Don't Pester The Ski Patrol • L.S.

3

When the insect of a man that calls himself 'the paparazzi' comes, I decide I want him nowhere near the mountain. This is a special, quiet place, and I'm not going to be the dickhead that brings my entourage to fuck everything up. Instead, I take him down to a village off the Adirondacks because I needed to do some shopping anyways, and I hope to bore him so much that he leaves early.

Once I'm in and out of the grocery store - undetected, thanks to a proper disguise and an indistinguishable white boy face - I pop into a knickknack store next door. I look at all the things in it unceremoniously, running my hands along snow globes just so the insect gets his photos. At the edge of the store, I find a rack of stuffed animals that were apparently crocheted by a local New York artist. I don't glance at it for too long, but something catches my eye.

It's probably the cutest stuffed puppy I've ever seen.

It's brown and covered in spots, and something about the size and shape of its beaded eyes makes me want to be six years old again. As I pick it up, I reveal that behind it is none other than a stuffed butterfly with pink glittery wings and gorgeous curly antennae.

I think of something.

I buy the two stuffed animals along with a sewing kit near the register, and run home so fast that the pap loses me entirely.

***

I rush over to the ski lodge at around three-thirty the next day, hoping I'll catch Harry as he gets home with Prairie from daycare. When I arrive, though, he's closing the door of the lodge behind him, wearing his ski patrol uniform still, holding a sippy cup, sans Prairie.

I approach him, and he startles.

"Oh, hi, Louis." He greets kindly. "You've caught me at a bad time. I just got out of work and I'm about to go pick up Prairie from daycare. I'm hoping to give her this milk while it's still warm."

"I thought she got out at three." I express my misunderstanding.

"Usually she does, but on Fridays they'll sometimes stay later for a movie or a craft or something." He shrugs as he continues walking. I walk next to him. I'm grateful it's not as windy out here as it has been in the days prior, but it's still just as cold.

"Well, then I definitely won't keep you. I just wanted to give you something to give to Prairie." I say, and for some reason, I'm a bit nervous. I can probably count on one hand the amount of times I've been nervous in my life.

He gives me a skeptical look like he's wary. I unzip my jacket and pull out my creation, presenting it to Harry as if on a silver platter.

He looks at it blankly. Stunned.

"It's a fairy dog." I announce. "See? It's got wings and antennae and a little magic wand."

(I may have created a magic wand out of leftover butterfly pieces, and I will not apologise for that. No fairy dog would be caught dead without a magic wand.)

He takes it from my hand wordlessly, examining it with lasers. He looks like he hates it. I suddenly regret every single decision that has ever led me to being on this mountain.

I'm about to ask if he hates it, but then his face breaks out in a sheer stupor.

"Oh God," He breathes, looking up from the dog's beaded eyes to look at me. "She's going to fucking love this. Oh my God. Thank you, Louis."

"It's really nothing. I saw the dog and a butterfly at a knickknack store off the mountain and thought I could make something out of it - are you crying?" I interrupt myself because there are clear tears running down his cheeks.

"You sewed on the wings yourself?" His voice breaks in sobs. "That's so thoughtful."

"Why are you crying?"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry." He laughs bitterly, wiping his face with the sleeves of his jacket, but it's fruitless; they keep coming. "God, it's like I'm lactating."

"I didn't mean to make you cry," I say, my voice small.

"No I just -" He sniffles. "I'm sorry. This is stupid."

"What is it?"

"It's just... I don't know. Everyone always treats Prairie like she's in the way and I just..." he pauses. "No one's ever given her a present like this, even when she was born. So, it just means the world to me. Thank you."

Oh my God, oh my God, now I'm going to cry. What the fuck is this mountain man doing to me?

"Please don't cry," Harry soothes after realising that I'm crying with him. "I didn't mean to -"

"No, Harry, please." I stop him. "That just makes me so sad. She's just a baby."

This makes so much sense as to why he's been so apologetic or embarrassed about everything surrounding Prairie and living in the ski lodge. He probably feels like he has to hide her away, like he has to apologise for her existence. I'm about to be crying so hard I think I might puke.

Harry manages to get his tears under control, but mine are still coming. "I should go before I'm late to pick her up and the milk gets too cold."

"Of course, of course." I wave him off.

"Tomorrow is my first Saturday off in weeks. Do you want to come by the lodge? I'll probably take Prairie outside to play in the snow." He says, and then adds quietly, "You can properly meet her."

I gulp. I know I've been in the same room as her before, but I didn't even get to look at her, much less talk to her. I had assumed I would never get to with the way Harry was shielding her off last time, which made sense to me since Harry barely knows me. Though, I guess now I realise it was more shame than protection.

I also think that if somebody had asked me to come over to play with their daughter, I'd laugh in their face. Why would I do something so trite and domiciliary when I can go out and get high? Yet now, I can't think of something I'm jumping to do more. Please do NOT tell Hollywood Hills about this.

"Are you sure?" I ask meekly.

He nods. "I'm sure hanging out with a toddler doesn't sound super exciting to a socialite like yourself, but -"

"I'll be there." I cut him off surely. We wave each other off.