Jingle

by Natalie Vivien

  “Oh, God….”

  When I try to open my car door, it’s jammed against the snow bank, so I have to move back and kick at it with my feet to shove it wide. Then I fall onto my knees in the snow and regard the front of my car through snowflake-encrusted lashes. Even if the car would start, there’s no way I could back it out of that avalanche. It’s buried up to the windshield, and there’s too much snow beneath the wheels, too little traction.

  To prevent myself from hyperventilating, I take quick stock of the situation. I’m carless on the mountain in a blizzard, too far away from the cabin to walk. No problem. I’ll just call May. Then Mark or Luke will drive down to pick me up.

  But when I find my cell phone in the cup holder in the car, I take in, with a sinking feeling, the fact that it’s showing no bars, no reception. I try to call May, anyway, but I can’t pick up a signal.

  Cold, harsh reality hits me like a snowball to the face: it’s Christmas Eve—and I’m all alone.

  “Mew, mew, mro-o-o-w…”

  For a moment, I just sit there. Was that the wind? Did I imagine that I just heard—

  “Me-owwww…”

  I gasp, blink, stand up.

  Okay.

  Maybe I’m not all alone.

  Brushing the snow out of my eyes, I turn around, scanning the white, white ground for a meowing smudge of black. It doesn’t take long to find it; I only have to look as far as my feet: there, neatly nestled against the toes of my faux leather boots, is a shivering bundle of dark, wet fur.

  Without a moment’s hesitation, I scoop the kitten into my hands and cradle it close. It’s so small, eight weeks old or younger. It mews pitifully three or four times as it settles against me, hiding its face in the crook of my elbow.

  “Shh, shh, it’s okay, you’re safe,” I whisper, and the realization that I’m responsible for the life of this kitten sends a spike of adrenaline racing through my body. I have to think fast, act fast. A cat this tiny won’t survive long out in the cold. It may have already caught a respiratory infection. I need to get it someplace warm now…

  My mind empty of ideas, I stare off at a star; its warm yellow light calms me, lulls me, and, unthinking, I begin to walk toward it, my boots crunching in the snow.

  No… That’s not a star, I realize then, panting in the frozen air. Though the glow ahead is as brilliant as a star in the stark black-and-white landscape surrounding me, I can make out a dim outline behind it—a house-shaped outline.

  A house!

  Surprised, I shuffle through my memory bank, trying to remember whether I had ever noticed a house at this position on the mountainside. Maybe I had… I can vaguely recall a small cabin with a rabbit-shaped weathervane—only because I vaguely recall Tasha remarking on the weathervane, calling it tacky. I appreciated the whimsy of it, and told her as much. Of course, Tasha and I had vastly differing tastes in, well, everything.

  We could’ve gotten past our differences, though, worked through them, if it weren’t for our biggest difference of all: I loved her, and Tasha didn’t love me—at least, she didn’t love me enough.

  I lick my dry lips, push away thoughts of my erstwhile ex, and begin to walk faster, chest aching from the cold.

  I’m not sure if this is the cabin with the rabbit weathervane, but—God, if this really is a cabin, and if the people inside will deign to let us in, we might actually be all right, the kitten and me.

  I pick up my pace and stumble a little; my head feels strange, fuzzy, and my face is too hot, but there’s no time to waste. The damp bundle of fur nestled against my arm hasn’t made a sound since I first lifted it out of the snow. I can feel its frantic heartbeat on my fingertip, a match for the rhythm of my own racing heart.

  After I reach the side of the wide road and approach a wooded hilltop, sliding in the slush, I squint at a dark slash wending through some low bushes. A driveway, and the house—it definitely is a house—is less than a hundred feet away now, though the driving snow makes it appear faraway, out of reach. In my dizziness, I trip over a root. I catch myself against a narrow tree trunk, careful not to injure the kitten, and half-shuffle, half-drag my feet the rest of the way, until, at last, I reach the light.

  And the door.

  I don’t knock so much as fall against the weather-beaten wood, relieved to have found civilization—and, I hope, company—in the white, wide wilderness. Cheek pressed to the doorframe, I draw in slow, icy breaths as the snowflakes build up on my lashes.

  Sleep… I just want to sleep.

  When the door swings open, I fall again, not onto the floor but into someone’s arms—strong arms, and gentle, too, but when I try to look at the face of my rescuer, all I see is black, black spreading and spreading until it seems as if the whole world has gone dark…

  I’m passing out. I’m losing consciousness.

  The moment after this realization washes over me, I’m seized by a terror so sharp that it cuts through me like a knife. I can’t blackout now, not until I know I’m safe, that the kitten’s safe—

  Sing, Lil, Dad would say. Sing, sing, until the fear goes away.

  So, collapsed in the stranger’s arms, I part my lips and croak: “Jingle—”

  ---

  The first thought that occurs to me, before I even open my eyes, is fire. Fire… There’s a fire nearby, very close. A safe fire, a comfortable fire. I can hear the crackling of the tinder, smell the sweet burning scent of the wood, and there’s a cozy, bright heat radiating all over my body, from my face to my feet. But I feel a separate heat, too, nestled like a warm egg against my stomach…

  My eyes slit open, and I peer down at the sleeping circle of black fur cuddled beside me, watching its slow, steady breaths. One tiny ear flicks, and the tail—tipped with a spot of white—thumps lightly before settling, stilling.

  “Merry Christmas, Snow White.”

  “What?” Startled by the voice—smooth, husky, unfamiliar—I rise up on my arm and take quick inventory of the scene around me. I’m lying on a dark green couch, curled up on my side with the napping kitten, and there’s a fireplace to my right, an open kitchen to my left, its rafters hung with shiny copper pots and woven baskets. To the left of the kitchen is a hallway and the front door, and beside the front door, centered with the large bow window, is a full-size Christmas tree illuminated with hundreds of little white lights.

  Those lights… They must have produced the glow I followed through the blizzard, the light that I mistook for a star…

  “Are you cold? Do you want another blanket?”

  “What?” I say again, feeling stupid, confused, lost…but then I lose myself in an different way, falling into a pair of dark brown eyes rimmed with long, curling black lashes; my heart begins to trip over its beats. “Blankets?” I whisper, watching the mouth that had spoken to me as it curves into a soft, sideways smile.

  “I’ve piled most of the blankets I have on top of you already, but I think there are two or three more in the bedroom chest, if you’ve got a chill.”

  “No, I…” I shake my head; heat rushes to my face. “I’m very warm. Thank you. I—I’m sorry that I just…appeared on your doorstep like that—”

  “I’m not.” Now the mouth is fully smiling, teasing me, and one of those beautiful brown eyes opens and closes in a wink.

  Flushed, I sit up quickly—too quickly; wooziness washes over me, and I shake my head, trying to shake it off. There’s no way I’m fainting again. I’ve already embarrassed myself thoroughly and imposed on this stranger. This stranger…with her long, slender fingers loosely woven together, with her wide, friendly mouth and gentle, amused eyes. Her light brown hair is drawn up into a loose knot at the back of her head. She’s wearing black boots over black skinny jeans with a white button-down shirt; the top three buttons, I can’t help but notice, have been left undone, and a tiny star pendant gleams between her collarbones.

  I reposition the kitten against me as I gaze at the woman seated in the big plaid-covered chair. Inhal
ing deeply, I muster up an uncertain smile of my own. Then: “Hi,” I say hoarsely, feeling self-conscious, sheepish. I rake a hand back through my long, tangled hair and cough into my hand.

  “Hi.” The woman’s smile deepens. She crosses her legs as she regards me thoughtfully, narrowing her brows. “So, let me guess. You’re on the run. Maybe you’ve…run away from the circus?”

  “The circus?” I laugh.

  “I figured you and Jingle there might have an act. Either that, or you stepped straight out of a fairy tale. I’m afraid you won’t find seven dwarves here, though—or any apples, poison or otherwise.” She winks again. “But I do have apple pie.”

  Silent, I watch her, biting my lip. She’s mesmerizing, so confident and calm—the exact opposite of Tasha, who was always tense or angry about something, never comfortable, never, ever soft. I thought I liked that about her, that lively, crackling energy. Tasha had a spark.

  But her lightning-bolt aura wore me down; most nights, I fell into bed exhausted, frazzled, ill at ease. Sometimes I just wanted her to hold me, but it was always sex or nothing with her; Tasha was the least sentimental person I have ever known.

  She laughed when other people—including me—cried.

  To be honest, I’m not sure what drew me to her…

  And I definitely can’t remember feeling the magnetic pull with Tasha that I’m feeling with the long, lean, lovely woman seated across from me now.

  “I’m Lily,” I tell her, my voice surprisingly clear.

  “Nice to meet you, Lily. I’m Silver.”

  “Silver?”

  “Sil.” Again, she gives me that slanted, knee-weakening grin. “My mom had a thing for Christmas, and her favorite song was ‘Silver Bells.’”

  “Oh.” I smile. “That’s sweet. Pretty.”

  Adorably, she tilts her head to one side. “Thanks. So I kind of feel an affinity to Jingle over there.” She waves toward the kitten.

  I wrinkle my brow, confused. “Jingle?”

  “Oh… Sorry. You said Jingle before you fell into my arms. I thought you were talking about the kitten, asking me to catch him, too. I figured his name was Jingle, after ‘Jingle Bells.’ No?”

  I shake my head.

  “Too bad. It seems to suit the little guy,” she smiles. “Don’t worry. He ate a can of tuna and drank some water before he cuddled there on the couch with you. I think he’ll be fine.”

  “Thank you. I… To be honest, he doesn’t even have a name. I didn’t even know he was a he—”

  “You didn’t?”

  I shake my head again, smoothing a hand over the kitten’s soft back. His fur has dried now to reveal a thick, fluffy coat. “I found him in the snow. I nearly hit him with my car, but I swerved, crashed…and then the car wouldn’t start, so we just began walking and…” I gaze at her, shrugging lightly. “I saw your Christmas tree lights. If I hadn’t seen them, followed them, I don’t what I would have done.” I watch as she takes this in, her lips slightly parted, brown eyes glinting amber in the firelight. “Thank you for opening your door.”

  “You’re welcome.” Somehow this woman exudes softness and sexiness all at once. She doesn’t speak another word, only leans forward, closing the space between us, and gently squeezes my hand with her own. Her eyes latch onto my eyes, and again, I feel lost in them—but safe, quiet, and still.

  “Can I get you some tea, Lily?” Silver half-whispers, and I nod my head vaguely, though I’m loathe to lose eye contact with her, or the touch of her hand. Her ringless hand. “I’ve already got the kettle on the stove. It’ll only take a minute. In the meantime, if you need the restroom, it’s right down the hall, past the kitchen. Sorry, I’d offer you a phone, but my cell doesn’t seem to work up here.”

  “Mine, either. But thanks.”

  I stand up and stretch, taking care not to upset the sleeping cat. He rearranges his paws beneath his chin, snuggling himself into a tiny black ball nestled in the blankets. Silver, pulling mugs from the cupboard in the kitchen, smiles at me as I walk past her and step into the bathroom, shutting the door closed behind me.

  For a moment, I stare at my red-cheeked, wide-eyed face in the mirror, haloed with a mess of black hair, and try to relax as waves of emotion ripple through me. First, shock: was I really in a car accident on the mountain? Oh, my God, I could have died… I could have driven off the embankment, or froze.

  Second, relief: It’s okay. I’m well, warm, and the kitten is comfortable and taken care of, too. I smile softly at the thought of him. I was too heartbroken after Tasha took Bennie to consider adopting another pet, but…

  I bite my lip.

  I’ve missed the pitter-patter of little paws, the cuddly nuzzles, the unconditional love.

  And third, well… I think of Silver’s deep, dark, teasing gaze, and something stirs within me, something that’s been in stoic hibernation ever since last Christmas Eve.

  Sighing, I frown at my reflection.

  Really, Lily… What are the chances that my random rescuer is not only a lesbian but also available and attracted to the bedraggled woman she dragged out of a blizzard?

  Not so good, I think dejectedly—but then I remember May’s admonishment of my glass half-empty point of view.

  Hey…it is Christmas Eve, after all.

  Reindeer fly. Magic happens.

  Anything is possible.

  Maybe.

  Possibly…

  By the time I come out of the bathroom, Silver has placed two steaming mugs of tea on the small dining table, along with a plate of iced sugar cookies shaped like snowflakes. At the sight of the cookies, my stomach growls ferociously—so ferociously that Silver glances at me in surprise.

  “Are you that hungry? I’m sorry. I should have offered you something substantial to eat. Um, well, I could warm up some chili—”

  “Actually,” I begin, smiling apologetically as I shove my hands into the back pockets of my jeans, “did you mention something about…apple pie?”

  She laughs and steps toward the counter, lifting a covered pie plate and removing the lid to reveal a creation of flaky, golden brown, with festive little stars cut into the top of the crust. “It just came out of the oven before you arrived. Want some vanilla ice cream, too?”

  “Please,” I smile, sitting down at the table and breathing in the sweet, creamy scent wafting from my mug of tea.

  “You know,” Silver says, as she sinks a knife into the pie and places two slices on a plate, “if you hadn’t knocked on my door, I would have probably eaten this whole pie by myself.”

  “Sorry,” I smile. “That sounds like an awesome way to celebrate Christmas to me.” I trace a finger around the rim of my mug. “Actually, I was planning on eating a whole apple pie at my family’s cabin tonight, so it’s pretty fortuitous that you have one here.”

  “Mm. Fate, I guess.” Silver pauses, gazing softly at me. Her lips part, as if she wants to say something more, but then she shakes her head and opens the freezer door to take out the ice cream carton. “One scoop or two?”

  “Um…three?”

  Again, that low, husky laugh. “This is my favorite ice cream, you know. Pure vanilla bean, churned by a creamery back in Rochester, and I don’t share my favorite ice cream with anyone.” She stares at me for a long moment, her mouth curved, teasing, as if she’s sizing me up. Finally, she offers a begrudging nod and sinks the spoon into the vanilla. “But it’s Christmas Eve, so what the hell…” Silver smiles at me as she carries the plate—now heaped with ice cream—over to the table, along with two forks. “I’ll make an exception, just this once.”

  I grin. “That’s generous of you. So…” I count on my fingers. “I owe you a can of tuna, a slice of apple pie, and a carton of vanilla ice cream from Frida’s Freezies.”

  “You know Frida’s Freezies?”

  “It’s my favorite ice cream place, too. I live two blocks down from the shop, so I may or may not stop there, oh, every single day during the summer. For breakfast.�
��

  Silver takes the chair beside me and slides a fork into my hand. “Funny we’ve never run into each other, then. I live in the apartment right above Frida’s. Well, I’ve only been in town for a couple of months, though.”

  “Oh? Where did you live before?”

  “Maine. But my relationship dissolved, and I just…needed to start over somewhere new. I’ve kind of fallen in love with the city.”

  “Rochester’s great. I grew up there, so I’m pretty attached to it, even though all of my family has moved away.” I take a bite of the apple pie, and the world seems to glow a little brighter. Even the lights on the Christmas tree look more beautiful than before. “Oh, my God, this is amazing. You made this?”

  “Mm.” Silver tilts her head shyly. “I’m kind of trying to start up a little business. Pies, cakes, cookies. I work in a bookstore to pay the bills, but pastries are my passion.” She laughs. “Sorry, that sounds really cheesy.”

  “No, no.” I lick my lips, surprised—and, suddenly, a little too hopeful. Silver hasn’t given me any concrete indication that she’s gay, but she has been hitting my all of my telltale gaydar buttons. Maybe that’s just wishful thinking… Maybe I’m just really, really attracted to her…and am letting my imagination—and a near-concussion—get the better of me.

  I clear my throat. “I’m into pastries myself. Well, chocolates. My friend Lucy and I have a chocolate shop on Maple, L & L Sweets.”

  Silver drops her fork; it clatters onto the plate, causing the kitten to stir on the couch. He makes a teeny-tiny mew. “You own a chocolate shop in Rochester? Handmade chocolates? Why have I never been there?”

  “I don’t know,” I smile. “Why haven’t you?”

  I sink into Silver’s warm brown eyes again as her gaze flickers over my own eyes, and then drifts downward to my mouth… “Lily,” she says, and the sound of my name spoken in her low, gentle voice sends a white-hot thrill from my head to my toes. “Are you—”