Page 61 of See You Next Winter
“Because I don’t know how to be in your life if it’s not in the mountains. I thought we might be something more, but we’re only good for skiing and fucking.”
How can she possibly think that’s true when we’ve spent our week talking, sharing meals, and relaxing together? We’ve felt like an old couple on vacation taking some time to reconnect, not friends who won’t admit their feelings for each other.
“Kayla, come on. You mean so much more to me than that.”
“Then how is it so easy for you to leave?”
“You think it’s easy?” I snap. “I already know I’m going to feel like shit the second we say goodbye. I’ll be counting down the minutes until I can call you, and the days until next winter.”
Reaching up to grip the railing, she pulls herself up to standing. I get up too, and when she tries to push past me, I reach both arms out wide to block her path.
“You’re pulling away. Please don’t ruin our last few hours together.”
“Oh, I’m the one ruining it? You’re the one who ruined our deal with all of this,” she shouts, throwing her arms out wide. “It’s too much, Ryan!”
“What is?”
“All of it. The sweet gestures and the fake words and your goddamn postcards. You need to stop sending them. They destroy me.”
There must be over twenty now, including the one I wrote while she was sleeping next to me in California. Writing them has become something of a weekly ritual. Grabbing a coffee and a postcard from one of the tourist shops on my way to work, then writing my notes to her while I eat lunch.
To learn they make her feel this way is agony.
“OK fine, I’ll stop sending them,” I agree, not wanting this sadness to taint any more of our time. “C’mere.”
She steps into my open arms and lets me hold her like that for a while, her hands on my hips, mine rubbing her back.
“What is this really about?”
“What the fuck am I supposed to do when you go back home and I have to remember this was all a game?”
“You’re not a game.”
“This has always been a game!” she yells, pulling away and ducking underneath my arm. “‘See you next winter, fuck buddy.’That’s what we are.”
Rushing after her, I try to catch her arm, but she whips it away. This can’t be happening. This can’t really be what she thinks of us.
“Bullshit. Bullshit. You have never been a game to me, and you’re lying to yourself if you think that’s all this is. I love you, Kayla.”
A desperate sensation locks in my chest.
“I can’t keep falling for you over and over,” she says, slumping onto the sofa, sobbing into her hands. “It gets worse every winter. And stop telling me you love me. It’s cruel at this point.”
I shove her parents’ coffee table aside and kneel in front of her.
“Kayla, look at me,” I plead. “I can’t stop loving you. It’s not possible.”
She sniffs, her shoulders shaking as she tries to keep it under control. I stroke my hands up and down her arms, wishing I knew how to comfort her.
“I couldn’t tell you the exact moment I fell in love with you because every year I fall even harder. I didn’t come here for the mountains, I came here for you. How many times do I have to tell you before you believe me?”
“I can’t, Ryan. I can’t believe it, only to watch you take it away.”
“I don’t want to go,” I tell her. “You must know that? This is killing me.”
“But you can’t stay,” she shrugs. She looks defeated and exhausted. It makes me wonder if she’s gotten any sleep at all. “Can you?”
“We can make it work.”
