by Kim Golden
"I knew you would taste good…" he murmurs. "I knew…"
And so it begins again. We make love once more in the dying firelight as snowflakes scratch at the windows and the wind whistles through unseen gaps. I take what I want of him, he gives in return. I don't know what time it is when we drift into a fog of sleep, but when I wake in the middle of the night from the vibrating buzz of my cell phone, I convince myself it must already be morning. I scramble out of bed and search for my phone. It takes a few moments before I locate it under the bed, hidden by my hastily discarded panties and Jake's socks.
I answer with a whispered, "Hello?"
"Why are you whispering?" Oh God, it's my mother.
I tug on my shirt and go out into the hallway. "I was asleep…"
"So, why are you whispering? Oh…don't tell me you brought that idiot with you."
"No, he showed up—so did his wife…they're in the guest house."
"Oh my God. Send them home, Mia. You should be focusing on your life, not their drama."
"Considering I was part of the drama until recently, I can't really say that I am blameless."
"Oh poppycock. You told him you didn't want to see him anymore, didn't you?"
"Of course I did…"
"So then, why are you whispering? Oh, now wait…have you hit it off with your tenant then?"
"Mom, please."
"You're not answering. Then I must be right. Well, I can't say I am surprised. He's definitely good-looking."
"You've met him?"
"Of course I have. You think I'd let a stranger move into my mother's house?" In the background it sounds like there is a party going on wherever my mother is.
"Are you still in Mexico?" I ask, wishing I'd put on my sheepskin slippers. The hardwood floors in the hall are chilly. I could slip back in the bedroom, but I don't want to wake Jake.
"No, Sweetie, I am at the airport in Miami," my mother replies. Someone calls out her name and she tells them to shush, she's on the phone with her only daughter.
"What are you doing in Miami? I thought you were staying in Mexico until New Year's Eve."
"I felt bad leaving you in Vermont by yourself," she laughs. "Well, Ruth was right—she told me you and Jake would hit it off like a house on fire."
"So, you don't mind?"
"Honey, why should I mind?"
"All you ever used to tell me was that I should find a strong, black man to love me."
"I just wanted you to find someone who would make you happy, my darling girl." I can almost hear my mother smiling through the phone. "Now, tell me the truth—do you want me to come and spend Christmas with you, or would you rather be on your own?"
"Come…we've already got Melissa and Evan here…and the guest rooms in the main house are ready."
"I'm not intruding on you two turtledoves," my mother laughs. "I'll stay with Ruth Carter. Give us a chance to gossip. Now, you go back to sleep. We can talk more tomorrow."
I creep back into the bedroom and resume my spot in bed, curled around Jake's warm body, and drift back into a deep, satisfied sleep.
In the morning, freshly fallen snow blankets the yard and the sky is a bright, crystalline blue. It's the sort of day I loved when I'd come here as a child. I would put on my clothes as quickly as possible, not caring a bit how cold it was, and make snow angels. I'd stare up at the sky and make wishes, even though Grandma Ruth always told me wishes were meant to be saved for the night's first stars. I could never wait. I shared my wishes with sunlight, snowflakes, the pine-scented breeze… I was liberal with them, figuring the more I shared them, the faster they might come true.
It's still early. Jake is still sleeping. Heat rolls off his body and lulls me, but I force myself out of bed, take a quick shower and put on my warmest thermals, turtleneck sweater, and snow pants. I find a clean pair of rag socks and my parka in the laundry room and then shove my feet in my duck boots and grab my gloves.
The air is just as refreshingly crisp as I'd hoped it would be. When I exhale, my breath forms long, creamy tendrils of steam. I look up at the perfectly blue sky and let myself fall back into the deep snow. I expect a hard landing, but the snow is so deep and powdery that it cushions my fall. I close my eyes and feel the winter sun touch my face. Then I stretch out my arms and legs and move them back and forth. The cold seeps in through my layers of clothing, but I lay there until I know the snow will have a perfect imprint of my body. Then I carefully stand and inspect my masterpiece. Perfect! I'm thinking of making a second one when Jake startles me.
"What are you doing out here?" he asks and folds his arms around me. I lean back into him, enjoying his solidness and the warmth he exudes.
"Making snow angels," I explain. "You have to make one too. It's a tradition."
He laughs, but he goes along with it and makes a lovely snow angel next to mine. "I should take a picture of this…" he says and heads toward the guest house. He returns a few minutes later with a heavy-looking camera and takes a few shots of our angels. Then he gets me to pose for him. "I want us to remember this," he says, "for posterity's sake…"
"Why's that?" I ask him with a smile.
"Because this is the day you realized you're in love with me," he says casually, "and it's the anniversary of when your grandparents met…so it must mean something."
My smile widens. "Who told you?"
"Doris at the diner. It's true, isn't it?"
"Yup, it is," I say and link my arm with his. We walk back to the house and then brush snow off one another. "They met on Christmas Eve and then they were married by Midsummer's Eve."
"They didn't waste any time."
"They both knew when they had a good thing."
"I like that."
We kiss under the mistletoe and then go inside to warm up. We've got a full day ahead of us.
I haven't seen Melissa in two days, but she is still here. Her car is still parked in my driveway. At night, the lights are on in the guest house, so when I bump into her as I collect the mail, it catches me by surprise. She is bundled in her thick, wool overcoat and a fuzzy, turquoise scarf that brings out the color of her eyes. She's brushed her hair into submission and scraped it back in a bun without a single strand out of place. She minces forward on careful feet. Her high-heeled boots are not really the best winter wear for Vermont, but this is her first time here. Everyone makes that mistake when they first arrive—thinking the snow can't be as deep or the sidewalks as icy as they say.
After our talk a few days ago, the air between us feels less awkward. We both exchange smiles, but we don't hug. We've never been the sort of friends who hug, but, then again, because of Evan, we've never really been friends.
"Are you getting on okay in the guest house?" I ask her. "Jake said he restocked the firewood yesterday while you were out."
"We're snug and cozy," Melissa assures me. She reaches out and pats my arm. It's a stilted gesture, the sort you use with relatives you haven't seen in ages or colleagues. Maybe now that she knows what happened wasn't something I pursued without encouragement and that I regret it, we can learn to like each other. Her left hook proves she isn't the spineless, simpering creature Evan always painted her out to be. And she knows I am no man-eater or home-wrecker. At least, not anymore. Something good should come out of all of this. "I…I wanted to thank you for letting us stay. Even with all the trouble Evan caused…and the outburst. I don't really know what got into me that day."
"You were definitely within reason," I say. "And you're welcome. I just hope you two can work something out."
"We will. Evan knows I'll leave if he doesn't go to marriage counseling. I don't want to raise our baby on my own, so if he wants to be in his son's life he'd better get his act together."
I tuck my stack of letters in the inner pocket of my parka and draw up the zipper again. As we slowly walk up the driveway, I link my arm through Melissa's and ask her if she wants to stay until after Christmas, instead of driving back to Philadelphia today.
"We need to get on the road again," she says. "I want to spend Christmas at home, so does Evan. But I appreciate the offer—you have such a beautiful place here. It is like a Christmas card."
"It is nice here, isn't it? I used to take it for granted, since I was here so often, but then I realized how much I loved it here."
"What will you and Jake do now?"
"We're singing tonight with the carolers," I tell her. "It's a local tradition. We start at the nursing home, and then the local hospital and we cheer up the patients. Then we make our last stop at the village green and we sing in Christmas with the town."
"That sounds so wonderful," Melissa says wistfully. "We used to go caroling in my hometown, too. I always loved it."
"You should stay, stay for the caroling and then tomorrow we could all have Christmas dinner together."
"No, no…we can't impose—"
"Melissa, what do a few more days matter? You can be on the road back to Philadelphia on the 26th or the 27th and spend New Year's Eve at home." I can't believe the words are coming out of my mouth, but it feels right. Besides, it's not as though we'll be alone anyway, my mother will be arriving soon and I can imagine she'll want to eat Christmas dinner with me, so she can gloat over what she and Ruth Carter had already predicted—that Jake and I would be perfect for one another. I almost wonder if they planned this from the beginning. "I always cook way too much…and we can think of it as a new beginning for you and me."
Melissa smiles and, for the first time, hugs me. "I always liked you," she says softly. "Even when I knew you were seeing Evan behind my back, I liked you. I just never understood why you hated me so much."
"It was silly," I tell her. "You had what I thought I wanted and deserved. I just didn't realize I was betting on the wrong horse." I look up at my bedroom windows. The curtains are open now. Jake must be awake. "Do you want to have breakfast with us?"
Melissa shakes her head. "We're going to drive into Windsor today. I know it's early, but I want to pick up a cradle I saw there when I was on my way here."
I nod and then say, "Well, if you want to join us for caroling, be ready at two. Or make sure you're at the village green by seven. It'll really put you in the Christmas spirit."
She smiles and nods. "I think we'll meet you at the green then. But first, I want more of that yummy pumpkin soup from the diner."
We part ways and I climb the porch steps. Inside the house is warm thanks to the fire roaring in the fireplace. The house smells like Christmas—like pine needles, cinnamon and cloves. I breathe in the scent and can't help but smile.
Last Christmas I remember coming here and being too distracted by my own problems. I didn't see how much work my grandmother put into making the house perfect for the holidays. I didn't think that she would be gone six months later. I didn't think I would ever have someone who loved only me and who'd want to spend Christmas with me.
Memories of last night stream through my mind. God, he knew exactly what to do to make my body strum. And it's this thought—of his deft fingers and mouth, of his beautiful cock and the weight of his body on mine—that is distracting me, so much that I don't notice, at first, when he is standing right in front of me. He's unzipping my coat and slipping it off my shoulders. He's sliding his warm hands under my sweater as he sucks on my lower lip…
I think this is going to be a very good Christmas indeed.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Kim Golden is a native of Philadelphia, PA. She is the author of The Melanie Chronicles, Linger: a short story and Choose Me. She lives and works in Stockholm, Sweden. Find out more about Kim, her writing, what she's reading and her latest NaNoWrimo project at kimtalksbooks.com.
If you enjoyed reading Snowbound, please drop Kim a line at [email protected] or write a review.