Still, seeing her like this, injured, clearly having a rough time, hits something in me. I couldn’t sit a few feet away knowing she was dealing with an injury alone two days before Christmas.

There’s a long, awkward silence, the kind that makes me wonder if I should just apologize for interrupting and find my way back to the other side of the bar. But instead, I ask idiotically, “Mind if I join you?”

She hesitates. I can see the conflict in her eyes as she weighs whether or not she wants me sitting anywhere near her. For a second, I think she’s going to tell me to get lost, but then, with a tired sigh, she gestures to the seat next to her. “Sure. Why not.”

I take a seat, settling onto the stool beside her. It's not lost on me the way she shifts slightly, keeping her distance. The chilliness between us is on par with the storm outside.

“Did you take a spill?” I ask, nodding toward the crutches beside her. I don't dare tell her I already know about her fall and being stranded halfway up the mountain on the backside.

Knowing her, she will leave out the part about having to be brought down via sled. That might be a secret I'll have to take with me to my grave.

She shrugs, not meeting my eyes. “Yeah, you could call it that. Face down like this beer, here."

I look at her a little confused, trying to understand the connection.

"The beer. It's called The Face Down."

"Oh, ha! Okay, I see what you did there."

At least she has some levity in her responses. Maybe we can get through this part after all.

"Did it happen here?" I feel guilty lying, but what else can I say?

"Yes, today, just a few hours ago. I hit an ice patch."

"What's the prognosis?"

"Not great. Doc says it’s probably a partial tear in my knee. Could be worse, but my trip is basically shot. So I guess I'll just be sitting right here, drowning my sorrows, spending my last dollar here.”

She takes a sip of her beer and lets out a humorless laugh. “No skiing. No adventure. Just me, crutches, and a lot of sitting around in the snow.”

“Sorry to hear that,” I offer sincerely, though it feels like the words don’t do much. “That’s a tough one.”

She nods, her fingers tapping lightly against the glass in front of her. “Yeah, well, what can you do?” There’s a sharp edge to her tone, the bitterness of disappointment wrapped in the frustration of being sidelined. I can’t blame her. I’d be pissed, too.

There’s another pause, the kind that reminds me just how long it’s been since we’ve spoken. The last time we were face-to-face, we weren’t exactly exchanging pleasantries. Still, sitting here now, it feels different. Awkward, sure, but something else too.

"I didn't know you came out West to ski, especially at Christmas. Are you here with your family?"

Her statement carries a lot of weight. One of our biggest fights was about her wanting to go on a ski trip to Utah and I couldn't get the time off or be away from Nicky.

I remember it was around Thanksgiving, not long after he turned one. God, she was as mad as a hornet. For some reason she couldn’t understand why I wanted to be with my son for Thanksgiving.

And then there was the final one, when I spent Christmas with Bev and Nicky so I could be there with him Christmas morning. He had just started walking and was into everything. I didn't want to miss any of it.

That was the final straw for her. We held on by a string for for a few more weeks, but we were over by the middle of January, 2019.

"Bev has Nicky this Christmas and they are out of town, so I figured I would do something different. Crazy running into you, here. Such a small, random place. Although, I'm not surprised. I know you love this stuff."

"Yeah," is all she says, followed by more uncomfortable nothingness. Is she pondering all the shit we've been through or just wishing I would disappear if she pretends I'm not here?

“You here alone?” I ask, breaking the silence, figuring I’m here, I might as well give it a solid try.

“Just me, myself and I,” she says, her eyes still on her drink. “Was supposed to be here with Bethany, but her flight got delayed and then canceled. She's trying to get another one, but I think that is becoming more remote by the minute. So, it’s just me.”

She waves a hand, like she’s trying to brush off the whole thing, but I can tell it’s bothering her more than she’s letting on.

I nod, understanding that feeling all too well. “Same here. Thought coming to a quintessential Christmas town would take the sting out of not spending Christmas with Nicky.” I take a sip of my beer, letting the words linger.