ONE MONTH LATER
It’s two days after the new year and once again I’m in a plane over Colorado, but instead of the despair I felt when Dad told me we were moving, a combination of heartache, anger, and what Dad keeps calling ‘teen angst’ swirls through me. I’m beyond pissed that Dad yanked me out of my life and expects me to start over, but right when I’m ready to lash out, sadness over everything I’m leaving sweeps through me and I’m reduced to a puddle of tears. Saying goodbye to our house was the hardest thing I’ve ever done and I’m terrified that we somehow left Mom behind.
My favorite is when the mood swings hit in public. One minute I’m scowling at the world—which Sophia informs me is not my best look—and then I’m pushing my hair in my face so no one can see my tears.
Which, if I’m honest, are usually for Blake.
I knew whatever we had wouldn’t last beyond vacation, but a tiny part of me fantasized that we’d somehow end up together. I may have even suggested that Dad open the new brewery in Lake Tahoe instead of Boulder, but he shook his head and mumbled something about teenage love and not being ready for me to grow up.
Blake and I texted a handful of times, and while he was super sweet and flirty, the spark from the slopes wasn’t there. I thought he’d at least sympathize about the ski team, but it’s been radio silence ever since I told him we’re moving.
Even my knee has healed. It’s like the Thanksgiving trip never happened.
Slope Rule #4: Don’t force it or you’ll break something.
That rule’s meant to protect your bones, but in this case it applies to my heart.
I swipe through the pictures from my going away party. Sophia and the guys took over one end of our favorite pizza place and we gorged ourselves until they closed. Hunter and Sam agreed that Blake’s sudden change in attitude was weird, but seemed to have some guy-understanding that this is how things go. Personally, I think they don’t want to think about me as a girl.
I pause on a pic of Sophia and Jake, my lip caught between my teeth. There was a time when he was, unbeknownst to him, the center of my universe, but we slid into friend-zone and there was no turning back. In this picture Sophia’s smiling up at him like they’re the only people in the room. And he seems just as into her.
I click off my phone and drop it in my lap. It’s like they’ve already moved on without me. Sophia slept over after the party and we stayed up all night talking, but she never mentioned that she likes Jake.
A sigh escapes me and Dad nudges my elbow.
“Look out the window.”
I meet his eyes and a pang of guilt twists my stomach. This can’t be easy on him either. I lean over him to peer out the window and my breath catches. That’s where I want to be. The sun’s shining through a cloudless sky, reflecting off the snow blanketing the peaks of the mountains that seem tall enough to scrape the bottom of the plane. I stretch closer, drawn to the mountain like it’s pulling me into its shadowy embrace.
Dad touches my cheek. “Maybe this won’t be so bad, even without a ski team?”
I let out another sigh, not wanting to concede just yet. “It does have its perks. But explain to me why Henry couldn’t move instead of us?”
Now it’s Dad’s turn to sigh. “Cally, we talked about this. Jenny’s six months pregnant and all her family lives in Burlington. They’ll need the help with a newborn.” He pokes my side. “You’re already self-sufficient.”
I cross my arms and sink lower into my seat, the view of the mountains replaced with blue sky so bright that it reminds me of Blake’s eyes, and I have to turn away.
Dad rests his head against the back of the seat and gazes out the window. I don’t want to be difficult. We’re in this together and right now he’s the only person I know in the entire state of Colorado.
“Tell me what you’re thinking.”
“I’m angsting over my angst.”
His snort of laughter breaks the tension.
“Forgive me for being a brat?”
His shoulder bumps against mine. “A. Always. And B. If this is the brattiest you get, I’m the luckiest father in the world.”
The corner of my mouth turns up in a smile. “Remember that when I fall into a deep depression because I’m not on the ski team.”
***
It starts to hit me that WE’VE MOVED TO COLORADO when we’re driving on the stretch of highway that circles downtown Denver. There’s farmland near the airport, then the suburbs begin, while the massive Rockies loom in the distance. It’s really not that different from Vermont, except much, much bigger. And open. And, oh yeah, thousands of miles from everything I know.
“I thought we’d drive past the brewery before going to the house.”
I’m grateful Dad didn’t call it home. Not yet. “Sure.”
“There won’t be much to see. It’s not scheduled to open until the spring, but I’m anxious to see how it’s coming along.” Dad’s flown out here a couple times since we were here for Thanksgiving to sign leases for the brewery and this house that he assures me I’ll ‘learn to love.’ If that doesn’t sound ominous, I don’t know what does.
He takes an exit for another highway and we speed toward Boulder. Soon we’re turning onto a street lined with low brick buildings, their wide windows showcasing clothes and food and beer. Lots of beer.
“They seem to like their beer here.”
Dad smiles. “There’s a method to my madness.”
My head swivels to take it all in.
Dad pulls to a stop in front of what looks like a Victorian house in the middle of the block of businesses. The familiar Calliope logo hangs above the window, the loops of the L’s linking together, the E drifting off into a trail of stars. Dad commissioned the logo when I was heavy into my princess phase, and while I don’t see any of that girl in myself anymore, I’m touched he’s never changed it.
“What do you think?”
I take in the purplish-gray shingles, white trim, and dark gray shutters that flank the picture window and a lump catches in my throat. “It looks like our house.”
Dad squeezes my hand and I press my sleeve to the corner of my eye.
“But it doesn’t look like a brewery.”
He shrugs. “Who’s to say that? Calliope’s never been one to blend in with the crowd. She deserves to stand out.”
I meet his gaze and tears slide down my face. I’m not sure if he’s talking about me or the brewery, or both. “I can’t believe you did this.”
“Henry and I agreed that since we’re the newcomers, we need to make a statement. What better statement than a princess-themed brewery?”
My mouth falls open. “Dad, you are not!” An exterior color hinting at purple is one thing. But no one’s going to—
“I’m kidding. It’s more of a homey, living room atmosphere.” He kills the engine. “Want to look inside?”
I scramble out of the car and follow him through the front door. An archway sweeps over the entrance, guiding us into the heart of the room. A hodge-podge of chandeliers dot the tin ceiling—some covered with sparkly tear-drop shaped glass, others more masculine metal and steel—while ornate crown molding edges the room and windows, and— “You put in my window seat?” I tip-toe over the tarp covering what looks like hard-wood floors, careful not to knock over the buckets of paint scattered around the room, and stop in front of a large bay window across from the bar.
Dad moves next to me. “It doesn’t have the same view as back home, but I thought you could do homework here if you visit me after school.”
Tears blur my vision. I can totally picture Mom curled up in the window seat with a book. “You didn’t have to do this.” I turn in a circle, waving my arm at the space. “But I love it.”
He pulls me into a hug. “You don’t know how happy it makes me to hear you say that. So,” he pulls back to look me in the eye. “You ready to see the house?”
We backtrack through town, the happiness I felt at the brewery vanishing when he turns into a newer housing development. “Harmony Hills? Since when are we subdivision people?”
Dad doesn’t answer.
We pass house after identical house, most constructed of pale brick and so large they’d cover half our block back home. A tree sits in the center of each yard, their bare branches reaching for the blue sky, and while the landscaping varies a little from house to house, there isn’t a single personal touch on any of them.
“I’m guessing ours isn’t purple?”
He winds through streets with names like Peak and Trail and Avalanche—Seriously? They named a street after a natural disaster?—and comes to a stop in front of the bazillionth white brick house.
He kills the engine. “This is it.”
I lean my head against the seat. My arms and legs don’t want to move. This can’t be our new home. It’s a fricking mini-mansion! We may have money but we are not the kind of people who throw their money in your face and make sure everyone knows exactly what they have—and what others don’t. My friends know we’re well-off but that’s never been what I’m about. The rich kids have their own circle and I consider myself lucky that I don’t have to hang out with them.
Dad touches my arm, snapping me out of my freak-out. “What are you thinking?”
I sigh. “Can I stay at the brewery?”