Page 16 of Full Send

As we ride the chair up, I have my eyes down on my phone. As much as I want to, I can never fully get away from work. Remind me again why I even bother if I’m going to keep getting passed over for promotions? Shit. There’s an email from Jeff about Earth SnaX.

Are you kidding me? It’s Saturday! Half way through reading his email about his latest urgent need for their new products, I’m startled by Lizzy erupting with such a shrill, girlish scream she practically pops out of the chairlift.

“Oh my god! No way! What th- Look! V!” She’s frantically pointing up ahead of the chairlifts in front of us.

I look up from my phone, spotting a skier perched precariously at the top of the ridge up ahead to our left. The edge of this ridge is made up of an area known as theAlta Chutes. Alta One, Two, and Three are narrow, steep, rocky chutes lined with tightly packed trees on either side. They’re technical, challenging terrain for the best of skiers and are deservedly marked as double black diamonds orexperts only. Further ahead on the left beyond One, Two, and Three is a roped off area, marked permanently as closed on the trail maps. It’s a rats nest of rocks, trees, small cliffs, and scant pockets of snow to try and navigate through. That area contains the unmarked runs, Alta Zero and Negative, which are practically unnavigable to any skiers and boarders, and requires permission from Ski Patrol to even enter.

“Wha… ugh.” I can’t hide my eye roll even under my goggles as I see the skier in his old ratty tan ski pants and burnt red jacket drop into the rocky area. I already know what’s next as he nails the top of the line through the narrow slivers of snow bound by cliffs and trees on either side, before coiling up his body to unleash a backflip ever so effortlessly off a granite outcropping. As he stomps the landing cleanly, he lets out a primalyeeeewwwwww,a practically involuntary exclamationof giddy skiers when everything is clicking and they’re flat out feeling it.

Lizzy bursts out again, “Who do you think that was? They must be a crazy pro skier, right?! V, how can you just roll your eyes at that?”

I already know who it is though. That style, the body language, the palpable confidence, the simple ease and grace for doing such a challenging feat, not to mention the boyish grin he wore under his orange tinted goggles the whole time.

I let out an exasperated sigh. “Because that’sTanner. Fucking. Chapman.”

Sure enough, looking at the bottom of the run, there’s Collin cheering him on. They might be in their thirties now, but these boys never change.

Chapter 8

Veronica

Abe Froman

When we get back to the condo after a day on the slopes, I’m glad I’m not on cooking duty and we’re doing pizza. It’s been a long day and I’m beat.

“Alright girls, time to relax. Hopefully Chap doesn’t take too long picking up pizza.” Collin calls out as he opens a bottle of red wine, three glasses lined up on the table.

As we change and unwind after a long day of skiing, Collin starts a fire and we take our wine to the coffee table in front of the fireplace. I’m taken back to the times here with our grandparents, watching Grandpa teach Collin to start the fire while I would make molasses cookies in the kitchen with Grandma.

Mom and dad were both always so busy with work, either traveling or working crazy long hours. Even before their divorce after we graduated college, on the rare occasions when our parents happened to actually be around, things weren’t always great, especially for Collin. When he finally came out as bi, alldad could say was, “Great, you like girls too, so you don’t have to date guys.”

I cringe at the memory and how it gutted Collin. That’s partly why he stayed down in Cincinnati after college. Or at least I think so. I totally get why he doesn’t mind missing Christmas back home in Ohio.

My relationship with mom was always strained and still is. The constant questions about why don’t I settle down with a nice man and start a family. The more she pushed, the more I’d think that maybe dad and hersettledwith each other, never actually being inlove.

Sometimes I think that’s why Collin and I have both struggled so much romantically over the years.

Shit. There’s a lot to unpack here and vacation isn’t the time or place to do it. There’s a fire and I have a glass of wine to enjoy. Back to reality, V.

As I melt into the couch, I can feel the stress of the last few weeks at work drift away and I’m ready for the weeks here ahead. Nothing gets me out of my own head like being here with Collin, and now Lizzy.

I think about the days ahead on the slopes, and stare off into the fireplace from the couch, watching the flames dance and crackle. It’s soothing, the way it brings back memories from the past, flooding my body and my soul with much needed warmth.

My wine induced, fireside daydreaming is interrupted when I hear the mudroom door open.

“Sup bro!” Collin’s voice welcomes Tanner into the condo.

I drape myself over the back of the couch, looking back into the dining area to see Tanner and Collin starting to sit down at the dining room table, setting out the pizza.

“Hey there, Ronni. Been a while.” His voice is deeper than I remember, a slight bit raspy too, but relaxed as always.

Ugh.Ronni. That old nickname. No one has called me that in ages. In fact I think the last person to call me that was Tanner. He’s right though. It has been a while, years actually. He’s still Tanner, the boy I’ve known most of my life. He’s sitting next to Collin, but his eyes are locked on me. Something about the way his eyes linger on me causes my pulse to quicken and my cheeks to grow warm.

On the surface he looks the same. Obviously tall and well built. But up close it’s even clearer how broad he is, muscles straining his long sleeve t-shirt. His shaggy golden brown hair is tousled and sticking out from all sides of his black flat bill hat, his signature après ski look unchanged after all these years. His eyes are still a striking shade of green, his tanned skin drawn tight over his high cheekbones, the same scruffy but short beard trying to hide the sharp line of his square jaw and finished off with a thick mustache.

Looking down, the tattoos on his hands are still there, the once crisp black edges dulled from years of working with his hands and countless days in the sun. I can still make out the letters on his knuckles sayingFULL SEND.Whenever we’d come out to visit after high school, it seemed like I could always spot a new tattoo on him. I still remember when he got his first one the summer after we graduated high school. It’s a jagged little line on the inside of his wrist, the stylized silhouette of the Teton mountains celebrating skiing Corbett’s earlier that year.

All of it is so familiar, but he does lookdifferent. The corners of his eyes with faint crinkles, his shaggy hair and scruffy beard with stray grays. Maybe older? More mature? Definitely not a boy anymore. Either way, it’s nice to see a familiar, welcome face.

---