"Fucking snow," Moira grumbled as she glided effortlessly along the sidewalk heading to my car. Between her dancer's grace and the muffling blanket of snow, the stiletto heels on her red leather boots left no sound as they passed.
Glancing at her feet, I couldn't help but be taken back to the night I met her. So many things had changed since then. We'd both grown and found ourselves in new and empowering ways since our first encounter. Our relationship was the strongest it had ever been, but the image of her in grey and green, dancing without a care, silver medallion sandals flashing in the light, will never leave me.
"Remember when we thought this was cool?" I asked, pressing down firmly with my toes to hear the faint crunch. "I grew up with this shit. I should have known better than to sucker you into it." Neither of us were truly frustrated with the snow though. It was a key component of a precious memory for us, and it remained a thread weaving our lives together. For our first real date, I had filled a Chicago hotel room with white roses, because I wanted it to snow for her. Just last night, as the flakes had begun to fall, I turned off all the lights in our townhouse, stripped her gently, and then made love to her from behind standing in front of our large, second floor living room window, watching the snow dance under the streetlights.
"It's still cool when there's a wall between me and it," she said. "Now it's just fucking cold."
I chuckled as we climbed into my car. Getting one with remote ignition had been a quickly revealed necessity after we spent our first winter in Chicago. Nonetheless, I had been reluctant to let go of my BMW that held so many memories from the first part of our relationship. New car smell was a pale shadow under the light of memories of their faces in my rear view mirror.
"I'm so nervous," Moira sang as I pulled off my gloves.
"Why?"
"It feels like I'm about to meet a stranger who's very important to me. I don't know what to expect, but I know it's going to hit me hard."
"That makes sense," I told her, nodding along. "No regrets though, right?"
"Of course not! I'm thrilled this day is finally here. I'm just a little overwhelmed, and I don't think that's going to go away anytime soon." I put the car in gear and then reached over to lay my hand on her knee with a gentle squeeze. She pulled off a glove that matched her boots before resting her hand on mine.
Weather and traffic cooperated, and we arrived in the airport queue just as our guest informed Moira via text that she had claimed her luggage. Moira had no trouble spotting her in the crowd, despite the fact that they hadn't seen each other for five years. I gave her knee one last squeeze before I pulled into an open space.
Moira's door flew open and they ran the few steps between them, crashing together with a fierce embrace. Wordlessly, I put her luggage into the trunk of my car. When I closed the lid, her face was fixed on me over Moira's shoulder, eyes wide above a fragile smile. "Hi, Shelly."
Moira quickly herded her into the back of my car and joined her there. "Hi, Craig," Shelly offered once I was in the driver seat. As I pulled away, my rearview mirror showed Moira and Shelly with their hands clasped tightly together and their foreheads touching softly. The only sound on the drive home was the radio. Getting rid of my beamer suddenly seemed less detrimental.
Once I had Shelly's suitcase stowed in the guest room, they both suddenly remembered I existed. Shelly took two quick steps toward me, but pulled up short. She had just begun to lift her hands when she froze. "C'mere," I told her. She flung her arms around me, and I squeezed her tightly. A ragged breath shook her body. She released it slowly before she let go, heading straight back to Moira when she did. The tears began to flow from both of them as they held each other close.
When Moira told me a few months ago that she'd heard from Shelly, I was prepared for the worst; the explosive event that led to us parting company had seemed a dire portent at the time. Instead of tragic news, Moira received a seemingly heartfelt apology and a desperate plea to see two people who still mattered to her very much. Moira's reply was simply, "Like I wouldn't make you come see me as soon as possible."
After a few rounds with tissues, Moira gasped. "I'm being a bad host!" She took Shelly's hands in hers. "Are you hungry or thirsty? Craig's going to make an awesome dinner later, but we have plenty of snacks. I'm pretty hungry myself."
"That would be great," Shelly responded.
I brewed some coffee and produced a box of pastries while Moira and Shelly held hands on the square, lime green loveseat with a chrome frame that Moira insisted on having as soon as she saw it. "It reminds me of being a kid in Colombia. It's happy in a carefree way," she explained at the time. Moira and Shelly said very little. Instead, they communicated via facial expressions, grip strength, and possibly some form of telepathy.
When I placed a tray with coffee and a large white box on the table in front of them, Moira yanked off the ribbon holding the box closed and went straight for a black forest muffin. I pointed to a clamshell of puff pastry. "I recommend one of these," I said to Shelly as she leaned in with pursed, curious lips.
"Whoa, what are they?" she asked as she stirred her coffee.
"Sfogliatella. I found an Italian bakery," I told her.
"And a Japanese bakery. And a Polish bakery. And a Libyan bakery..." Moira interjected.
"Like you hate it when I bring home baklava," I retorted. Moira conceded my point with a scrunched nose and a loving smile split by the tip of her tongue.
"You still do that!" Shelly squealed suddenly as she hurled an accusatory finger at Moira. While we'd been talking, Moira had torn apart her muffin and begun to sort the pieces into three categories. She initially told me that she "hated it when all the good stuff was in one place." To safeguard against that, she'd developed her sorting process to ensure she knew when the disappointing bites were coming, and most importantly to guarantee her last bite was a good one.
"She almost cut me once for going on about it," I warned Shelly.
"Hey!" Moira jumped in to defend herself as Shelly guffawed, substandard initial muffin bite frozen halfway to her mouth. "I gave you ample warning that I was going to do exactly that. Actions have consequences, motherfucker." She smirked at me. Shelly and I collapsed in hysterics. Moira took the opportunity to kick both of us before finishing her muffin, during which she ignored our existence entirely. Fortunately, she'd already removed her boots.
As we ate and chatted, Shelly was resistant to talking about herself, instead demanding to know every detail of our lives. Moira showed her pictures and videos of her dancing, and plenty of pictures of Frost being the adorable kitten he had been and the handsome cat he had become. I showed her pictures of food I was proud of making, and some shots of us with some of the Bears players, including one of us with a player and his son, who'd won a technology fair with a prototype compiler for a new concept in a programming language specifically designed to handle mass data.
