Right away, my feet take me to the front door; I quickly put on my Ugg boots and step outside. Sure enough, it takes me about five minutes before I spot him down the street.
My Nicolas, quietly standing in the snow, looking down.
His body is tense, his shoulders slightly hunched, his hair damp, and his hands are clenched into red fists. And he didn’t take his coat.
My throat tightens a bit more, and my nose and eyes sting. I try to swallow, because I really, really don’t want to cry, but it’s hard.
It’s so quiet out here.
There are a few sounds, like Christmas Day chatter coming from the house and the nearby ones, cars in the distance, andthe sea that’s not too far. But in this little cobbled street, with the muddied snow, it’s quiet.
I quietly walk up to him, and before he can turn around, I slowly hug him. He doesn’t react right away, and somehow, that hurts my heart more than anything else. But I keep hugging him, and after a while, I feel his shoulders droop just a little.
“…Ophelia.”
It’s not a question. He just says my name, like a quiet acknowledgment, a grounding word.
I’m trying not to cry, but I know I failed. I missed the signs. I try to replay the last hours, and the more I do, the more I see the signs I missed. Nicolas talked with Beckett and my nephew at first, and everything was fine for a bit, because he was focused on something, someone, or on that instruction sheet. Things went downhill after that. Or, worse.
Our lunch started, and I realize he was there, but he wasn’t really part of any conversation. Somehow, there were ten other people around that table chatting, arguing, and laughing, and I completely missed the way my boyfriend went quiet. Nicolas was next to me, and I didn’t even realize he was shutting down.
“…It’s snowing,” he suddenly mutters.
I blink the tears away and press my wet cheek against his shirt to glance at the sidewalk. It really is. I watch as the white flurries swarm all around us, thickening by the minute as they hit the ground. Layer by layer, hiding the hard cobblestones they land on, they quietly and quickly climb inches around us.
I can’t let it snow this time.
Because the more it accumulates, the more troublesome it will be if I don’t deal with it now. This time, it won’t eventually melt away with just time and patience. It’s not as simple as ignoring his mom’s hurtful words and tactless attitude for a day or two. Nicolas cannot handle my family’s chaos. And he shouldn’t have to.
I love them, and I love him, but the truth is, they’re not compatible. I take a deep breath and swallow the tears as I slowly absorb that truth. I love him even more because he’s not asking me for anything. I’ve been a whiny mess all along, but Nicolas just quietly walked outside to try not to burden me. Because he loves me, and he knows how much I wanted this Christmas with my family. He chose me over his comfort, even when I know it must be so hard for him.
For a while, we stay like this, quietly watching the snow. He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t turn around to hug me back or hold my hand. He doesn’t move at all, and I keep hugging him as he watches the snow.
I don’t know how long we stay like this.
In my heart, things shift a little. I watch the snow quietly settling, a fresh, white new layer on top of the muddy one. I know every snowfall will end up in a muddy puddle, and yet, I always love watching brand new snowflakes trickling from the skies. It mirrors my feelings somehow. As much as I love this holiday, there is no such thing as a perfect Christmas.
I know there will always be new hardships and hurdles. And yet, I can’t ever stop loving this magic, year after year, like seeing the beauty of that first snowfall.
“…Let’s go home,” I eventually whisper.
He doesn’t answer for the longest time, so long that I even wonder if he heard me.
But then, after a while, his body shifts slightly again, and I feel his cold hand coming to cover mine.
“Okay,” he simply says.
There’s no relief in his voice, and the fact that he doesn’t ask me why nor try to rebuke the idea makes me even more nervous. I wonder if he’s still dealing with the overwhelm, or if he’s trying not to show how hard this has been on him. We’ve been together for over a year now, and I want to believe I know him well, butsometimes, he just gets like this, and I can’t read him. And I hate it.
The little fixer in me wants to make things right, but I don’t know what to do, what to say. I just know that I’m not putting Nicolas into the crowd of my family again. There is no way to keep things quiet inside my parents’ house on Christmas Day, and even if there was, I don’t want to ask them to. This is their Christmas too.
So, quietly, I release him from my hug, and I pull him along as I walk back to the house, only letting go of his hand right outside the door to walk in alone.
We’re going to miss the dessert again, I realize as I walk back into the dining room, and make some excuse about us having to leave now. I don’t like to lie, and my mom isn’t happy, but Courtney, Rosie, and Parveen are quick to understand and support my decision.
Somehow, I manage to say goodbye to my family in record time. My heart hurts a little, but every hug goodbye alleviates it. I don’t want to think about how little time I got to spend there, how I’m going to miss them all until we see each other again. Or how, for the very first time, I’m the first one to leave.
I just know this is the moment I’m choosing Nicolas.
