Science- I was terrified of skiing after my high-school friend died in a ski accident.
- The only man I've dated since my divorce gave me my joy of skiing back.
Many people showed up for me after my divorce. Like my friends who swooped in to pack up my marital house, others helped me unpack into a high-rise apartment with my daughters while I sat in a stupor. After a period of healing, there was Frank.
Frank is still, three years post-divorce, the only guy I've dated since my marriage ended. We met at a gay party in New York's Catskill Mountains, and when we realized we were in the minority as heterosexual guests, we exchanged numbers.
We consummated the romance on Halloween, and he played cohost at my big holiday party around Christmas. We intended to cook bourekas from scratch but frittered the day away in bed, then rushed to buy frozen hors d'oeuvres from the dollar store shortly before guests arrived. Frank taught me to appreciate jazz, and we danced in the snow to Vince Guaraldi. I swooned. In February, as part of his project to mold me into his ideal partner, he convinced me to overcome my fear of skiing.
I was terrified of skiing
When I was a sophomore in high school, my friend Ben died in a ski accident. Though my extreme adventures since then have included hang gliding, paragliding, white-water kayaking, and rappelling, I had sworn off skiing because Ben's memory haunted me.
Frank paid for private ski lessons in the morning, then held my hand as we went up my first chairlift. On my first run on a real trail, I screamed the whole way down. I laughed so hard at the bottom I almost wet my snow pants. Our goggles clanked when we kissed with cold lips. We sipped whiskey from a flask he pulled out of his breast pocket. He'd seen to every detail. Even though I tried to save face and be perfect for Frank, I cried in the car remembering Ben, who'd skied into a tree, broken his neck, and died instantly in front of his brother.
It all changed when I involved my kids
On our last day out, I told Frank it would be nice to bring my daughters on our next trip and get adjoining rooms. He said, "Sure. That sounds nice." I guess the wind was too loud for me to hear him gulp down his fear of commitment. To him, our escapades were just for fun.
One night, after drinks with his friends, Frank called me and sounded especially affectionate. He offered to pay for my daughters' tuition at a private school I'd been considering. I took this very seriously; he barely remembered saying it the next day.
With my March birthday approaching, Frank said to pick a hotel where we could have some privacy, since the children were in my care 100% of the time. I supplied a list of choices and envisioned a fabulous birthday. But suddenly, he had a change of heart. He said he resented feeling pressured. My last text to him said, "I think we should talk. I have dinner plans, can we talk before or after?" I never heard from him again.
Once the sting of being ghosted faded, I realized the beauty in cutting the breakup scene. There was zero drama. There were no arguments, breakdowns, or meltdowns. He didn't see me cry. We just went poof.
I call Frank my "ski angel." He helped me get my mojo back. He appeared and gave me the gift of a lifetime, the joy of skiing, a new appreciation of cold winters and fresh powder. Then he disappeared. Now I've taught my daughters to ski, and it's our favorite thing to do together.