Let It Snow

by Cassie Cross

  “It’s a return ticket,” he says as I blink through tears and attempt not to become a full-on blubbering mess. “You love Christmas, and you love Connecticut and being with your family there.”

  Even though I can see where this is going, I ask anyway. “And how am I getting there?”

  “Easy,” he says when I look up at him, his eyes soft and smiley but his gaze intense. “You’re coming with me.”

  Chapter Two

  I’m flopped sideways across my bed, staring at the ticket.

  I want to cry every time I look at it, because it means so many things for me.

  Last month, when I realized that my finances just weren’t in a place where I could pay the $700 round-trip price for a plane ticket home for Christmas, I lied to my mom and told her I had to work and couldn’t make it back. Josh was with me when I called, and I thought at the time that he’d believed me. I should’ve known that he saw right through it.

  The night after Josh’s going away party last week, I admitted that the work excuse was a lie and that things would be wrapping up for the year soon. Jerrica’s going home to Washington to spend the holidays at her family’s cabin. And difficult as it was for me to admit, I fessed up that I just didn’t have the money to go home this year.

  I mean, Josh is pretty well aware of my financial situation—you don’t live with three other people for fun—but it was still weirdly humiliating, even though he never made me feel bad about it.

  He suggested that I tell my parents that, they’d be happy to buy me a ticket. And while that is true, I reminded him that my mom would also be happy to remind me throughout my visit that I could make a much better salary if I just got to work using the degree that she paid for. And she would probably be right, except I would die inside a little bit every day. Loving what I do is one of the bright spots of my work life; it’s just the who I’m doing it for that I definitely do not love.

  So, Josh figured out a way to make it happen, like he always does. That’s why my stupid heart and all its stupid, swooping feelings whenever he’s around just won’t leave me alone.

  I slide the map out from behind the ticket.

  He’s marked off a stop near Little Rock to drive through Arkansas’ biggest light display. Another one in Nashville, because there’s a hotel downtown that set up a bar on its rooftop with private igloos made out of netting and lights for people to drink in and a band playing holiday classics. We’ll stop at a tree farm outside of Lexington so I can get a baby tree for my room at my parents’ house, and then there’s a Christmas Market in Pittsburgh he wants to stop at.

  He also promised me a trip into the city when we get home to look at all the department store windows.

  It’s a trip personalized for me by the person I love most in the world, a long goodbye full of reminders of why he’s my favorite person. The bonus is that we’ll get to spend Christmas Eve together, a tradition for the two of us. He used to climb up to my room on the trellis outside my window, and we’d exchange gifts by the little tree I had lit up in the corner by my bed. It was something we did from the time he was able to climb up reasonably safely. We’d whisper and laugh in hushed tones, little secrets between the two of us, until my mom called up and asked if Josh wanted some hot chocolate.

  Wondering how long it would take my mom to figure out he was there was always part of the fun of being sneaky. It’s something we do every year, with the exception of that time our sophomore year in college when he couldn’t take the stairs because he’d completely blown out his knee.

  His football career was over, and it was a tough time for him. Instead, I snuck into his room with a bag full of his favorite cookies and a thermos of hot chocolate. We fell asleep together on his tiny twin bed watching A Christmas Story deep into the morning.

  We went back to school that year closer than we had been before, which is saying something. With football no longer in the picture, we had nothing but time to spend together. And even though he spent hours in grueling physical therapy, he still found ways to show up to watch my track meets. When I tore my hamstring during my last run senior year, Josh carried me across the finish line.

  The picture went viral, and most people thought we were a couple. We laughed it off at the time. If 26 year-old me could see 22 year-old me now…

  I swallow back the tears that threaten to spill over. This is the time of day when I usually cry about Josh leaving, when I really let it hit me what a seismic shift his absence will be in my life. But I really don’t want to cry tonight.

  A soft knock saves me. I roll over and see my favorite roommate, Halle, at the door. We’ve known each other for years; we met during freshman orientation.

  “Hey,” she says, her arms folded across her chest and her head tilted a little in a way that just screams sympathy. She’s come home to me like this enough times the past couple of weeks to know what’s going on in this jumbled-up brain of mine. She walks over and takes a seat next to me on the mattress. “What’s that?”

  I look back at the paper, then turn it around so she can see. “Josh knew I couldn’t afford to go home for Christmas, so he wants me to drive up to Connecticut with him. He bought me a plane ticket back.”

  She smiles softly. “What’s the sharpie?”

  “A map with things marked off that he thought I would like.”

  “God, I’d kill for a boyfriend like him. And I think if you told him how you feel about him, that might clear up a lot of your issues.”

  “It’d probably create about a thousand more,” I tell her. “Risking twenty-six years of friendship on a crush?”

  Halle purses her lips. “I think we both know it’s not a crush.”

  “That makes it worse, doesn’t it? Crushes are easy to laugh off, this…” I can’t even bear to say it out loud. “This isn’t. This ruins things, it…nothing good will come from telling him.”

  “Unless he feels the same way. Literally everything you tell me about him indicates that he does.”

  “Trust me, that’s just…it’s Josh. He loves me, but he’s definitely not in love with me. He’s just always been thoughtful like this where I’m concerned, when he was single and when he wasn’t.”

  Granted, he’s been single lately more often than not. He’s pretty much stopped dating—or at least telling me about it—over the past year. Before that, there was a weird sometimes on but mostly off long-distance thing with his girlfriend from high school, Laurel. Those two always seem to find their way back to each other, no matter how messy things get.

  Halle makes a face and shakes her head, making a few pieces of her blonde hair fall out of the loose bun piled on top of her head. “Please don’t remind me of Laurel ever again.”

  I laugh. Halle had the misfortune of standing too close to Laurel after she’d had too much to drink at a bar we went to one night when she was here visiting Josh back in college. Laurel heaved, and that was the end of Halle’s shoes.

  That weekend was also the end of Laurel and Josh, until they reconciled another two years later for three turbulent months. That’s the last I ever heard of her, but I know she’s out there on the periphery, back in Connecticut, still single.

  She and Josh have always been like dysfunctional magnets, attracting before repelling. I don’t really like to think about it, because there’s this worry deep inside of me that one day they’ll wind up sticking.

  “Sorry,” I say. “He’s just going back home and she’s there. And it’s not that I’m worried about them getting back together for my own sake, although…there is that, it’s just that she wasn’t ever good for Josh, but when has that stopped him.”

  “You should go back to New York with him,” she says.

  “I am, that’s what the ticket’s for.” I wave it in her face, because we’ve talked about this.

  “No, I mean for good. You don’t love it here. Two of our roommates are lunatics. I’m here by choice, so I can pay down my student loans, but you’re stuck working for a witch who do
esn’t pay you what you’re worth. You’re stuck in a rut here. Go home, be free, find a life that’s worthy of you. Live a little.”

  “I can’t just pack up and go.”

  “Why not?” she asks. “He is.”

  “I’m not following Josh back home.”

  “You wouldn’t be. You’d just be going there together. Quit that dead-end job you have, throw all your stuff in a box and get out of here. If you’re gonna move across country on a whim, now’s the time. I mean, what do we have here? Queso? Yes, it’s delicious, but…barbecue? Also delicious, but not worth staying for. You said you miss the seasons.”

  I sigh dreamily. “Seasons are nice.”

  “The urban sprawl of New York City has about fifty times the job opportunities for you, babe. You should think about it.”

  “Okay,” I tell her, even though I’m not going to do that.

  “When are you leaving?”

  “Saturday? First thing.”

  “Good,” she says, patting my knee. “I’m gonna dig that down coat you love out of the back of my closet and let you borrow it. It’s snowy up there, you’re definitely gonna need it.”

  “Thanks, Hal.” Snow. God, I miss it. A shiver of anticipation runs through me.

  Saturday morning, I sit in Josh’s SUV that’s packed to the gills. He kept a little space in the backseat clear for my suitcase, but there’s little room to move outside of the driver and passenger seats. Halle zipped the down coat that I borrowed closed and gave me a hug when she dropped me off here this morning.

  She playfully whispered in my ear, “Don’t come back.”

  I waved at her while assuring her that I’d see her in a couple of weeks.

  Now it’s Josh’s turn to say his goodbyes to Parker. They’re awkwardly standing on the sidewalk outside their apartment like a couple of guys.

  Parker goes in for a quick bro hug, then waves before he heads inside. Josh opens the driver’s side door with a gust of freezing air, and I shiver despite my coat.

  “I turned on the seat heater,” I tell him. “And I brought you a last cup of coffee.”

  He grins and immediately goes for the blue steel thermal cup that I put in the holder. He takes a deep breath and then gulps down a mouthful.

  “I don’t know what you do to this, but you always make the best coffee.”

  What I do to it is grind a little nutmeg in it, which is my secret. I think I’ll reveal it to him before I head back home after New Year’s. The thought of him thinking of me while he drinks his morning coffee sends a shiver down my spine.

  “You ready?” he asks. His cheeks are rosy red, and the wind has made his hair all messy. He looks happy and excited, and I want to take my phone out to get a picture so I can remember him just like this.

  “Ready,” I say, even though I’m really not. The second he presses the ignition and we pull out of his parking spot, I’m reminded that this trip is going to be full of lasts, and it hurts to think about.

  “Okay, let’s get this show on the road.”

  Only we don’t get the show on the road exactly, we get the show on the road to Valentina’s, our favorite taco spot, for some farewell breakfast tacos. Josh waits at the window of the teardrop trailer for our order, while I head inside the barn where there’s tables and heat, glorious heat. I fiddle with the napkin while I wait for him, a flurry of nerves in my stomach.

  This is really the last time we’ll be having tacos here together, on a trip where I’m going to have to say goodbye to him at the end and fly home by myself. We’re on the precipice of this giant change, one where I go from seeing him all the time and knowing him better than anyone, to seeing him rarely and not really knowing him at all.

  I know this move doesn’t have to change anything, but people make promises to each other all the time that distance and time apart make them break. The thought has been gnawing at me, making tears spring in my eyes that I tried to hide by looking out the window.

  Before long, Josh heads over with a tray full of foil-wrapped deliciousness. We eat in silence, because the awkwardness that invaded the car has taken root in the air between us.

  I look down at my pork belly tacos, wanting to enjoy them but feeling a sudden loss of appetite. Josh reaches over and gently tilts my head up, because he’s never been the kind of guy who’s let me stew in my emotions for long without trying to help.

  “Wanna tell me what’s gotten you so quiet?” he asks.

  I shrug, because for the most part we’ve avoided any deep conversations about him leaving, and I certainly don’t want to start one while we’re here in public and everyone will see if I break down.

  “It just hit me this morning that you’re leaving,” I manage to get out around the lump in my throat. “Before it was just a thing that you were preparing for, and I guess…I don’t know, I guess I hadn’t thought much about what it would feel like when you actually did it.”

  “How does it feel?” he whispers.

  “Like shit, honestly,” I say, as we both laugh, eyes shining. “These are our last breakfast tacos.”

  He reaches over and swipes a tear off my cheek. “Not our last,” he assures me. “Just our last for a while. You’re my best girl, that’s not gonna change.”

  I nod my head, wanting to believe him. Needing it. “Yeah.”

  “Why don’t we just have the best time and try not to dwell on it too much, deal? I brought you some snacks to distract you, and we’re gonna see some Christmas lights tonight.”

  That perks me up, except for one thing… “Healthy snacks?”

  He grins before he picks up his taco. “Ames, there isn’t a green thing in the bunch.”

  Chapter Three

  We drive all day, stopping somewhere in Arkansas for a quick lunch in a park that I found on Google Maps. We have a couple of sandwiches that I made before I left the house accompanied by some chips that Josh picked up to munch on along the way.

  True to his word, there was nothing green involved.

  We get to Little Rock just before dinner, when the sun is starting to dip below the horizon. His parents treated him to a room at a ritzy hotel downtown, wanting him to get some rest and relaxation after a long day on the road.

  A bellhop takes our bags upstairs, and we have dinner at a little cafe just off the lobby before heading out to look at the lights. It’s not the biggest or best display I’ve ever seen, but it’s beautiful and fun, and Josh saw this and thought I would enjoy it, and that makes me enjoy it even more. I spend most of our drive through the park taking pictures and grinning like a fool, and every once in a while Josh stops the car so he can take a picture of me taking pictures of the lights.

  Back at the hotel, I sneak down into the spa and buy an insanely overpriced bath bomb. Back in the room, I fill the tub with hot water and drop it in, then insist Josh come in and relax a little bit, since he’s been sitting in the same position in a cramped car for hours. He argues with me for a minute or two, but I can hear the relieved sigh he lets out even through the thick wood door when he slides into the water.

  After, I absentmindedly rub his feet for him, returning the favor from last week, as he flips through the hotel’s limited channels.

  We sleep in a little and get a planned late start the next morning. This is our shortest driving day, because Nashville is only six hours away, and our reservation at the bar Josh wants to take me to doesn’t start until 7.

  It’s an unseasonably warm day, warm enough that we’re able to keep the windows down. I made a road trip playlist on my phone, and Josh and I sing along at the top of our lungs, laughing at each other when we get the words wrong. It reminds me a lot of the trip that we took together when we moved down to Austin before college. Only back then, the hotels we stayed at weren’t nearly as nice, and we ate food out of a cooler that our moms packed for us before we left.

  We stay at a hotel in Nashville that’s just on the outskirts of the city. After resting up and freshening up, we drive downtown and d
o a little exploring. We check out Music Row, eat some hot chicken, then head out to a bar to listen to some live music. It feels good to stretch our legs a little, and be out and about after being stuck in a car all day.

  My eyes light up when we get to the top of the Bobby Hotel and are led to our own private heated igloo. The inside is cozy and warm, and the band nearby is jamming to a rock version of “Baby It’s Cold Outside.”

  I ask for a peppermint chocolate liqueur drink, and Josh orders a beer. We sit together and soak up the atmosphere, enjoying the beautiful way the lights bounce off of the plastic igloo enclosures.

  Eventually we head out, and before we leave I pull Josh over to the one igloo-free section of the rooftop, close to the edge but not close enough to trigger any height-related anxiety. The building is relatively short considering the surrounding ones, but it still offers a dazzling view of Nashville at night.

  It’s a lot chillier now than it was when we left, so I just have a jacket on that’s no match for the wind that’s kicking up. I don’t want to leave, so I steel myself against it, but I start shivering before too long.

  Josh shoves his hands in his coat pockets, opens his arms and says, “C’mere.”

  I know it’s warm over there, so I’m on him in a second. I wrap my arms around his waist, my hands warming almost immediately from the body heat he’s generating. He wraps his arms around me, positioning his jacket so that my head sticks out, but holding me close enough that he gets as much of the leather around me as he can.

  I press my cheek against his chest, feeling his heartbeat thump quickly against my skin.

  I love being close to Josh. He’s always made me feel safe and protected, but he has this smell. It’s something I never noticed or thought about in the before times, when my heart was able to function normally around him. But since that day on Lake Austin, I just want to breathe him in all the time, this comforting scent of warmth and soap and him. If it could be bottled, I’d buy a lifetime supply.