“This and that. We grew apart as teenagers,” I say. “If you have questions, you should ask her.”

He takes his glass and places it into the sink, pressing it there for longer than he needs.

“What do you do for work?” There’s a tone in his voice. He doesn’t want a freeloader in his home.

“I wouldn’t say I’m career-oriented.”

“No? That’s interesting. Because Alex is very driven. I have this thing where I like to give everyone I know a word to describe them. It’s helpful—like a radar, or a GPS. Anyway, that’s my word for Alex. Driven.”

I drum my fingers on the counter. It’s clear his word for me is less flattering, but that’s okay. I’m used to sideways insults, and besides, his GPS is broken.

“So what? You don’t … work?” he asks.

“Not presently.” I don’t tell him about our ramshackle house in Pittsburgh, ashtrays on tables, whiskey bottles with no caps. I don’t tell him about what happened with Hal, or later with Eli. I don’t tell him any of that because none of it will help me. “Alex says you’re a ski racer,” I say.

His whole face brightens. Bingo. He can’t help himself. I’m free.

“I used to race, yes. I was kind of a big deal, to be honest, on the national team, but I blew out my knee at twenty-four, so I had to quit competing. It is what it is.”

“Oh.” I try to sound disappointed for him.

“It’s okay, it all worked out. I took four years of school in Cali for marketing and resort management. The hill here is just starting to explode, and I’m the face of all the advertisements. It’s more modeling than it is me running Powderkeg, but it’s pretty cool, all the same. Right now it’s my off-season, but I’m on billboards all over Colorado.”

“Wow,” I say because I think he wants me to be impressed. I’m tempted to ask if Alex skis, but my stomach growls and I shift in my seat. He must have heard it, too, because he opens the fridge to reveal rows of marked Tupperware and a fully stacked vegetable drawer. There’s soy milk in the side compartment. No ketchup. No beer.

“Can I make you some breakfast?” Chase asks. “Something healthy?” He looks down at my belly, which I don’t like. I instinctively rest my hand on the small bump there.

“Do you mean toast?”

“No.”

“An omelet would be great. Lots of cheese, please. Thank you.”

Chase grabs eggs and what appears to be ham, juggling both to the countertop. “So Alex said you guys grew up on a farm. That must have been pretty great. A farm in Horizon, North Dakota.” He sighs as if relaxing, but I know what’s coming. “Why did you leave?”