Let It Snow Part 13

Michael laughs.

"What'd I say?"

"Sorry. That just sounded strange. I thought you were trying to ironically break the ice, so to speak."

"What? Do you come here often?" she says out loud again, searching for the humor. "Oh, that. Yeah, I wasn't being intentionally funny."

"I come over as often as they let me, usually once every couple weeks. I ask Eric to fit me in when they can, but they're both pretty busy."

"They are busy."

"Yeah, but they make themselves busy."

"Aren't you busy?"

"No, not really. I'm usually done with my days by the late afternoon. I try to schedule my cla.s.ses in the morning, and my office hours are always around lunch on Tuesdays and Thursdays."

"So, that's why you're never around during lunch on those days."

"That's right," he says. "You miss me?"

Holly just smiles, but he can tell she's happy with his small flirtations. These playful exchanges is how their relations.h.i.+p developed. Maybe it makes her more comfortable to play rather than act.

"I'm glad I wore boots tonight," Holly says, as they walk by the side of the house. She uses her right hand as a guide against the exterior brick of the house. She takes slow, deliberate steps in the ever-acc.u.mulating snowa"well over three inches now, particularly because it's falling on snow that was already on the ground.

As they get to the edge of the house, Holly takes a bad step and loses her balance for a second. Michael reaches over unconsciously, places his left arm around her lower back and rests his left hand firmly against her hip. His right hand is clutching her right elbow, holding her up.

They're frozen in the moment. She's leaning back into his arms, her head turned toward him. And everything is still. Everything except the snow.

"Michael, Ia""

"I don't think those boots were made for snow," he says, looking down at her high heeled knee-high boots.

"No, probably not," she whispers, her mouth only inches from his. They're so close that she can smell the sweetness of his breath, and she so badly wants to taste him. But she stops herself. She stands up straight and eases away from his arms. She bends down and wipes at the snow by her feet, and discovers that she had stumbled over a concrete gutter guide. "See, I knew I wasn't just being clumsy, though maybe I am a little dizzy from the wine."

"Maybe it's not the wine that's making you dizzy."

"Michael."

"I know. I'm being too forward."

"No. Don't apologize for yourself. It's mea But I'm trying," she says. "Really, I like that you say what's on your mind."

"You didn't always like it."

"Well, at first, your honesty, the intensity of your truth was surprising to me. But, now, it's refres.h.i.+ng. I've grown to appreciate it."

"So, I've grown on you."

"You could say that," she says, and she can't hide that smile again, that smile that hides nothing, shows all the evidence Michael needs to see that all her walls are crumbling down.

And, as they move away from the house and can see the full expanse of Eric and Annie's back yard, they stop and watch the snow fall in what seems like slow motion around them.

There is a large utility light toward the back of the yard, and it gives a dreamy quality to the night's blackness beyond its reach, like they were watching sheets of distant stars skitter across infinity.

Annie moves toward the kitchen table. She grabs her empty wine gla.s.s, picks up the bottle of wine, shakes it a little to see what's left, and pours what remains in her gla.s.s.

"You sure you want to do that?" Max asks, following her from the living room.

"Oh, I'm sure."

"You've been hitting it pretty hard since I got here."

"Since before you got here."

"Do you do a lot of drinking these days?"

"No, I don't drink very much at all actually. Tonight just happens to be one of those drinking kind of days."

"Because of me?"

"Yes. Because of you."

"Why?"

"Max, I haven't seen you in nearly ten years. Do you have any idea how much pain you've caused me?"

"I do," he says, approaching her. "You don't think I've felt it too?"

"But you brought it on yourself."

"Maybe I did."

"And, honestly, I didn't know how I'd react to seeing you tonight. I mean, I knew you were in town obviously, and knowing that was enough to sit me on edge. But I thought I had successfully avoided you. And when Eric told me you were coming tonight, I was surprised by how the news made me feel."

"And how did it make you feel?"

"I was scared. Terrified, really."

"And excited."

"I won't deny that this has been exhilarating, and, G.o.d knows, when you get to be our age, this kind of uncertaintya""

"Our age? We're barely thirty."

"Over thirty."

"Still. Life has just begun."

"You think so?"

"I hope so."

Annie sits on the edge of the table. Max pulls a chair out from the tablea"one right beside Anniea"to make room to sit on the table next to her.

"Do you think we could've been happy?" Max asks.

"If we stayed together, you mean?"

"Yeah."

"Who knows? That's nothing but a fantasy now."

"You've never thought about it?"

"Of course I have."

"And?"

"I'd like to think we would've been happy. We were happy, I think."

"I was."

"Me too," she says, smiling, letting the nostalgia wash over hera"a state not unfamiliar to her. "But we were so young. It's easier to be happy when you're young."

"Man, Annie, you need to get some perspective on your age. You talk like you're in your sixties. Is this what happens to someone once they're married and settled in one place?"

"And what would I have been if we were married?"

"Happy."

"Who says I'm not happy now?"

"Well, I won't speak for you, but I know I've never been as happy as I was when I was with you. And, frankly, my time with you has ruined me for other women."

"What do you expect me to say to that? Would you like me to say that I've been ruined too?"

"Misery does love company."

"Right, well, maybe we did ruin each other a bit."

"But at least we knew love, felt that kind of intense connection to someone."

"Yeah, it was pretty wonderful, wasn't it."

"You think it was all worth it in the end?"

"I don't know. I'd like to think so."

"But do you think it's made it more difficult for you to be happy now."

"Maybe, but happiness is a strange concept in that way. We seem to define it purely on our own terms, and it means something different to everyone. Our ideas of happiness completely depend on our expectations and our histories."

"So you're saying that we're only as happy as what's reflected from our pasts?"

"That, and the expectations that we've set for ourselves based on the past, or some fantasy that we've builta You know what? We shouldn't even be talking about this."

"Why?"

"Because it's not good."

"Not good for who?"

"For us. For Eric."

"I thought I was just talking to you. To Annie," he says, and turns to her. "My Annie."

She feels a shock go through her as he says this. He used to say it to her all the timea"in quiet momentsa"and sometimes, when she chases her memory back to those days, she can still hear him say it. But nowa "I'm not your Annie anymore."

"Not to me. You'll always be my Annie."

"Max. Don't. You're being provocative."

"I'm not being anything. We're just talking. There's no ulterior motive here. I have no expectations," he says, trying to make the words sound as believable as possible.

"Good," Annie says. She tries to steady her unsteady hands by taking another drink of wine. She can feel the warmth of his closeness against her bare arm, and she can't help but wonder what it would be like to feel him closer, what it would be like to feel his embrace. Just the thought of it brings tears to her eyes. She tries to suppress the rising emotion, tries to push it down.

"So, you happy now?" he asks. "Not just with Eric, but, more broadly, with life in general?"

"Sometimes," she says.

"That's about as much as anyone can hope for, I suppose."

"Yeah, probably," she says. But she can't help but detect some sadness in her own voice. "What about you?"

"What? Am I happy?"

"Yeah."

"Sometimes. When I'm not dwelling on the past and everything feelsa I don't knowa Zen, I suppose. When I'm free of thought and the world is just floating by, that's when it'll occur to me that I'm happy, or that I've been feeling something akin to happiness. But then I'll remember that I'm not with you, anda""

"Max, you can'ta""

"And that you're with my brother."

"We can't continue living in the past."

"So, you've been living there too, huh?"