Snowman

by AC Netzel

  “There’s nothing wrong with my place.” Total lie. Everything is wrong with my place. But in fairness to my apartment, it’s closer to the size of a boot box. “Has dinner arrived yet?” I want to eat and get out of here so I can go home and sulk alone like I have since I’ve come back.

  After a half-hour of safe conversations about work and other mundane topics, we clear off the dining room table after our traditional Chinese takeout Christmas feast. My father carries the dirty dishes to the kitchen while I saunter back to the living room. I stop when I spot an album with a thick multicolored spine in the bookcase that I’ve never seen before.

  The smell of musty paper fills my nostrils as I remove it from the shelf. I crack the album open and gasp. It’s loaded with page after page of photos of me as an infant all the way through third grade. Memories from long-ago vacations of the three of us are documented in my mother’s handwriting. Yellowed adhesive corners and faded whimsical stickers hold the photos in place.

  “Looks like I’ll have plenty of leftovers for tomorrow,” my dad says as he walks into the living room. “Would you like to take some home?” He freezes when he spots the album in my hand.

  Tilting my head, I look at him and frown. “I’ve never seen this before.”

  “I found it in a box in the back of my storage unit in the basement. Your mom sure loved documenting our every move.” He walks to the couch and sits, patting the empty cushion next to him, motioning me to join him.

  “Mom made this?” With the album in my hand, I sit in the vacant spot.

  “She started scrapbooking when she first got sick. Let’s take a look together.” He removes his reading glasses from his front shirt pocket and slips them on.

  “Are you sure?” Memories and my father don’t usually mix well.

  Removing the book from my lap, he reopens it and chuckles when we look at the first picture of my mother holding me. “You were a pudgy baby. Look at all those rolls on your legs.”

  I read the caption my mother wrote:

  Our perfect Summer.

  I chuckle. “Aww, look at little me. Mom looks exhausted in this picture.”

  “She was. You were colicky until you were four months old.”

  “I didn’t know that.”

  “Oh, you were horrible.”

  I bump my shoulder against his. “Gee, thanks, Dad.”

  He laughs. “Thankfully, you grew out of it.”

  I’m shocked by his candidness. Is he on some sort of new medication? This man sitting next to me, smiling, and actually sharing stories about my mother, isn’t the closed-off man I know. My father, the one who raised me, is a man trapped in a living death sentence of grief.

  This familiar stranger who looks a lot like my dad seems… happy.

  “Why isn’t Mom in most of these photos?” I ask.

  “She was always the one taking the pictures. It’s a shame we don’t have more of her.”

  I’m stunned. He’s openly talking about her without trying to steer the conversation elsewhere like he usually does.

  We flip through page after page of holiday and milestone photographs with my mom’s comments. One page has a photo of me in tears on the Easter Bunny’s lap. I read the caption:

  Our sweet girl is not a fan of the Easter Bunny.

  “That was an understatement,” my dad chimes in. “You were in hysterics. But you did like the candy.”

  “I still like the candy,” I joke.

  “You get that from my side of the family.”

  I turn to the next photograph. I’m standing in front of a brick building in my favorite pink sweater.

  Summer’s first day of pre-school. Our brave little girl.

  I glance over at my dad and pretend I don’t see him wipe away a tear. “I remember that day.”

  “Your mom held vigil in front of the building the entire first day. Just in case you needed her.”

  “Really? I had no idea.”

  “She was a nervous wreck.”

  We’ve talked, laughed, and reminisced for over an hour over photos of memories I filed away a long time ago. Failed camping trips in the pouring rain, the first day of school, birthdays, Christmas, and every holiday in between.

  I steal a glance at my father as he smiles at each photo. This is the man I remember as a child, the carefree man come alive again.

  The loves of my life.

  I read my mother’s caption aloud while smiling at a photo of me and my dad bundled up in winter gear, holding our red plastic flying saucer sleds in a snowy background.

  My dad glances at the photo. “That was in Central Park the February before she passed away. Every time it snowed, we’d grab our sleds and ride down Pilgrim Hill.” He wraps an arm around me and pulls me in for a quick squeeze. “Those were good times.”

  “They were,” I agree. “Really good times.”

  “The best,” he chokes out.

  I turn to the last page, and my heart races. It’s a photo of my mom, bundled up in a white parka, with her arms wrapped around a snowman, kissing his round cheek. I gasp, my hand covering my mouth as I read the last caption…

  Find a Snowman who melts your heart.

  “Summer? Honey, are you okay? You’re as white as a ghost.”

  Nodding, I inhale a deep breath. My thoughts drift to the blue-eyed Snowman who melted mine. The man who thawed the heart I thought was frozen for a lifetime. The man I miss desperately.

  I think I did, Mom. I think I found him.

  “Yeah, I’m… I’m fine. Dad, can I ask you something?” I request hesitantly, knowing I’m approaching a red line area.

  “Of course.”

  “How did you know Mom was the one?”

  He looks at me thoughtfully. “It was back when we lived in Staten Island. I first saw her on the ferry heading to Manhattan during the morning rush hour. She was a vision surrounded by ordinary people. But I was young, stupid, and an arrogant wiseass. I got my shoes polished by the old shoeshine guy who worked on the ferry then walked right up to her like I was a gift from God himself. I gave her a line about what’s a nice girl like you doing on a boat like this.”

  “That’s awful.” I chuckle. “She actually fell for that cheesy line?”

  “Not at all. She looked up from the book she was reading, scowled at me, then went right back to her book.”

  “So, what did you do?”

  “I noticed she took the 1 subway line to midtown once we got into Manhattan every morning. So I started taking it too.”

  “I thought you worked downtown, right by the ferry terminal.”

  “I did.”

  “And you went uptown anyway?”

  “Yup, then back downtown to work. I was late for work every day for a month. Luckily, my boss was an old softy and let it slide. The subway ride bought me a little more time with her.”

  “Oh my God, you were a stalker.”

  He chuckles. “I suppose I was.”

  “How did you end up dating?”

  “We were sitting next to each other on the subway. As luck would have it, she dropped her book. I picked it up, handed it back to her, let the arrogant act go since it clearly wasn’t working, and said a sincere hello. It was a blistering day in June when she finally said hello back. We chatted for the rest of the subway ride. That’s when I learned just how smart and unbelievably kind she was. Hearing her voice, speaking to her… that was it for me. I knew she was pretty, but after talking to her… that’s when I saw her beauty, inside and out. I was a goner. I fell head over heels in love, right there and then. I knew immediately I was going to marry her.”

  “Really?”

  “I fell hard and fast. But matters of the heart have no timetable. I had to be patient. You can love anyone your heart chooses. The catch is—they can too. So I courted her and waited.”

  “She didn’t feel the same about you?”

  “Took her a little longer, but you don’t rush perfection.”

  “I never knew any
of this.”

  “We named you Summer because that’s when we fell in love.”

  “Really? That’s so romantic.”

  “I love your mom with all my heart. But I suppose not everyone in your life is meant to be here forever, some are only meant to stay a little while. She may have stayed for too short a time, but the love I have for her is forever. The day she died,” his eyes well up, “was the worst day of my life.”

  “Mine too.”

  He takes my hand in his and squeezes it. “I know I haven’t been the greatest father. I was so wrapped up in what we lost. I wasted so much time. I should have…”

  “You did the best you could,” I interrupt, squeezing his hand back.

  “You were just a little girl, you needed me, and I let you down. I’m sorry.”

  This conversation is seventeen years in the making. Long overdue. I’m overwhelmed with emotions as tears roll down my cheeks.

  He pulls me into a hug. “I love you, Summer.”

  “I love you too,” I sniffle out.

  He tilts his head back and smiles at me, his eyes a little red but shining with love. “Someday, I hope you find what your mom and I had. It wasn’t nearly long enough… but I wouldn’t trade a day.”

  “Dad, I met someone.”

  “You’re back with Brad?”

  “No. Not him.”

  “Good,” he states sternly. “He wasn’t right for you.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because he reminded me of me… before I met your mother. Cocky, full of himself. The guy was a jerk. And he never tried to change for you.”

  “Why didn’t you say anything?”

  “Because the heart loves who it wants to love. I thought you were happy with him.”

  “I guess I was fooling both of us.”

  “So, who is this person you met?” he asks.

  “I’ve only known him for a few days, but…”

  “But you can’t stop thinking about him?” He completes my thought with a knowing smile.

  I nod.

  Still smiling, he takes my hand in his. “You may look like your mother, but you have your old man’s romantic soul.”

  “Nothing will ever come of it,” I dismiss.

  “Why not?”

  “There are too many obstacles. The biggest being we don’t even live in the same state.”

  “But you like him?” he asks.

  “Yeah. A lot. But my life, apartment, and my job are here.”

  “Sweetheart, when your soul finds the one, it never lets it go. Distance isn’t going to stop what your heart wants, not if your heart really wants it.”

  “I’m trying to be sensible about this.”

  “Love isn’t sensible. It’s the most impractical thing you can put yourself through.”

  “I’m not in love with him. I can’t be.”

  “Your mind can convince you of anything… but your gut never lies to you. What does your gut tell you?”

  Covering my face with my hands, I shake my head. “Oh, Dad, I’m so confused.”

  “Can I ask you something?”

  “Sure.”

  “Do you like your job?”

  “Of course I do. I’m climbing the ladder, getting noticed by my boss. I mean, this week it’s felt a little off. But I’m sure it’s just me adjusting to my new position. We all have off days, right?”

  “I can’t help but feel that I pushed you into something you didn’t really want.”

  “You were right. Writing jobs were few and far between. There was no stability. I was never going to make a living at it. You did me a favor.”

  “Did I? Do you still write?”

  “Not much. Work takes up a lot of my time.”

  “But you loved it? Writing?”

  “Yes.”

  “Pursue it. Quit your job.”

  “What?” My eyes spring wide open. “I can’t do that.”

  “Why not?”

  “There are a thousand reasons. The biggest being I have bills to pay.”

  “I’ll help you out.”

  Waving him off, I sigh. “I can’t accept your money.”

  “Would you rather wait for me to die to get it?”

  “Don’t be morbid.”

  “Let an old man watch his daughter enjoy her inheritance while I’m still alive. Please, Summer, this is my way of righting a wrong. You should do what matters to you.”

  “I can’t leave my job.”

  “Okay, if you won’t leave… do you have vacation days banked?”

  “Yeah. Two weeks.”

  “Use them. Then leave the rest up to destiny. It’s never too late to be who you want to be.”

  “I don’t know, Dad.”

  “Summer, fate determines who you meet. You determine what you do with that information.” He gives me a knowing wink. “Love can be a beautiful thing—if you give it to the right person.”

  “This all seems so crazy.”

  “I thought so too… but there I was riding the subway to 50th Street every morning for a month.”

  “Proves you’re crazy too,” I joke.

  “Why doesn’t he come to New York?”

  “He has a daughter.”

  “I see. Custody issues?”

  “No, she’s actually his niece. His brother and wife died. He’s her guardian. She’s in school there.”

  “Sounds like a good man.”

  “He is,” I agree. “He asked me to stay so we could see where we went. And I answered him by getting in my car and watching him get smaller and smaller in my rearview mirror as I drove away.”

  “No matter how far you’ve gone, you can always turn around.”

  “But I love New York.”

  “You can love New York from anywhere.”

  “I don’t know. I worked hard to get where I am. To give it up for a ‘what if’ seems irresponsible.”

  “Think of all the missed opportunities there’d be if ‘what ifs’ stopped us. If you’re meant to be together… find a way to explore the possibility. Give it some thought. Okay?”

  “I will.” I wrap my arms around him and squeeze him tight.

  “Good.” He squeezes me tighter, swaying us back and forth.

  “Hey, Dad?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Are you proud of me? I mean, no matter what I decide.”

  He stops swaying, leans back, and looks directly into my eyes. “Whatever you do. Wherever you go. Always.”

  “Thank you.” My eyes brim with tears.

  “No, Summer.” His eyes are glassy, his expression lovingly grateful. “Thank you.”

  “Can I ask you one more thing?”

  “Of course.”

  “Why are you so different? Don’t get me wrong—I love it. I’ve wanted this for as long as I can remember. But you’re more open and happier than I’ve seen you in a long, long time.”

  He blushes then smiles shyly. “I met someone.”

  Chapter 35

  It’s the day after Christmas. I faked a stomach virus and called out of work. Needing to do a little soul searching, I know work’s not the place to find my soul.

  My father gave me a lot to think about. He blew my mind suggesting I leave the job he pushed me to take—and the new lady in his life news gem was a doozy. I’m glad for him. He deserves a second chance at a happy ending.

  Fifth Avenue in midtown Manhattan is packed with people here for the holiday season. I freeze in my spot, and my heart sinks when I see the Christmas window displays coming down. I guarantee Arid Falls still has their decorations up. They’ll be up next week and the week after that… and probably the week after that too.

  My heart leaps when I spot the back of a man wearing a black beanie cap and a little girl in a puffy pink jacket walking hand in hand a few feet ahead of me.

  Oh my God. They came for me.

  A wide grin is plastered across my face as I race to catch up to them. “Nick! Noelle!” I call out. The man stops and turns
around. My stomach sinks to the sidewalk. “Sorry,” I apologize, “I… I thought you were someone else.”

  He nods then ducks into a souvenir shop with his daughter, probably to avoid the nutjob yelling random names at them.

  Embarrassed and dejected, I continue down 50th Street until I reach Broadway and smile when I spot the entrance to the subway station. It’s the same subway station where my lovesick father stalked my mother. I walk down the concrete staircase, swiping my MetroCard at the turnstile, and wait for the train to the South Ferry Station. Something inside me has an unexplainable need to go to the Staten Island ferry, the place where my dad first spotted the love of his life.

  The cold air doesn’t weigh down the smell of brake dust and a curious burning scent that fills the air as I wait for my train. I smile as I watch a young couple, holding hands and laughing together. I picture my parents, young and in love like them, in this very spot.

  The train arrives, and I ride it downtown to the South Ferry station. Entering the ferry terminal, I luck out. The boat is still docked, and the passengers are boarding. Running for it before they close the gates, I barely make it as the ferry attendant waves me in.

  Huffing hard from my dash, I grab a seat by a window. The ferry blasts its horn, echoing through the boat and probably most of lower Manhattan when we pull away from the slip. A wistful smile lifts from my lips as I admire New York Harbor and we begin our journey to the St. George Ferry Terminal on the Staten Island side.

  We sail past impressive red brick and limestone buildings on Ellis Island in the distance. Abundant in history and rich in meaning. The place where immigrants first took a gamble on their new life. I’ve marveled at this view so many times and never bothered taking a few hours to visit it.

  I gaze at the Statue of Liberty as we approach her. Standing tall with her torch held proudly above her head and book carried in her other hand like a copper Goddess draped in green patina. No matter how many times I’ve seen her, she always takes my breath away. I stare at her torch, golden, shining in the sun… lighting the way to new beginnings.

  I admire Lady Liberty herself, majestic and grand, welcoming people who took a chance on their futures.