So, that’s weird.

“Either.”

There’s a long pause again. He’s thinking about what to say, what road to take.

“Tell me why.” His voice is cajoling. For a minute, I have to physically shut my mouth to resist the urge to confess things to him. It’s a strange feeling.

“Why what, Austin?” I ask, exasperated.

“Why do you need to pay someone to be with you, Elizabeth?” There isn’t any disgust or accusation in his voice.

The question makes me self-conscious.

“I don’t need to. I’m choosing to. There’s a difference. I could find some random guy tonight if I wanted to.” I know that’s not true, but I say it without any doubt in an attempt to shut him up.

His voice is deeper. There’s a new roughness to it as he says, “I’m sure you could.” It makes my heart beat a bit faster, something I didn’t think was possible at this point. “So, why are you choosing to pay someone?” He is gentle but insistent. He isn’t going to let this go. I finally give in to the inexplicable desire to confess to him. I do it with a huff so at least he knows my words are unwillingly given.

“Because…” How do you tell a stranger all the insecurities your own inadequacies have created over a lifetime? “It’s hard to explain.”

“Try. I’ve got all night. Lost my job, remember?”

I laugh in spite of myself.

“Umm…have you ever been skiing?”

“No.”

“Ugh. Okay. Well, I have. My parents took me on a ski trip when I was eleven. And, what you have to understand about me is, I’m kind of stubborn.”

“You? I never would have guessed.”

“Ass.”

Somehow his teasing doesn’t make me feel foolish. It makes me feel equal.

“I prefer to figure things out on my own. My parents told me the basics, then I strapped on a pair of skis and headed for the bunny slopes.” I stop. I’m not sure if he’s paying attention to my rambling story.

“How did you do?” He’s listening. The thought makes my chest grow warm. It makes me feel powerful. Important. Special.

Weird.

“Horrible. I couldn’t figure out how to keep my feet under me. I was awkward and uncoordinated. Some things never change.”

He laughs at my self-deprecation. I swell with a bit of confidence and continue my story.

“When my parents found me, sulking in front of the fire, I told them I never wanted to ski again. Snow was now my mortal enemy. My mother spent the night lecturing me, trying to convince me to try again.” My words trail off at the pinch in my heart from the memory of my mother.

“And did it work? Did you try again?” Austin’s voice is tender in my ear.

He’s really listening. I settle back into the couch cushions, relaxing a little for the first time since I picked up the phone. I pull the blanket off the back and curl up under it, getting cozy and comfortable.