Page 18 of Avalanche
“He knows trying to form a union is grounds for immediate termination,” Liam calls out from the living room, frustration evident in his voice. “He shouldn’t even be texting that shit.”
Antoine rolls his eyes at his boyfriend’s worrying, then continues: “‘—Someone needs to form a union, because these working conditions sure as shit aren’t legal. Fuckers gave me a class with twenty kids. One of them pissed his pants in the first half hour. Waited until at the top of the mountain, had to ski all the way back with my entire class.’”
The group chat pings again, and the small smile that’s been curving Antoine’s lips widens, revealing a flash of white teeth and a dimple in one cheek.
“What?” I urge, my soap covered hands halfheartedly scrubbing at the pan Liam used to burn our pancakes. It’s a futile effort. “What did he say?”
Antoine’s eyes flit up to mine, dancing with mirth. The sight has my chest squeezing, and I drop the pan in the sink. He’s so pretty like that, even if the bright happiness flashing through him is as fleeting as the warmth from the winter sun.
How would it be to see him like that all the time? To have that smile come easily, to see the carefully masked worry slip away?
“He says: ‘If I find out you guys have been having a fuck-fest all day?—’”
“A fuck-fest,” I squeak, frantically turning my attention back to the dishes piled in the sink. “What?!” My cheeks burn, the heat of my embarrassment rising alongside soapy steam.
I think of what it must have looked like when he left this morning, when the three of us had been piled up together in my bed.
“‘—I’m going to lose my shit. Will probably complain to Seth’s mum about it when we talk to her this evening. Just so you’re warned.’”
I shake my head, setting the mostly clean frying pan in the drying rack, not daring to look up at Antoine to see his response. The phone pings again, and this time Antoine reads it without my asking.
“This one is from Seth,” he explains, laughter dancing in his voice. “He says: ‘Please, please don’t mention sex to my mum. She was already on my case about having grand-babies. It’s weird, and I’d rather not have that conversation with her again. Thx.’”
“Jesus,” Liam wheezes from the other room, and I’m not sure if it’s laughter or terror I can hear in his voice. “I’d forgotten we were having that call tonight.” There’s a bewildered sounding pause, and then: “Can you believe he told his parents about all of us?”
I shake my head in silent response. No. No, I can’t. I can’t imagine being able to tell my parents about all of us, even if they were talking to me.
Irritation rises as my thoughts snag on them again. On that unanswered string of text messages. All I had wanted was to tell them about Tom. To tell them what had happened. To ask them what I should do.
Now, I just want to stop thinking about them.
“Do you guys want to go into town?” I ask abruptly, setting the last of the dishes in the drying rack. “To Main Street, I mean.” I wipe my hands on Antoine’s dish towel and turn to give him a hopeful smile. “We could look at some shops, maybe go to a cafe.”
“Main Street’s full of tourists,” Liam gripes. “Just a bunch of art galleries and designer clothing shops. It’d probably cost you twenty bucks just to get a coffee.”
Matty mumbles out something in agreement. I glare at them—or rather, at the wall of beer cans that now almost completely shields the living room from view—then turn to share an exasperated look with Antoine.
“Some people like art,” Antoine dutifully points out. “Not all of us are completely uncultured, you know.”
“And Main Street’s cute,” I add. “There’s all the Christmas lights, decorations…”
“I thought kiwis loved expensive coffee.” Antoine grins at me mischievously, green eyes dancing. “Isn’t that the backbone of your culture?”
“Well, it is sunny outside,” Matty says thoughtfully, when Liam only offers an annoyed huff in response to Antoine’s ribbing. “I guess a walk would be nice.”
There’s the sound of our couch creaking ominously, then the padding of feet across carpet, and then Matty appears in the kitchen doorway, a sheepish smile dimpling one cheek.
“I don’t mind going for a coffee, if you want.” He looks between me and Antoine, a flush rising before he drops his gaze to the floor. “It’d be my treat.”
Chapter 5
Antoine
Main Street sparkles like the street of any mountain town where the aim is to relieve wealthy visitors of their money in exchange for things they don’t need. Art galleries nestle between high-end shops selling the requirements for a fashionable ski season: parkas that would cost more than an instructor’s monthly salary, boots that look like an entire sheep died for their creation, knit sweaters promising everything that is both hygge and chic for the perfect après ski look.
Aside from a fashion lean that is decidedly, glaringly American, they are more or less the same as the shops lining the streets in Villars or Chamonix, or any of the other little ski towns I’ve visited with my family.
“Isn’t it dreamy?” Lily sighs. She squeezes Matty’s arm, holding it tight as she turns to look at me and Liam over her shoulder, a broad smile spread across her face.
