“Ah, so you’re the boyfriend.” I try to keep a straight face as I’m introduced to Bernie, a gorgeous blonde woman snuggled up next to my mom. Well, she was before I made that comment.

“You told them I was your boyfriend?” Bernie’s eyes are wide with surprise and a little bit of hurt.

Oops. Totally didn’t intend for that to happen. I was just trying to tease Mom, who now looks like she wants to reach across the table and strangle me. I arrived in Glenwood Springs early enough on Friday to meet Mom and Bernie for lunch. Mom has the day off, but Bernie doesn’t, so we met at a restaurant close to her work.

“No, they made that assumption, and then obviously tuned me out when I tried to correct them. See what happens when you don’t pay attention, Mal?”

I reach out to shake Bernie’s hand. “She’s totally right. I guarantee the mix-up was my fault.”

Although now I’m racking my brain, trying to figure out if there are any other important details about my mom that I’ve missed. Given who I am, latching onto pronoun usage is like second nature. The fact that she’s dating a woman seems like a pretty big thing to miss. I’m a terrible child.

Bernie settles back down, and I’m just thankful that my first visit home in almost six months didn’t begin with causing their breakup. Seeing them together, they make a beautiful pair. My mother is half Filipino, half mixed European ancestry, and all fireball. When I look in the mirror, it’s her reflection that I see – physical or not – never my father’s.

“So you two spent Christmas together? Was it just the two of you, or do you have other family?”

Bernie’s quick glance at my mom has her rolling her eyes.

“Just pretend like I never told Mal anything, since apparently nothing sticks in that brain of theirs.”

The waitress brings me a water and I place my order before turning back to the two of them. Mom’s always been feisty, but damn. Love must bring out the roar in her.

“You know, if you’d text instead of call then I’d have the words in front of me to refer back to. And hey, at least I remembered that you spent Christmas together.”

“Only because I reminded you earlier this week.”

Yeah, fair enough.

Bernie’s laugh is light and tinkling like a fairy. “What have I gotten myself into? I knew your mother was trouble, but now there are two of you.”

My mom doesn’t blush, but I swear the glow in her cheeks is enough to light up the restaurant for a week.

“I have two grown daughters,” Bernie continues. “One of them just had a baby last summer, so we all went to visit her in Grand Junction for Christmas. It was a mess of people, but it was fun. I only wish you could have joined us.”

It was work last Christmas that kept me from visiting, not that Ryan Miller appreciated the dedication. I vow at that moment not to let work or other personal bullshit get in the way of family again. Besides, with Bernie here to hold her attention, maybe Mom will be less of a worrier.

“Actually, that reminds me. One of my friends had an idea for a job for me.”

As our food arrives, I tell Mom and Bernie about Zach’s idea and what it would mean for me.

“I think it sounds perfect. You’d be able to visit any time you wanted and not have to worry about taking time off work,” says Mom.

Bernie chuckles. “You see which parts she focuses on.”

“Typical Mom.”

“What’s keeping you from going ahead with it?” Bernie asks, and I’m grateful for a non-biased opinion at the table. “You obviously have some concerns.”

I nod between bites. I’m only grazing on the remaining fries at this point. “It’s such a big step. What if I don’t get enough business to support myself? Or what if these companies take a chance on me and are disappointed in my work?”

The waitress sets down the check, but I’m too slow. Bernie’s already snagged it.

“In your previous jobs, did the clients like what you put together? Did you ever have any complaints?”

I can see why Mom likes her so much. The woman has a head on her shoulders and an inherent kindness to boot.

“Yeah, yeah. I get your point.”

Bernie smiles and Mom grins. “So you’re going to tell that boy yes?”

“Oh my god, I can’t argue against both of you. I’m meeting him on Sunday to talk about it.”

Mom’s expression drops instantly. “This Sunday? You’re only staying two days?”

Oops.

* * *

I leave the house early Saturday morning to meet the other members of the climbing club downtown so we can ride together. It only takes about an hour to get to our destination in Vail, and during that time, we load up on coffee and various protein snacks to ensure we keep our energy going, even at these freezing temperatures.

There’s one girl in the group who tries to lecture us on the dangers of coffee on ice climbs, but our group leader Joshua argues against her, citing several studies and way too much detail on actual digestion, absorption rates, and other geeky things that Zach or Parker would probably love but I couldn’t care less about. I just want to climb. The positive of their discussion is that it makes the time go by quickly, and we arrive before either side has been willing to make any sort of concession in their opinions.

I’ve never climbed with Joshua before, but it’s been almost five years since my last climb with the group, so that doesn’t necessarily mean he’s new. He could also just be their special ice climbing guy, which is the technical and official designation I’ve just made up on the spot for him. After the way he took on anti-coffee girl with all his facts and statistics, I think he’s earned it.

Joshua takes the exit and parks in the area designated for ice climbers. My leg twitches, either from excitement or too much coffee, not that I’m about to say that out loud. I can’t wait to give this a shot, and as soon as I’m able, I leap from the van and start to go through the equipment bags they have for us. I had my coat off in the van – too many people– but now that I’m out in the cold air and not breaking a sweat just yet, I throw on my baby blue overcoat.

The hike through the gully to our destination is short and clear. It’s obviously a pretty popular spot because it is well-marked. Anti-coffee girl won’t stop trying to boss us all around. I’ve already been told that I’m wearing the wrong shoes and that we should trade ice axes because her supposedly superior upper body strength is better for the size of ax I was given by Joshua. I keep telling her that I’ll stick with the expert’s opinion, thanks.

Joshua and his assistant set up two top anchors so that we can have more than one climber going at a time, but as they do it, they’re also teaching us how to properly screw into the ice and how to pick the best ice for bombproof anchors. After we all rappel down to the base of one of the ice pillars that we are going to climb, Joshua begins with basic instructions. We spread out, and he makes us practice swinging our axes into and pulling them from the ice, so that we get used to the force needed once we’re up in the air. When he says we need to flick our wrists just before the ax meets the ice, anti-coffee girl makes a snide remark about me and my limp wrists.

I try my best to ignore her, but she’s so awkward when removing her ax, I’m convinced she’s going to plunge it back into her face. And despite her rude comments, I do not want this trip ruined by any injuries, including hers.

After Joshua has observed us and feels we’ve got the motions down, he puts us into groups, and his assistant leads the other two climbers over to the other top rope, leaving me with Joshua and anti-coffee girl. Of course.

“Since I have the most experience, I think I should go first,” she says, making me want to firmly shove that ice ax somewhere else. She steps into the harness and holds her arms to the side like the Queen of England, ready to be robed. Joshua’s scruffy beard covers up most of his expression, but it’s obvious he’d much rather wrap the rope around her scrawny neck.

“On belay?” she says, and Joshua responds with the standard, “Belay on.”

I should have known having her up the side of a mountain wouldn’t help. She constantly yells back down at Joshua, switching between wanting more tension or slack. They’re typical directions, but not in the way she’s doing it. I think at this point, Joshua is essentially hauling her ass up by the rope.

My nerves are so frayed by her constant badgering that I slip with my first attempt to plant my feet once I get a turn. I keep kicking until the points of the crampons are successfully planted.

Finally, about a third of the way up the ice pillar, I get into a groove. I can’t hear anti-coffee girl’s directions anymore, just the wind and my heavy breathing. I angle out my opposite leg for balance, and swing the pick into the ice, pull up, then do the same, but with opposite leg and opposite arm.

My muscles ache from the exertion. I haven’t had much in the way of arm workouts since kayaking season ended, the disastrous climbing gym excursion excluded. There’s a slightly thinner column frozen on top of a larger area, with shelves of rock sticking out around it. Thinking it would be a good place to rest, I dig in my crampons and steady myself against the axes. The climbing group keeps cameras on their helmets, so I take a minute to look back around.

The view is stunning, picture-perfect for a Christmas card with snow-covered trees surrounding us and me, level with the tops of them. We’re on only one of the ice pillars. There are several along the ridge, looking like magical snowflake waterfalls where winter fairies might reside. I snort at my winter fairy thought. I took the blue overcoat off for the climb so I didn’t overheat, but I’m in silver and pink and probably the closest thing to a winter fairy this place has ever seen.

As I’m turning back around to continue my climb, the entire sheet of ice that I’m attached to starts to shift. I reflexively grip my axes tighter and hug the wall, but the wall shifts and crumbles under me. My face bangs against a chunk of ice as my body begins to freefall. I’m stopped by the belay, but not before my head ricochets back from the ice and catches on the nearby rock shelf.

The world around me turns snow-white and I lose all my senses. There’s no more sound, and even my own breathing fades into nothingness until my consciousness soon follows.

* * *

“Mal Copol, you are going to be the death of me.”

My mom hovers by the hospital entrance as I’m wheeled into the emergency room. Apparently my little tumble and subsequent fainting cut our ice climb short. And here I was worried it was going to be anti-coffee girl. The one bonus of my fall is that my brain was dealing with so much sudden adrenaline and blood pressure changes that I really didn’t hear anything around me. I can only guess the extent of her whining on the way back.

I guess Joshua or his assistant called Mom to let her know they were taking me to the hospital. I tried to tell them I was fine, but apparently I was talking like a drunken sorority girl. And texting. Until someone took my phone away. I have no idea what or who I texted, but I guess I’ll figure it out later.

“M’fine, Mom.”

I’m shown to a room immediately. Mom and Joshua stay outside the door. I’ll have to try to remember to send Joshua a condolence card since I know he’s probably getting the third degree. I can’t make out her words, but I can’t miss her tone.

I’m suddenly sleepy again, and I must doze off because the next thing I see is a doctor hovering over me. He shines a bright light in my eyes and checks my pulse. I’ve got a headache, but otherwise, I’m not noticing any immediate injuries.

“Well, Mr.–”

“Just Mal,” my mom interrupts the doctor with an angry snap.

“Right, sorry, Felicity. My apologies, Mal. Your injuries appear to be minor, but I’d either like to keep you overnight for observation or have your Mom stay with you and check on you throughout the evening. We want to make sure you don’t have a concussion.”

“I can watch him at home. Staying here won’t be necessary,” Mom says. I don’t quite understand her frustration. She works here. Surely she’s fine with hanging around her workplace. Then the awful thought hits me. She wants me at home so the lecturing and the bubble-wrapping can begin.

I start to protest, but her glare shuts me down faster than it did back in seventh grade when she caught me eyeing the bottle of tequila that she bought “for cooking purposes.”

“Right. I’ll prepare the paperwork for you, and then you’ll be free to go.” The doctor looks relieved to be out of Mom’s crosshairs. Can’t say I blame him. She’s glaring like he’s personally responsible for my injuries.

Hospital policy says they have to wheel me out to the door, but at that point I’m free to walk to the car. Alas, Mom doesn’t think so and she pulls up the car, almost running over my toes. Funny how she’s so anxious about me hurting myself that she almost does it. I curb the temptation to say this aloud. She would not find it funny.

I check out my reflection in the visor mirror. There’s some bruising along my nose and cheekbone, and scratches and scrapes everywhere, but nothing major. I’ll live, and still look just as pretty as before, once the swelling goes down.

At home, Mom sets up the couch with extra pillows and blankets for me. Luring me into a false sense of security is what she’s really doing. There’s a brief knock at the door before Bernie pops her head in.

“I brought movies,” she says, waving cases from the grocery store vending machine. “I hope you like superheroes.”

“Meh,” I say. “But I like Ezra Miller and Ryan Reynolds.”

“Then we’re good.” Bernie pats my head, then jerks back suddenly. “Oh no, did that hurt?”

I start to laugh, but the movement pulls at my cheeks and forehead, and that does hurt. At my wince, Mom rushes to my side.

“I’m fine.” I bat her off.

“I don’t know why you insist on these dangerous sports. Surely your life is exciting enough without them.”

“Because I know it drives you crazy.”

Mom rests her hands on her hips, and I know I’m in for it. “Just for that, I’m not going to make adobo for dinner.”

“No, anything but that. I love you. You’re the best mother ever.”