Page 8 of The Snowflake Effect

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” I hold up my hand before the guy can turn away. “Not another step. Those are for me.”

He glances again at the lobster risotto and steak frites and then at the table with one customer missing her food. The second item on that doing-things-my-way list: eating whatever I want when I want. The Dick, his awful juice cleanses, and my slim hips can go to hell.

The waiter sets down my smorgasbord, awkwardly placing both plates so I can dig in without morsels flying. “Enjoy,” he says and smirks, leaving the girls to stare wide-eyed as I shove a massive forkful of risotto into my mouth. I follow with a bite of steak.

Raven shakes her head slowly. “If we feed her after midnight, will she sprout horns and terrorize Aspen?”

Lily giggles and presses her fingers to her lips. “I don’t know, but I’m glad our place has three rooms. She’s going to feel awful later.”

“You know I can hear you, right?” I say around a bite.

But Lily is spot on. There’s no doubt my wallet and stomach will regret this later, but it’s lobster and risotto and steak frites.

Thirty minutes later, Raven gawks as I force another fry into my mouth. “It’s like I’m at the zoo,” she says.

Lily bites her lip. “You don’t have to finish, Shay.”

I lean back and polish off the last of my Shiraz. “Yeah, I’m done. But I’m taking the leftovers back to the condo.” That hunk of steak and pile of fries have breakfast written all over them. Although there is that box of Lucky Charms back at our place. “I’m thinking we need to work brunch into our meal rotation. You know, as a fourth meal.”

Raven swirls her wineglass. “Shay, babe, you’re not a hobbit. You’re a twenty-five-year-old woman who’s a tad lost and needs to remember she’s the same girl who won the Whistler Cup. That girl knew how to get in the zone. That girl skied circles around those bitches. It’ll just take some time is all, and I’m not sure eating your way through Aspen is the answer.”

I push fries around my plate.

Hitting the slopes today was liberating. Skiing was the thing that brought me out of my shell as a kid, too, back when I stuttered. The sport gave me confidence. Being part of a team vanquished the lonely, stuttering child I once was.

Temporarily, at least.

I may not struggle with my words these days, but my compliance with Richard echoed an unhappy time in my life. And I was blind to it.

“I was sixteen at the Whistler Cup,” I say. “It was a lifetime ago. That girl rocked, but I don’t even know who she was…who I am.”

“You’re an amazing interior designer who’s going to chase her dreams again when she gets home,” Lily says. “You’re not living your life for Richard anymore.” She reaches over the table and squeezes my hand.

I sigh, the bra-slinging, determined woman from earlier suddenly absent. “But that’s just it. What if I’m screwed? What if I passed up the best job offer I’ll ever get?”

“You mean designing retirement homes isn’t your dream job?” Raven teases.

I pull my hand out from under Lily’s, fist the napkin on my lap, and toss it at Raven.

If I have to go home and face another mothball-smelling gig, I’ll lose the plot. Following our firm’s strict guidelines leaves me no choice but to offer clients a choice of ugly or uglier, tacky or tackier. And I have to sell that horror show. No, really, the paisley you chose is perfect with the big. Giant. Floral. Couch.

I can’t unsee that stuff. And it’s all because I didn’t take the golden-ticket job. The cereal-box-prize job. I chose the Dick.

Heat builds behind my eyes, and I face the large windows lining the restaurant. The snow hasn’t stopped since this afternoon, thick flakes still tumbling down. A few kids are grabbing handfuls, packing them into snowballs, and pelting one another.

I look up again at the fluffy flakes, remembering one of my childhood art projects—learning how each crystal was unique, no two alike. Those kids are mashing each rare flake into one massive, uniform sphere, all individuality squashed, and my breathing halts.

I swivel toward the girls. “I’m a fucking snowball.”

Raven blinks at me. “I don’t follow.”

I pound my fist on the table. “A fucking snowball. I mean, look at us.” Lily and Raven exchange glances and shrug. “How different we are,” I say. “We’re all snowflakes. All unique. But we still work, right? Richard snowballed me. That fucker packed me into his world, belittling and molding me until he killed my uniqueness. And I let him.”

My resolve from earlier returns tenfold. I may not like the woman I became while with the Dick, or the insecure child I once was, but I can be whoever I want now. I tossed my bra, gave that ski guy the finger, and I’m wearing hot lingerie. Red-hot lingerie.

Picturing the Asshole who skied into me, sexy booty and all, has me pressing my legs together. It’s back to that list of mine. Item one: getting some action.

“Let’s settle our bill,” I say. “It’s time to hit a bar.”