The Other Woman

A beer tastes so good after a day of snow skiing. Especially at JR Simplot Lodge.

When Luke was younger, we’d drive to Bogus Basin most Saturdays and ditch him for the day. Well, not literally. We parents put kids in ski school, then skied hard all day and enjoyed the sunshine (or fog, which was usually the case). Best daycare ever.

Living in a town next to a ski hill had its perks, especially when season passes were only $200.

One such Saturday, Amy was enjoying a beer at the lodge, while her spouse and kids were ready to go home. She asked if we’d give her a ride down so she could stay a bit longer. We’d just met, but Amy doesn’t have a shy bone in her body.

She chatted the whole way down the mountain after the beers—my then-husband and I both commented on how bubbly she was. I was happy to have met a new mom on the mountain and hoped we might become friends.

Fast forward a few weeks after that ride home, and Amy called me up. “Chandler and I are headed to Mount Bachelor with the kids for President’s Day weekend. We thought y’all seemed like a nice family and wanted to know if you might be interested in joining us.” Pretty brave for someone who’d known Rob and me for all of three hours.

I took a deep breath, holding my cell phone, unsure of how to respond. I could have easily made up an excuse to decline and thanked her for the invitation. But something told me I could lay it on her straight.

“Well, under ordinary circumstances, we’d be delighted,” I answered. “But Rob and I are getting divorced, and I’m moving out that weekend.”

She didn’t miss a beat, immediately asking if there was anything she could do to help. She showed up for my divorce party, more of a declaration than a celebration. She stood by me during that first post-divorce year, a time during which I referred to myself as being “half bat shit crazy.” (Anyone who has been through a divorce can appreciate the feeling, I am sure).

Our sons ended up playing club basketball together. Who doesn’t nurture a friendship driving to the middle of nowhere in Idaho and sitting in stinky gyms all day? Thank God for fun parents.

Her husband, Chandler, became a friend as well. I’m not sure if it was the mountain bike ride down Bogus or the movie outing. One night, when Amy wasn’t interested in popcorn and pictures, she told him, “Call Melinda. She’ll go with you.” I did. And they deemed me the other woman for the remainder of my Boise days.

Her daughter Milla fixed my hair after my shoulder replacement surgery. Since I only had one functional hand/arm, it felt so good to have fresh makeup and clean hair. (I’m Southern, after all). Funny how memories like that stand out years later.

Last December, Amy visited Nashville for a work trip, and I talked her into staying for my birthday. Ten days of Amy and Nashville—Bluebird, Broadway, and lots of beer—resulted in the flu. But the night at Skinny Dennis was well worth the pain of Influenza A.

Just this past Labor Day weekend, she visited me in Sun Valley.

By the second day, she had run into numerous friends and gotten us invited to two happy hours in a single evening.

Some people never change. I’m so glad.