So on the day the first snow fell, the living room smelled of pine, multicolored lights illuminated the walls, and handmade decorations hung from the tree. The space felt cozy, special. Magical.
Made all the more so as the snow fell quietly outside.
Clara was excited, her nose pressed up against the window when it started, watching the flakes fall.
I liked witnessing her wonder. My heart clenched at the rapidly reducing amount of time I had left with her. I’d been able to spend Thanksgiving with her—the holiday marred by her illness and the ghosts it had dredged up for Beau. Calliope, Elliot, and their father had been there. Their warmth and conversation helped quell my nerves at being around Beau for the holiday … a tad. I’d still been reeling with emotional whiplash from being sick, seeing that caring side of Beau only to have him snap back into the harsher, more familiar version of him.
I was trying to make myself not fall in love with him.
Unfortunately, it was too late for that.
Also unfortunately, I’d been unable to be fully present during the first and only Thanksgiving I’d spend with Clara and Beau.
Just before Christmas, we’d be in New York. Cole had invited me to spend it with him, to check out the city, and probably to try to convince me to move there.
It would coincide with the trip to the Natural History Museum, which Clara was cleared for as long as she was admitted to the museum after hours. Something that had been planned against my will. And Beau’s, even if he was technically the one doing the planning. At his daughter’s request. He was putty in her hands.
Though the layers of complication between me and Beau continued to get thicker and thicker, I was happy I’d get to be there for that memory. I was choosing not to think about not seeing Clara wake up on Christmas morning.
As much as I wanted to spend time with my friend, the prospect of being away from her hurt my heart.
I was getting remarkably good and not thinking about complicated or hurtful things. A real talent since I was sharing the same roof with the most complicated and hurtful person I’d ever met.
He appeared just as Clara and I were finishing getting ready to go outside.
“Daddy!” Clara yelled. “It’s snowing! We’re going to go outside to make snow sculptures. Youhaveto come.”
Beau smiled at his daughter. Though I didn’t want to, I marveled at the lines in his face that crinkled in happiness. He looked years younger.
“Of course, Bug.” He ran his hand over her hair.
Beau’s eyes then ran over me, assessing.
I shifted uncomfortably in my thick socks. Winter clothing was not complimentary, especially when I didn’t have the funds to buy the kind of jackets that were flattering or trendy or even actually warm.
The current coat I was wearing was a thrift store find. The quality of older clothes was better than the mass-produced, big-box stuff that we were polluting our planet with. It was thick, cut out some of the bitter winter wind, and was almost waterproof. It was also an ugly shade of mustard, not flattering with my skin tone, and had some weird stain on the pocket I hadn’t been able to get out. I’d tried to make the look seem intentional with a beige-covered thermal set underneath, which was tight enough to show off my body.
I didn’t miss Beau’s lingering gaze on my breasts and hips, sending rockets of sensation to my toes. But he was mostly staring at the offensive jacket.
“It’s a coat.” I stated the obvious. I had to say something. He was staring at it so intently, and I was not comfortable bathing in the loaded silence.
“Barely,” he replied as he helped Clara into her own. Hers was a thick, expensive purple coat that looked like it’d keep her cozy in Antarctica. It had a cute, bright-pink faux-fur ring around the hood.
My neck heated at the statement pointing out the glaringly obvious gaps in our socioeconomic positions. I’d grown up poor, had been teased for it, had let it become part of my identity, so it wasn’t a label that made me burn with shame. I’d been proud of myself for wrenching myself from situations of poverty, debt, and abuse, but I’d never stopped feeling self-conscious. Like everyone was looking at me, like they had back in school.
Beau was not rich, not by conventional standards. But he had a house, a backyard. His daughter had a room full of treasures and a coat that fit her, without holes, that would keep her warm.
She was healthy.
Thatwas rich.
“You need a better coat for Maine winter,” he told me, pulling a beanie down on Clara’s head.
I zipped up the, apparently, egregious coat. “I’m only going to be here for one winter.” My throat dried, saying it out loud. “There’s no point spending money on a coat I’ll wear for one season.”
Granted, if I did move to New York City with Cole, I would need a coat. But I’d get one in the summer, when all the good sales were happening. If I could afford it. A big if.
Beau was silent as he put on Clara's gloves. “Maine winter is more than one season to you non-natives,” he eventually barked.“It won’t get warm until you’re about to leave. You need a better coat.”
