Free Both Ways Is the Only Way I Want It by Maile Meloy Page A

family for once, instead of just riding up the lift saying ‘What a beautiful day’ like a bunch of tourists from Minnesota.”
    “I’ve said nothing of the kind.”
    “She’s an adult, you know? You treated her like an adult when she was a little kid and you treat her like a little kid now that she’s not.”
    Aaron was startled. “Is she complaining?”
    “No— I am! You think you’re always right about everything, but you’re not. I know a few things, too, you know? You’d think I’d be allowed to ask you a fucking question now and then.”
    Aaron stared at his brother in amazement, but they were at the top of the hill, and had to lift their ski tips and shuffle forward on the icy ramp as the chair discharged them, a process that always felt infantilizing to Aaron, because he had learned it when he was a child, or because it was so awkward to lose momentum after the majesty of riding through the air. George seemed to experience no discomfort, but then he was used to it. It was his job.
    They stood at the top of the lift, at the top of the mountain, with people poling past them. Aaron had a headache, and wished he’d never agreed to come skiing. Would he never learn? A small child in a helmet, ski tips together in a snowplow, dropped bravely off the edge. Claire had been that young when she started, her hair bunching out of a purple headband. She had been so brave and so small, and now she was sharing a bed with a callow premed who might not understand—who couldn’t understand—how important it was to her father that she stay safe and protected and well.
    “I tried to get Claire to smoke pot with me once, but she wouldn’t,” George said.
    The air felt very thin in Aaron’s lungs.
    “Most kids would have taken the joint,” George said. “I think she knew you wouldn’t want her to. She’s loyal to you.”
    “Is this your peace offering?”
    “If you want to see it that way.”
    “Let’s just ski.”
    “I bet she’s smoked some by now.”
    “Take me on the good runs.”
    “That’s a bad idea.”
    “You can bait me, or you can protect me,” Aaron said. “But you can’t do both. Where’s the good snow?”
    George shrugged, and they skated and sidestepped and skied to a place where the slope divided: an easy blue-square run on the left, and a black diamond posted on the right, with a rope strung between two poles, barring access.
    “This is the best run here,” George said.
    “It’s closed off.”
    “We’ll go under the rope.”
    “I could lose my ski pass,” Aaron said. “You could lose your job.”
    “It’s not closed for avalanche. They’re just roping it off to keep down the broken legs, because all the once-a-year bozos are out for the long weekend.”
    “Like me?”
    George shrugged again.
    “Let’s stay on what’s legal,” Aaron said.
    “I thought you wanted the good stuff.”
    “Not if it’s off-limits.”
    “The best runs are always off-limits,” George said. “Off-piste. Interdit .”
    “ Interdit ?” Aaron said. One bike trip at twenty, and George thought he was on the French cycling team.
    “It’s not a bad run,” George said. “I promise. I take it all the time. Even you can do it.”
    Aaron looked to see if anyone was coming down the mountain behind. No one was, so he followed his brother, ducking under the orange rope that George held for him, feeling a little dizzy as he straightened. Then his head cleared and they were on the other side. The whole mountain was below them, the trees in sharp focus, ice crystals floating in the air. He felt a rush of exhilaration at having broken the rules. He had been such a good student, a dutiful doctor, a faithful husband. Maybe he should have flouted authority more in his life, been more like George, ducked the ropes, been the Fire. The slope didn’t look that bad. A little steep.
    George had already taken three neat turns straight down the steepest part. Aaron carved his way around the side; he didn’t