Let It Snow

by Paul Hina

over Holly to do it.

  "I don't know why it's daft to ask about your feelings for someone, particularly when you know how I feel about you."

  "Because it's personal."

  "So, you do feel something for this guy—this Tim."

  "Will you please quit saying his name like that? You say it like it's some invective. You don't even know him."

  "I know he's standing in the way of me getting closer to you."

  "No, I'm standing in the way of you getting closer to me."

  "Why?" Michael asks, and he looks at her, right at her. And they are close.

  She looks at him, and his eyes—those intense, dark brown Michael eyes—are boring into her, and she is caught breathless for a second, her mind spinning for an answer.

  "Well?" Annie asks, looking at Holly.

  Holly looks at Annie, and then back at Michael. She takes her finger and dips it in the whipped cream and puts a dab of cream on Michael's nose. "That's why," she says.

  Michael wipes his nose, and licks the cream off his finger. "What's that mean?"

  "It's a secret."

  "You know that just about everything you do, even the stuff you do to put me off, only makes me like you more," Michael says.

  A second or two passes, and the intensity of the quiet grows.

  "Michael, why do you do this to me?" Holly asks. "Why do you say things like that?"

  "I just say what I think."

  "Well, stop it. It makes me… It gives me—"

  "I won't stop. I can't."

  "You're going to have to stop for the moment," Annie says. "We need to get these plates out there. I'll take these three, and if you could get the rest for me," Annie says, and moves out into the dining room.

  Holly reaches down and grabs two plates. She starts to move away from Michael, but he stops her. He puts his hand on her bare arm, inches above the elbow. She stops as suddenly as his warm hand meets her skin, and a shudder rolls up her back—a good shudder. A shudder she wouldn't mind feeling again. And again.

  "Tell me that you're not interested and I'll leave you alone."

  "I've never said I wasn't interested," she says. She's trying not to look at him, afraid the look in her eyes will surrender too much.

  "But do you desire me?"

  "Michael, I…"

  "You can't just say it?"

  "I can't."

  "But this guy… What does it mean?"

  "It's nothing," she says, turning to look at him, and, finally, a softness, a vulnerability is apparent in her eyes. He's never seen her look at him that way before, and he knows he's pierced a wall. "He's an old friend of John's. I asked him to come with me tonight because I'm not sure I'm ready for this."

  "Okay, I understand. Just know that I'm here. I'm waiting for you. And I'm a patient man, but… You're just about all I think about. You're my…"

  "Michael—"

  "My constant. And if you tell me to give you space, that you don't want me to pursue you anymore, it will crush me, but I'd rather know before I—"

  "Don't stop. I don't want you to stop," she says, and he watches the curtain fall and the lights come up inside her. Maybe he's projecting, but, for the first time, he feels the soft certainty of love rest between them. His whole body is screaming and he desperately wants to scoop her up, kiss her on the mouth. But he just stands there, his hand near her elbow, staring into her beautiful blue eyes.

  "Guys," Annie says, looking in at them. "Come on. The ice cream's going to melt."

  "Right. Sorry," Holly says, and moves from Michael toward the kitchen.

  "Holly," he says.

  "Yeah?" she asks, turning toward him once more.

  "Now, everything changes. We can be wonderful now."

  She doesn't say anything, but a big grin bursts on her face, and her instinct tells her to cover the smile with her hand, but she's carrying two plates. Her happiness is naked.

  "What kind of person says that?" she asks, shaking her head as she leaves the kitchen.

  He hits the counter top with his hand, and whispers, "Yes. Yes. Yes." Then he grabs the last three plates and walks from the kitchen to the dining room with a whole new rhythm to his step.

  Michael walks around the table, hands Wendy her plate of pumpkin pie, and asks, "Who eats ice cream with pumpkin pie?"

  Holly laughs out loud at this, and it startles the room. Michael looks at her. He laughs too.

  "Did we miss something?" Eric asks.

  "Yeah, what were guys up to in there?" Wendy asks.

  "Nothing. They're just being silly," Annie says.

  Michael sits down and hands Amy her dessert.

  "What's so funny?" Amy asks, putting her hand on Michael's wrist.

  It suddenly occurs to him—looking down at Amy's hand, feeling how softly her hand slides from his wrist, leaving a hint of tenderness behind it—that Annie has sat him next to her to push them together. But as quickly as it occurs to him, he pushes the thought away, tries not to dwell on it. Besides, Annie wouldn't try to set him up with someone else when she knows how hard he's been pursuing Holly. So, he tries to shake the whole idea out of his head.

  But when he looks over at Amy, she's smiling at him, and there is something in those eyes, something soft and wanting. Now, suddenly, he feels that he can't—if there's any possibility of confusion—lead her to believe that he's interested in her in any way.

  He takes a bite of his apple pie, and smiles nervously back at Amy.

  "Well?" she asks.

  "It's good."

  "No, not the pie. I asked what was so funny a second ago."

  "Oh, right," he says. "Nothing, really. I'd said something about pumpkin pie and ice cream when we were in the kitchen, and when I said it again just now, Holly just…" He stops himself. "Listen," he says, leaning close to her, lowering his voice, "I'm sorry. I don't want to offend you, but you know that I'm interested in Holly, right?"

  "Yeah, I guess. Why?"

  "Because I thought, maybe, since Annie sat me next to you, and you've been so… Well… Warm to me…"

  "Michael. Seriously?" Amy asks with a funny look on her face. She doesn't look angry, just surprised. He can't quite read what she's thinking.

  "I just—"

  "You didn't know?"

  "Didn't know what?"

  "I'm with Wendy."

  "Wendy?" he asks, leaning back to look at Wendy, who, thankfully, is busy talking with Eric. "I had no idea."

  "It's alright."

  "I suppose I should've known. You guys came together, and she's so… So…"

  "So, what?"

  "Well," he says, whispering again. "She kind of looks like a lesbian."

  "Does she?"

  "Is that not something I should say?"

  "No, it's fine. I'm a big girl. I don't offend so easily," she says, smiling at him. "And me?"

  "What about you?"

  "Do I look like a lesbian?"

  "No, not at all. You're pretty. Feminine."

  "And other lesbians aren't pretty? Aren't feminine? They're what, exactly?"

  "You work in women's studies, right?"

  "Uh huh."

  "Let's pretend I never uttered the word feminine."

  "I'm just kidding you. I don't mind," she says, laughing at him.

  "Good. I wouldn't want to upset you. You seem nice, and I do have a tendency to say the wrong things at times. I don't have the best social filter, you know."

  "I know. We were warned."

  "Max and Annie told you that I—"

  "That you have no filter."

  "Huh? Maybe I'm the one who should be offended."

  "They said it lovingly," Amy says, and then touches his arm again. "So, tell me what really happened in the kitchen with Holly?"

  "You're a gossip," he says, teasing her.

  "Just curious, that's all."

  "Something nice happened," he says, and he can't help but smile as he says this, but he feels embarrassed by this new, easy happiness. He l
ooks up at Holly and catches her looking at him. She's smiling too, but then she looks away, starts to cover her embarrassed mouth but stops, let's it be on display again.

  "Good. That's good," Amy says.

  "It is," he says. "Why do you say that?"

  "Because Holly's a friend of mine."

  "I knew you knew her, but I didn't know you were close."

  "Yeah, I've known her since before John… Well, you know."

  "Really? You knew him?"

  "A little bit."

  "What'd you think of him?"

  "He seemed nice enough. He made Holly happy."

  "Does she seem happy now?"

  "Honestly, Michael, the past couple months, I haven't ever seen her happier. And I'm convinced it's because of you."

  "Really?"

  "Sure. You don't know how tough the past few years have been for her. She's been anti-social, and, at times, downright despondent. She needed someone like you, someone who would needle and prod her out of whatever darkness she'd adopted. Since you've been around, she's become more talkative, more open, warmer. And she's funny again. She laughs now. I had forgotten how much fun she could be. I hadn't heard any of that from her in a very long time.

  He looks over at Holly again. Tim is saying something to her. She's so pretty sitting there trying to pretend she's not aware of Michael's stare.

  "She's certainly making me happy," he says. Then he turns back to Amy. "You think she's ready?"

  "A month or two ago, I would've said no way. But, now, I think so."

  "But if she's ready then why'd she bring him?"

  "She's the only one who doesn't think she's ready. You need to show her it's okay."

  "How do I do that?

  "If you really care for her…"

  "I do."

  "And if you're serious, then it'll be okay."

  Michael scoops a piece of pie onto his fork, dips it into the puddle of vanilla ice cream on his plate, and takes a bite. The room, once full of several private conversations has grown quiet. The sound of Django Reinhardt's guitar is rolling across the room, accompanied by the sound of forks on plates and that nervous