suddenly felt guilty, like I was in fact leading Alex along. "Yes, I think you're right."

Nick pulled up to the front of the hotel I worked at, and I climbed out, grabbed my bag and skis, and thanked him for taking me back up the hill. And though I thought, fuck it, seeing as we are just talking feelings, I said, "Nick... can you do me a favour?"

He said, "Sure."

I said, "Don't question yourself with Louise. She is a free spirit who loves to live moment to moment. Make sure you create a lot of moments for her; she will love that."

He smiled and said, "I can do that."

Then I closed the car door and headed inside. Tonight I would sleep; tomorrow I would plan.

The hotel was quiet when I entered, the evening shift well underway. A few guests milled about in the lobby, but none of the staff I knew well were on duty. I made my way to my room, hoping Lily would be there—I had missed her more than I expected during my three days away.

But the room was empty when I unlocked the door. Lily's bed was neatly made, her side of the room tidy as always. I dropped my bags on the floor and collapsed onto my own bed, the exhaustion of the past few days catching up to me all at once.

I should shower, I thought. I should unpack. I should check my phone for messages.

Instead, I lay there, staring at the ceiling, letting the silence envelop me after days of constant noise and activity. The quiet felt both welcome and oppressive, a reminder that I was back in my real life, with all its complications and uncertainties.

Nick's words echoed in my mind. Was I leading Alex on? We had never defined what we were to each other, had never had "the talk" about exclusivity or expectations. But maybe that was the problem—the lack of clarity left room for misinterpretation, for hope where there shouldn't be any.

I liked Alex. The sex was great, and he was fun to be around. But I didn't love him, didn't see a future with him. And if he was starting to want more, to expect more, then I owed it to him to be honest about where I stood.

With a sigh, I reached for my phone. It powered on slowly, and then notifications began flooding in—texts, emails, social media alerts. I ignored most of them, scrolling through my messages.

Several from Alex, of course, asking how my trip was going, telling me he missed me, sending a shirtless selfie from the gym that made me roll my eyes despite the flutter of appreciation for his admittedly impressive physique.

A few from James, checking in and sharing gossip from back home.

And one from Con, sent just that morning:

Hope you're having a great time. Can't wait to hear all about it when you get back.

Simple, friendly, no pressure. Yet it made my heart beat a little faster in a way Alex's more explicit messages didn't.

I set the phone aside without replying to any of them. I was too tired, too emotionally drained to navigate those waters tonight. Tomorrow, I would face it all—work, Alex, Con, the future. Tonight, I just needed to rest.

As I drifted toward sleep, still fully clothed on top of my covers, I found myself thinking about what Jenny had said—that I seemed lighter, less guarded during our trip. Was that who I could be, if I wasn't constantly on alert, constantly protecting myself from potential hurt?

And if so, was there a way to carry that version of myself back into my real life? Or was she only possible in those brief escapes from reality, those moments out of time where nothing really mattered because nothing was really at stake?

The questions followed me into my dreams, unanswered but insistent, like a melody I couldn't quite place but couldn't stop humming either.

Tomorrow, I would plan. Tomorrow, I would figure it all out.

But as I slipped deeper into sleep, a small voice in the back of my mind whispered that maybe, just maybe, not everything could be planned. Maybe some things—the most important things—had to be felt, experienced, risked.

Maybe that was the hardest part of being an adult that no one had warned me about: knowing when to plan and when to simply leap.