Let It Snow Part 4

If not for her music, she doesn't know what she would've done with herself over those six months. She tried to put a positive spin on her situation. After all, his absence did give her a ton more time to become a better pianist. But, still, those summer months were excruciating. Every day she waited for some word from hima"a call, a letter, anything. He gave her nothing. If it hadn't been for his parents, she wouldn't have even known he was alive.

And when he finally did call, it took time to get past the awkwardness of all the hurt feelings. They had done a lot of soul searching in six months, and it was difficult to come to terms with how much they had both been changed by their pain. And, so, the calls were disparate at firsta"mostly brief, guarded conversations about generic topics. They were both learning to come to terms with the new reality of their relations.h.i.+p.

He'd call about once a week, and, though she hoped for his calls, her conversation remained cautious for months. She wanted so badly to let him know how angry she was at him, ask him what he had done with himself over those six months, why he'd waited so long to get in touch with her. But she couldn't. Things were still too raw, too delicate between them.

And they were both fully aware of the questions that hung between them, and there was no denying the tension these unanswered questions caused.

But they were also aware of the love that was still hanging on, a love that never let go.

As the months went by, and their first year apart turned into their second year apart, his calls became more frequent, and they began to open up to one another again. By that second year, instead of waiting for him to call her, she was comfortably calling him, and the distance between them was closing more and more by the day. Yet, there was not going to be any summer rendezvous. He was going to school non-stop, even through the summer, and Annie was busy working to keep herself financially afloat in a very expensive Boston.

They weren't deluded though. They were fully aware that they had grown attached to each other again. They were not technically together, and there was never any suggestion of a romantic relations.h.i.+p between them. There was certainly mutual awareness of the emotions they felt, and they would never deny that they were still in love. But, on a practical level, they knew that a relations.h.i.+p wasn't plausible under their current circ.u.mstances. So, they were always available to date other people.

But they didn't.

For the first two years there was n.o.body else for either of them.

But, as they became more comfortable with their new dynamic, they talked openly about not wanting to hold each other back socially. They knew that, even if they wanted to be together, they weren't going to be together for quite awhile. There was no point continuing down their current, celibate paths. At their age, they knew that nothing was certain. They agreed that it wasn't practical to let their college years pa.s.s them by for a love that was thousands of miles away.

So, they began to date other people. But these dates only led to brief, shallow relations.h.i.+ps. It's not as if any of these dates lacked the depth of emotional possibility. On the contrary, it was Max and Annie who were the shallow ones. They had made themselves emotionally unavailable to anyone else. The biggest fault for everyone Annie dated was that they weren't Max. For Max, no girl was Annie. It wouldn't take long for anyone they were with to know that their hearts belonged somewhere else.

Even if they were in the middle of a date, they'd drop what they were doing to take the other's call, and, though they were cognizant of how awkward it was to talk about an ex on a date, they would do it without hesitation. They couldn't help showing their disinterest in pursuing anything substantive. It was as if these dates were nothing more than a personal test. They were testing the true resolve of the long distance connection they had been building.

So, after their third year away from each other, it was clear that they couldn't continue to deny what was between them any longer. Max had set a goal to graduate after the fall semester, and they had both agreed that he would move into her tiny, studio apartment in Boston.

They would finally be together again.

It was time.

Sitting in the corner of Eric and Annie's living room, Tim is growing accustomed to Michael's stare. He's doing his best to avoid looking in Michael's direction, but it's difficult to ignore the strangeness of his persistence. Tim stares at the Christmas lights, looks out the window, or speaks to Wendy when she asks him one of the many inane personal questions she keeps asking. He nods along to the jazz in the room, taps his fingers on his knee, anything to pretend that he's not bothered by Michael's non-stop glaring.

Tim knows that Michael is romantically interested in Holly. That's why she asked him to come with her tonight. She didn't want to be stuck with him on her own, having to endure his awkward, flirty conversation. She just doesn't have the heart to tell him that she's not emotionally ready to be involved with anyone right now.

This isn't the first "date" Tim's been on with Holly over the past several years. After Johna"his childhood friend and Holly's husbanda"shot himself nearly four years ago, Tim has always tried to make himself available to her whenever she's needed him.

Immediately after John's death, he stayed with her during those first dreary days and weeks. She just couldn't stand to be alone in their house. And who could blame her? She was the one who found John's body in the garage. And, outside of the rescue workers that answered her 911 call that night, only she knows what he looked like after the shot, and he's certain it's an image she'll never erase.

Holly, Tim, and many of John and Holly's a.s.sorted family and friends spent the days after the funeral gathering John's stuff from the house, deciding who would take what, and what would be given to charity. Then everyone pitched in to help Holly pack her own stuff. There was never any doubt that she would move, and everyone seemed to understand why she wanted out of the house as quickly as possible. It was pretty obvious from her emotional condition during these early days that it wouldn't be realistic for her to continue living in that house.

After she moved, and was safe in her new apartment, Tim made it a point to try and give her some distance. Even though it was clear she was still hurting, he felt that her obsessive need to be unalone was only delaying the hard work of coming to terms with John's death, and with accepting this new life she was suddenly facing. And, for his own selfish reasons, Tim wanted some s.p.a.ce to deal with his own shock, his own sadness. His best friend had just died, and he wanted to deal with the death of his friend without having to worry about Holly all the time.

It wasn't until later that he realized that helping her was the best way for him to deal with losing John.

But it didn't matter how much distance he tried to give her. She just couldn't be alone. Months went by with friends, mostly Tim, babysitting Holly. Eventually, her mother came to stay with her, but it took nearly a year before she was able to get back to her life again.

Still, even as Tim met someone and started to build his own life, Holly would often call on him from time to time to accompany her to a friend's wedding, a faculty party at the university, or for something like this dinner party tonight.

But, from the start, tonight seemed different from all those other nights. When she was telling him about Michael, she was smiling. He hadn't seen her smile like thata"an easy smile, not forceda"for a very long time. In a way, he got the impression that she wanted Tim to believe she was laughing Michael off, but instead he got the impression that Michael's shameless affection for her only endeared him to her more deeply.

And he noticed that she seemed uncharacteristically nervous as they got closer to Eric and Annie's house, which struck Tim as strange since she'd been a close friend of theirs since she'd started working as Eric's a.s.sistant several years ago.

Also, Tim noticed that she cared more about her appearance tonight than at any other time he's been around her. And Holly is a naturally beautiful womana"very beautiful. Tim's seen her at her worst and at her best, and, though she'd never know it, there's never been a time when she wasn't the prettiest girl in the room. In fact, if Tim thought for one second that John would've been okay with it, or if he thought his advances wouldn't have creeped her out, he would've made a pa.s.s at her long ago. It's not as if he hasn't wanted to, or that he hasn't fallen in love with her a thousand different times in a thousand different ways, but he's always known that she'd never be his. She'd never look at him the same way she looked at John, and even if she could, he would always be too connected to John for her to love him without the memory of John casting a shadow over them.

But, tonight, she was obviously being beautiful for someone else. She must've checked her hair and make-up a dozen times in the car's visor mirror. It got to the point where even she became self-conscious about it, glancing over to see if Tim was noticing how often she was checking her hair and face. And he can't say if the dress she's wearing tonight is new or not, but it certainly looks new. And she's wearing it well.

So, if he didn't know better, he'd think she was trying to impress this Michael guy, and that she only invited Tim to act as a cover in case she finds that she's not ready to take that final step. And Tim's just as afraid as she is that she's not ready to take that step.

But sometimes the moment chooses for you, ready or not.

From Tim's perspective, Michael seems like the perfect guy to bring her out of her rut. She needed someone who was willing to play the long game with her, which is exactly what Michael's been doing. She needed someone who would patiently pull her from what remains of her grief, and Michael had the look of someone who would wait as long as it took to get what he wanted.

So, as much as Michael is staring at him like he's the bad guy, Tim's rooting for him.

"I think we're ready," Annie says from the dining room.

"Okay, dinner," Eric says to everyone in the living room.

Annie is standing at the doorway to the dining room waiting for everyone. Holly and Amy are by the table behind her waiting to show everyone where to sit.

"So, we're not waiting for Max?" Eric asks, as he pa.s.ses Annie.

"We did wait. I gave him five minutes."

"Do you think we coulda?" Eric starts to ask, but stops once he sees Annie approach Michael.

"Michael, I'm sorry about Holly," she says, quietly, leaning near him, her hand flat on the front of his shoulder.

Michael is taken aback by the tenderness of the gesture, worried that it expresses an empathy too strong to be anything other than pity.

"I honestly didn't know she was bringing anyone," Annie continues. "You shouldn't worry about it though. It's not what it seems."

"What do you mean by that?"

"I'm going to sit you next to Amy," she says, ignoring him.

Michael looks over at Amy, she's already sitting down, looking at Michael, a dumb smile on her face.

"You'll like her. She's fun," Annie says.

Again, Annie's mistaking him for someone who is attracted to fun. "Why do you keepa"?" he starts to ask, but is interrupted by the doorbell.

Annie's face freezes, and to Michael she looks genuinely frightened.

"Are you alright?" he asks.

She doesn't answer him.

She takes a step away from Michael and toward the hallway. She can see Max's silhouette through the frosted gla.s.s of the front door. She tries to compose herself, but her heart is exploding in her chest. She tries to catch her breath before she turns back toward the dining room.

"Sorry, Eric, could you get that? I just remembered I forgot to grab the rolls from the kitchen," she says, not waiting for his answer before she starts moving toward the kitchen. And, though she feels as though everyone's looking at her, and that she's moving as if she were walking in mud, she makes an effort not to look at anyone as she pa.s.ses through the dining room. She's embarra.s.sed, worried that her strange behavior is betraying her true feelings, afraid that the blood of the blush she feels might actually be painted on her face.

Of course, she knows that she left the rolls in the kitchen on purpose. When Amy tried to grab the rolls to take to the table, Annie stopped her, told her she would get them. The rolls were her escape hatch if, or when, Max arrived. She'd still been holding out hope he might not show.

Eric moves to the hall and opens the front door. "You made it. I was starting to worry you weren't coming."

"No, I just got caught at the house. You know Mom. Once she starts talkinga"

"Oh, I know," Eric says. "Can I take your coat?" he asks, as Max pa.s.ses him into the hall.

"Sure," Max says, and shrugs his coat off, hands it to Eric. "Something smells good."

"Yeah, we'rea" Eric says, looking out the front door. "Where's Stacy?"

"Oh, I thought you knew. She had a flight to catch. She needed to get back to her folks' house tonight. She left just after you did earlier."

"No, I didn't know," Eric says, shutting the door. And all of a sudden he feels that he's made a terrible mistake inviting Max. When Eric thought he had a date things felt different, more secure somehow. But nowa Nowa "You alright, Eric?" Max asks.

"Yeah, sorry," Eric says. "You got here just in time. We almost got started without you."

They enter the dining room, and Eric absently lays Max's coat on the back of the upright piano at the entrance into the dining room.

"Everyone, this is my brother, Max," Eric says as they enter. "And, Max, this is Holly. She's my a.s.sistant in the ombudsman's office, and that's her friend Tim. Then there's Wendy and Amy. Amy also works at the university. And Michael. Michael taught with me in the philosophy department until world religions, where he teaches, branched off into their own department."

Max nods at everyone, and gives them a kind of a half-hearted wave. Everyone smiles politely and nods back, and Wendy mutters, "Nice to meet you."

Michael visibly winces at this introduction, and if he didn't feel like it would make everyone more uncomfortable, he would've told Eric that the awkwardness of that whole scene was exhibit A for why he shows up so early to parties.

"Have a seat," Eric says, tapping his hand on the back of the chair at the head of the tablea"the end closest to where they're standing. Eric moves back to the head of the table on the opposing side. "Would you like some wine, Max?"

"Sure, that would be nice."

"Annie, could you grab the wine while you're in there?" Eric calls to Annie.

"Yeah, just a minute," Annie calls back.

She's standing by the sink looking at nothing in particular. The basket of rolls is in her hand, and her other hand is firmly planted on the counter. It seems to be the only thing holding her upright.

She realizes that she's already been away too long for someone who was just fetching a basket of rolls. But she needs time. How much time can she kill before she'll have been gone too long without an explanation? Even with the wine, she should already be out there, sitting, chatting everyone up. That is the role she's expected to play.

She shouldn't have drank so much wine before dinner. Her head is absolutely swimming. But she's not certain whether it's the wine or Max's arrival that's sent her spinning. She felt fine, if just a little tense, before he showed up. But, then, once the doorbell rang, she hit a solid wall of panic.

Still, she can't wait in here forever. She's got to put herself together and just walk out there. And she can't let her panic show. She can't worry about how she'll react when she sees him. But can she stay composed? It's been so long. Will he look the same? No, he can't look the same. What if he looks better? He'll certainly look more adult. The boy, the young man, she fell in love with will have been replaced by the man he has become.

"Annie, you need some help?" Eric calls.

"No, I'm coming," she says, and realizes there's no more time to waste. She just has to get herself straight, and pretend away all the noise in her head.

She moves out to the dining room with the basket of rolls in her hands, and there he is, Max, looking straight at her.

She stops moving, stuck in complete stillness by the table. She knows she should be moving. Her mind, even, is telling her, yelling at her, to set the rolls on the table and sit down, but her body has slipped playfully away from her.

"Annie?" Eric asks.

Everyone is looking at her now.

"The wine!" she says, a little too abruptly, a little too loudly, startling the room. "I knew I forgot something," she says, trying to recover. She turns to leave the room. Stops. Turns back and sits the rolls on the table, all the while reminding herself not to look at him. Then she turns back to the kitchen.

Once she's free of everyone's eyes, she cracks open, just wants to fall on the floor and cry. She's absolutely terrified. He looks even better than she feared he might. One look at him and ten years of barely repressed love and desire woke up inside her, and now she has to go back out there and pretend that she doesn't feel like her whole life has suddenly changed, like a bright light of hope hasn't just switched on inside her.

She grabs the opened bottle of wine on the counter, takes a long drink from the bottle, and grabs another bottle from the rack under the counter.

No more delays.

II. Dinner.

Annie enters the dining room holding both bottles of wine. She readies a bottle to pour, and is standing by Max hardly before she even realizes it. She's decided it's best not to look at him. If she looks at him, she's afraid she won't be able to hide everything that's swimming inside her. And if she exposes herself in any way, she won't be able to hide from Max, from Eric, or from anybody else at the table. And she can't afford not to hide right now.

She starts to pour into his empty gla.s.s. "Anyone else want more wine?"

"I could use a topping off," Eric says.

She finishes pouring for Max, and walks the few remaining steps to her seat on wobbly legs. If she'd known she'd feel this unsteady, she wouldn't have worn such high heels.

Once she's safely in her chair, she hands Eric the open bottle and sits the unopened bottle on the table, not too far from her full gla.s.s. She'll need it soon enough. She knows she should slow her drinking down, but, then again, she has to do something with her hungry hands. The tense energy that's running through her body necessitates movement, and, since she's afraid to speak, she takes a drinka"a long, slow sip. She puts the gla.s.s down and closes her eyes. She wishes she could just shut her eyes, and be somewhere else, just close them and disappear.

But she can't.

She opens her eyes. She can feel Max's stare stuck on her, but she won't look in his direction. Not yet.

Something inside her wants to jump up and tell him to back off, but another part of her is reveling in his stare, as if her skin can feel his eyes running over her flesh. Her fingers stretch up her neck near her ear. She tries to rub his eyes off her skin, or to feel it more directly. She is a stuck in a mental maze of contradictions, and she can't set her mind straight. She looks around the table, attempts a smile, and feels something like one move across her mouth. She can hardly look at the salad in front of her, and wonders if she'll be able to conjure enough hunger to eat anything at all.

Max is gripping the seat of his chair, hard. He didn't realize how tense his body was until she walked away from him. He's sitting too rigidly. His back is unnaturally straight, and his head is too firmly planted on the rod of his neck. He wants to force himself into something resembling relaxation, but he's afraid that, as he relaxes, he'll only broadcast his tension. If he decompresses as much as he feels he should, he's afraid it'll look as if he's suddenly deflating himself.

Once he sat down after Eric's initial introductions, he felt he had started to gain his equilibrium. He had made it into the house, which was a bigger obstacle than he had antic.i.p.ated, and he had arrived just in time to avoid any pre-dinner weirdness. He was safely at the dinner table. If he played his cards right, he figured he could be in and out in hardly more than an hour. He started to believe that he just might make it through the evening unscathed.

Still, he was intentionally avoiding the inevitability of Annie's entrance. He wasn't entirely successful at avoiding the fact of her presence, but he was doing his best to pretend they weren't about to be in the same room.

So, when she appeared, all his comfortable illusions were sent for a loop. When she walked out of the kitchen, and her eyes fell on him, it was as if the room shook. Before seeing her, things were almost finea"deceptively fine, but still. Then, it was if some curtain parted, she emerged, and the whole room turned to theater. Max was on stage with the lights turned on him, and his anxiety was rising higher and higher. He felt like all eyes were on him and he had no lines to speak. It didn't help his anxiety that, in that moment, some emotional certainty was clearly exchanged between them. It was like suddenly waking up, like a clear line had been drawn splitting reality from wherever they had just landed, and they both were struggling to find their way back again.

He knew then that he had made a terrible error in coming. He wasn't ready for this. There was still too much juice between them. He'd spent too many years keeping her just close enough for comfort, and when she was actually close it shook him. When she came to fill his gla.s.s with winea"her bare arm only inches from his facea"he could barely keep himself from cracking open. He so badly wanted to reach out and touch that arm with his fingertips, walk them up the slow slope of her shoulder. That must've been the moment he grabbed the edges of his chair, bracing himself for a fall.

As she stood there, he caught her scent. The smell of her perfumea"or lotion, or soap, or whatevera"breathed on him, and it opened an aperture to new sensory delights. He tried to capture the entirety of the moment in an attempt to keep one more memory of her, fill another sensory pocket to carry with him when she's away.

Everyone else has already started eating their salad. And outside of the sound of forks on plates, and some scattered whispers between Amy and Wendy and Tim and Holly, there is a strange, nervous quiet hovering over the table.