Rachel helps the boys with their snow gear while I pull on my own winter clothes. When Corey struggles with his zipper, I step forward to help, but she’s already there, fingers deftly fixing the problem.
The message is clear. She doesn’t need me.
Instead, I get a head start on helping Dad carry the fishing rods out to the hut on the ice.
Outside, the morning air burns my lungs in the best way. Fresh snow blankets everything, transforming the seaside mountain landscape into something magical. The frozen bay stretches out before us, enveloped by the cozy wall of trees and mountains.
My cousin Aisha, Auntie Anjali, and Aunt Jocelyne are already outside, visible as colorful dots against the snow as they set up equipment near the fishing huts. Before Dad and I have time to reach them, the door of the cabin opens behind us, and my kids woosh past me at a speed I would have thought impossible if I hadn’t witnessed it with my own eyes.
“Careful!” Rachel and I call out simultaneously.
I look back, and our eyes meet for a second before she looks away.
She adjusts her scarf higher around her face.
The walk to the fishing spots gives me time to think, each crunching step on the packed snow giving me an opportunity to stay grounded. Last night’s kiss plays on repeat in my mind. The moment of connection. The crushing rejection that followed.
The way she fled rather than stay and fight.
Setting up the ice fishing huts has always been a family affair, but today the usual camaraderie feels forced. I work with Dad and Ajay to drill holes and secure lines, trying to lose myself in the physical labor.
Across the ice, Rachel struggles with a piece of equipment, but catches herself before asking for help.
We used to be a team at this. The first time I brought her ice fishing, she’d pressed close against me as I showed her how to set up the gear. Her cheeks were pink from the cold, her laugh echoing across the ice as she deliberately missed steps just to keep my arms around her longer.
“You’re thinking too loud.” Ajay’s voice breaks through my memories as he hands me another anchor, dark eyes studying my face. “Want to talk about it?”
“Nothing to talk about.” The lie tastes bitter on my tongue.
“Right.” He looks pointedly between Rachel and me.
With the gusts of wind and the distance between us, it’s unlikely that she can overhear.
“That’s why you two are acting like… well, whatever this is.”
“Ajay—”
“No, listen.” He secures his end of the line before continuing. “I remember the first time you brought Rachel to a family event as vividly as I remember last night’s Kozhukattai.”
We both wince. His father, my uncle Suresh, who’s originally from South India, tried his hand at the dumpling recipe his own mother used to make him.
Calling him ‘not a great cook’ would be a compliment.
“Was the dough even cooked?” I chuckle.
“I don’t think so. I—hey, wait, that’s not the point.” Ajay points at me with a wooden rod. “What I’m saying is, the sight is seared in the back of my brain.”
“Damn. You were, what, five years old?”
“Yeah, but it marked me.” He shakes his head. “I always thought my parents loved each other, but you two? You were something else.”
I sigh.
Ajay remains quiet for a long moment while he assembles another fishing rod. “And this year, it’s like, I don’t know… you guys don’t even seem like you’re married.”
The truth of it strikes like a physical blow. The fact that other people are taking notice is alarming.
I watch Rachel across the ice, the familiar way she tucks escaped strands of hair under her hat. Even now, with this distance between us, my heart responds to her smallest movements.
