"Judson, honey?" my mom calls from the door. "If you make it all the way to Church Street, would you get us a box of crullers from The Maple Factory? It's Thursday."
I don't know why it being Thursday matters, but I don't question it. I also haven't thought of where my walk is going to take me, but Burlington isn't that big a place, so I know whatever route I take, I'll be close enough to Church Street that I can swing past.
The longer I walk, the more familiar I am with the feel of the snow crunching beneath my feet. Pierre goes skiing every year. It's the one vacation he has without me because it reminds me too much of home. Correction, the one vacation he had without me.
Now I wonder if he wasn’t exactly on his own when he was up in the French Alps.
Damn my fucking brain.
I don't know what's next in my life. If I still have a career worth saving or a chance of still doing what I was born to do, but thinking about the past doesn't do anyone any good.
Okay, new plan. Well, only plan. I need to pick myself up and move on.
Church Street has changed since I was last here. There are more stores and restaurants than I remember, and even under these ridiculous freezing conditions, there are still so many people around.
I slow my pace, taking everything in. It doesn't feel as cold now that I've been walking. Or maybe I've just lost all my toes and fingers to frostbite and haven’t realized it yet.
Either way, I channel my old teacher and just…appreciate. It's not like I have anywhere better to be or anything better to do.
The recent snowfall covers the brick street, so I'm careful where I place my feet. The last thing I need is to slip or trip over something and, as my friend Spencer says in his very British accent, fall arse over tit to the ground.
The large building that once housed the hostel on Church Street is boarded up. The windows of the upper floors are covered in black soot. There must have been a fire.
The Maple Factory seems to have a line of people spilling outside onto the street. Next door, there's a large brick building with a neon sign that says Vino and Veritas.
As I get closer, to avoid The Maple Factory line, I notice that Vino and Veritas are, in fact, two businesses. On one side, there's a bookstore, and on the other, there seems to be a bar.
My little gay heart jumps for joy at the sight of the rainbow flags in the windows. Burlington has always been a welcoming place for the LGBT community, but I can't recall having such an open space available for socializing.
The line is going strong at The Maple Factory, and I notice an intriguing book display ofThe Foodie's Guide to Vermontin the bookstore window, so I decide to wait out the line in the warmth.
As I go in through the shared entrance, I see a Help Wanted sign in the closed bar door. I snap a quick photo before going inside the bookstore.
Twenty minutes later, I leave the bookstore very impressed with their selection of cookbooks and with a copy ofThe Foodie's Guide to Vermontin my hand.
I join the much smaller line to The Maple Factory just as my phone dings with a message.
Monsieur Pascal advised the paperwork could take a minimum of thirty days to complete. Are you sure you want to do this? It's not too late.
2
Skyler
"Hey, Ma. Have I told you how much I love you recently?" I say, walking into the kitchen and wrapping my arms around my mother's tiny frame.
"Not since this morning, and I'm pretty sure the scrambled eggs and bacon had something to do with it."
I put a hand to my chest, feigning shock. "Mother. I would never."
Her hands go to her hips, and she tilts her head. "So you're saying the pulled pork I'm about to take out of the oven and the maple syrup barbecue sauce I have to go with it are not the reasons you're declaring your love?"
"Did you make fresh buns?" I ask.
She gasps. "Who do you take me for, Skyler West? Of course there are freshly made buns."
"Damn, woman, have I told you today how much I love you?" my dad says, coming into the kitchen from the back door.
"No, and you'd do well to follow your son's example," she says. "Although I'd like to see how much love there would be in this household if, heaven forbid, I didn't cook for a day."
