Snowbound

by CJ Martín

  This was a mistake. I shouldn’t be here. I don’t belong. Yet I can’t bring myself to leave. My eyes dart back and forth over the huge auditorium, up and down, but I still can’t find her anywhere. There must be a million graduates. This is impossible.

  I tuck my big frame into a seat at the back and pull my baseball cap lower. It’s unlikely that anyone will recognize me here, but I can never be too careful. I certainly don’t want to draw attention to myself.

  I pull out my cellphone to check the time. Another half-hour until the ceremony starts and I’m already sweating. Fuck. Who knew North Carolina would be so hot? No wonder Gigs is always cold.

  After the National Anthem, several student speeches, and a guest speaker—all of which I didn’t pay attention to—they finally begin to award the diplomas. I sit up straighter in my chair. Elena’s last name begins with an E, Espinosa, so she’ll be one of the first to be called.

  Twenty-five minutes later and they still are on the letter C. My feet tap nervously on the ground. Just call her name already. I need to see her. And as if someone heard my silent prayer, I hear her name boom over the loudspeaker. “Elena Espinosa, Bachelor of Arts, Business Administration, Magna Cum Laude.”

  My body jolts upright, and my eyes pull to the TV screens in the middle of the auditorium. She smiles, shakes hands with President of the University, and pauses for a photo. And just like that she’s gone, walking off the stage. No, I want to scream, but instead my eyes follow her with precision-like accuracy back to her seat.

  I continue to stare at her for the remainder of the ceremony, the entire time debating whether or not I’ll actually have the courage to find her afterward and tell her the reason why I’m here.

  Even though the beginning of the ceremony took for-fucking-ever, the awarding of the diplomas flies by and now I’m forced to make the decision.

  Man up, Vik. You got this. I stand and roll my shoulders, shake out my head, psyching myself up. I can do this.

  My eyes never leave her as I watch her make her way through the crowd. She pauses every so often to talk to other graduates; some she hugs and poses with for pictures. My hands clench into fists when I see Rob saunter over to her. He grabs her in a big hug, resting his hands on her back lower than appropriate. He pulls back and kisses her cheek. My blood boils at the thought of this asshole’s hands on her, but my heart drops when I see the smile that lights up her face. She looks happy. Really happy.

  The air is knocked out of me as my hope deflates like an old balloon. She doesn’t miss me. She doesn’t want to see me. This is where her life is. I watch for a few seconds more, watch as her mother hugs her close. Watch as she and Maria pose for a million pictures.

  My heart constricts and the pain slices through me. It’s over. I duck my head and tear up the stairs, pushing past the bodies of people who block the aisle. I need out. I need air.

  I hurtle my body at the door, shove it open and stumble out into the daylight. I nearly collide with a young guy coming into the arena, but he sidesteps just in time to avoid contact.

  Bending my knees, I hunch forward and rest my hands on my legs, letting my head hang. The warm, humid air is stifling and provides little relief. How the fuck do people live here?

  “You okay?” The guy walks over to me.

  “Yeah.” I breathe, head still down. “Just a bit hot.”

  He chuckles. “You get used to it.”

  I doubt that. Instead I nod. As I stand back up, my eyes sweep the parking lot. Mostly everyone is still inside, and I realize now is my chance to get out of here before all hell breaks loose. I begin to walk toward my car. My eyes dart back to the door where I almost took the guy out. “Sorry about—”

  “Don’t worry about…” His deep voice trails off, but then he says, “Anders Vik!”

  Oh shit.

  I’m barely inside the bar when a male voice calls to me. Coming here was probably a bad idea. But the earliest I was able to change my flight to was tomorrow morning and I don’t want to sit in my hotel room alone thinking about how much my life sucks. Hence my presence in the hotel bar.

  “You look familiar.”

  Not again. So much for flying under the radar. Who would’ve thought there were so many snowboarding fans in North Carolina? Doesn’t make sense. I’m about to offer some lame bullshit excuse about “getting that a lot” when the guy continues.

  “Do you know Colleen Sesh?”

  Who?

  “No, sorry.” I shake my head in emphasis.

  “You look just like her cousin, Dennis.”

  That’s an unfortunate name. I roll my shoulders and sit at one of the barstools.

  “I’m Mitch.” The bartender extends his hand. Why the fuck is everyone so friendly here?

  “Michael.” I offer the name I always use when traveling: Michael Smith. I pump his hand once before dropping it back down on the bar.

  “So what are ya havin’?” His accent grates on my nerves and I do my best to ignore it.

  “Ginger ale.”

  His eyebrows rise in question, but he grabs a glass from under the bar and fills it with ice.

  Several moments later he places the soda down in front of me, and for second I regret my decision. I should’ve ordered a shot of Jaeger. But I’m afraid if I start drinking I won’t be able to stop, and in a sick way I don’t want to numb the pain. I want to feel every ounce of it. I deserve to. I did this.

  “So you in town for graduation?”

  This guy cannot take a hint.

  “Yeah.” I grunt. I tuck my head down and hunch my shoulders more. Read my body language, asshole.

  “So which one? UNC? NC State? Hotel’s book solid with out of towners.”

  I don’t respond. In fact I’ve barely registered his words because I’m too lost in my own head.

  Digging the box out of my pocket, I open it and pull out the engagement ring that I bought for Gigs. It’s been burning a hole in my pocket for weeks, and I foolishly thought that today would be the day when I would finally give it to her. When she would finally wear it. When she would finally be mine.

  Mitch whistles through is teeth. “That’s some ring.”

  My fist slams down over the ring and I glare at him, but he is undeterred.

  “So, what? She said no?”

  Does this guy have a death wish? “What the fuck?”

  “Okay, okay.” He backs away. “Just thought you might want to talk about it.”

  “Whatever gave you that idea?”

  “Dunno.” He picks up a white rag and begins mopping the bar.

  Thank God.

  But after only a minute of quiet he says, “If I may…” He pauses, but before I can object, he says, “It’s better to talk these things out. Not good to keep everything bottled inside.”

  “Who the fuck are you? Dr. Phil?” My head whips in his direction at the other end of the bar.

  “Ha, I wish. But I am minoring in psychology.”

  I snort.

  “So what do you say? Wanna talk about it?”

  “No.”

  He walks back toward me and throws the rag in the sink. “Come on. What can it hurt? And I’ll throw in free ginger ale all night.”

  “Don’t you have better things to do? Like serve other customers?”

  His arms spread wide, gesturing around the empty space. “Yeah, look at all the customers.”

  I snort again.

  “Plus,” he adds, “I might be able to commiserate.”

  My brows rise in interest.

  “Caught my fiancée cheating a week after I proposed.”

  Tough break.

  He leans on the bar. “With my brother.”

  I wince. That is all kinds of fucked up. Maybe my situation isn’t so bad after all.

  He continues on as though we were discussing the weather. “Broke my fucking heart.”

  “Sorry, man,” I say lamely.

  “Trying to move on and all that bullshit.” He taps the bar. “So
what’s your deal?

  Who’s got you all messed up?”

  I hesitate. Am I actually considering spilling my guts to the bartender? My life is officially a country song. But my inner voice whispers, Maybe this is what you need. To unload your feelings to a perfect stranger and move on.

  I take a deep breath, then say, “I met a girl…”

  It’s true what they say: misery does love company.

  A shiver ripples through me just as a thin coat of sweat erupts on the surface of my skin. A cold sweat. My tongue darts out, swipes across my dry lips.

  Anders is here. In Chapel Hill. He was at my graduation. But why?

  As I clutch the phone I study the image until I’m quite sure it will be seared into my brain forever. He looks different. More rugged. His hair is shaggy, much longer than I’ve seen him wear it. His beard is unshaven, giving him a rough, but deadly sexy, edge.

  God. I let myself go and I look like shit. Anders let himself go, and he looks like a freaking Adonis. I can’t even.

  “Are you sure?” Maria asks her brother for what must be the hundredth time, but she needn’t repeat the question. I know without a shadow of a doubt that this is Anders. The baseball cap is pulled low, but does little to shield his blue-grey eyes. Those eyes appear sad, defeated. I want to comfort him. Take away his pain.

  “Yes.” I hear Tony’s voice over the din of the restaurant diners. “Like I told you, when I was coming out of the bathroom—”

  “Right.” Maria interrupts him, one eyebrow raised. “Coming out of the bathroom.”

  Their parents don’t know he smokes, or if they do, they don’t acknowledge it openly. We both know what he was doing; sneaking a quick smoke while her parents and my mother snapped a million and one photos of us, the recent college graduates.

  “I recognized him. Shook his hand and took a quick selfie. Shame I didn’t have a pen. Would’ve asked for his autograph.”

  Maria snorts and Tony wrestles the phone from my hands, which is damn difficult, because I’m clutching it like it’s my lifeline.

  “I didn’t realize you guys knew each other.” He tips his head in my direction. “What’s the story?”

  Maria answers for me. “Don’t.” I hear a quick thud and Tony makes a pained face. Did she just kick him under the table?

  “God, you’re annoying. Don’t you have another year left?” Tony rolls his eyes.

  “Sorry, little brother. You’re stuck with me.”

  Their banter washes over me as I dip my head and reach into my purse for my own cell phone. Before I can think about what I’m doing, I text Anders.

  Gigs: You’re here in North Carolina???

  It’s less than a minute before I text him again.

  Gigs: What are you doing here?

  Not even twenty seconds later, I text again.

  Gigs: Can I see you?

  I drop my cell in my lap, glancing at it every five seconds or so. No response. I debate sending him another text. I want to, God do I want to, but that’s bordering on (a) pathetic, (b) desperate, (c) stupid or (d) all of the above.

  My mom rests her hand on my shoulder. “All right, honey?”

  “Yeah.” I nod in agreement, but my eyes remain focused on my lap.

  “Big day.”

  “Yeah.”

  She pulls my head nearer and kisses the top of it. “Your father and I are so proud of you.”

  I lift my head from her shoulder and narrow my eyes. “Seriously?”

  “I know, I know.” Her tone is placating. “He hasn’t always made the right decisions, but he’s your father and he loves you.”

  I shrug. After what he put me through this past semester… Let’s just say, we still aren’t on speaking terms.

  “You have to go see him tonight. He and Sara flew all the way here from Jersey.”

  “I didn’t ask them to.” My voice rises in anger. I glance at my phone again. Still no response from Anders. The knot in my stomach tightens. My heart squeezes in my chest. I didn’t think it was possible for my heart to break any more.

  “Honey, give your father a chance. You didn’t speak with him after the ceremony or take a picture with him. He showed up. He’s trying.”

  “Too little, too late.”

  “It’s your decision; you’re a big girl. But I know it would mean a lot to him. The girl I raised considers other’s feelings. And it’s only one hour of your life. If you still feel the same afterward, walk away. You only get one father and he’s getting older. We both are.”

  Fuck. I’ll have the hamburger, please, medium-well, with a side order of guilt.

  “Fine.” I huff. “I’ll go.”

  A wide smile lights up my mother’s face. “Thank you.”

  Maria and I share a look as if to say “parents” and Tony chuckles.

  The rest of the meal continues with conversation about the upcoming summer. In a bubbly voice, Maria discusses her plans for before she starts her teaching position back in New York. I don’t say much, and Maria’s parents are too polite to ask about my plans because they assume, like Maria and my mother, that I didn’t receive any offers. I did receive an offer, but I’m still unsure if I’m going to accept it.

  When the check finally arrives, the waiter takes away my plate, food untouched, and my phone lies silent in my lap. He never texted me back.

  Before we part ways at the restaurant I go through the motions, hugging Maria and her parents goodbye. Maria and I promise to get together soon, but it’s as though I’m in a daze. I nod and smile where appropriate, but my mind is firing one word over and over. Anders.

  I can’t decide if my nerves and stress over Anders is a blessing or a curse when I arrive at the hotel to meet my father. On the one hand I’ve barely given thought to what I’ll say to Dad and his girlfriend, who is closer to my age than I care to admit. But on the other hand, it’s bad because I’ve given no thought to what I’ll say to him. It’s not like we have much in common, nor do we have a strong relationship. The man has barely shown up for most of my life and yet my mom tries so hard to force a relationship between him and me. I think she somehow wants to ensure I have a father figure even though they divorced.

  The revolving door spins around in a slow circle as I push through and I jump out quickly. I pause in the lobby. I don’t even know my dad’s room number. And even if I did I’m not going to show up at his hotel door, randomly. What if they were…? Oh God. I definitely don’t want to think about that.

  I reach into my bag and grab my cell phone. Still no response from Anders. My shoulders droop forward in defeat. I don’t get it. Why come all this way just to ignore me? Head bent, I walk to the side and scroll through my contacts. Casper. Despite myself I smile at my nickname for my father. He’s pulled so many disappearing acts I thought he deserved an appropriate name. Casper, the disappearing ghost.

  I type a quick message to let him know I’m here and asking if he wants to grab some coffee. But after two long minutes the status bar indicates that the message is still trying to send. Walking farther into the lobby, I hold my phone out awkwardly (hey, it works in commercials) trying to catch a better signal.

  Finally the message goes through. Pushing breath between my lips I exhale slowly, trying to calm my nerves. On a scale of zero to ten, this experience rates a minus two. A brass sign catches my eye. Shakers Lounge. For a single, desperate moment I seriously consider walking into the bar to order a shot.

  “Pathetic,” I murmur to myself. I turn away, but in doing so I catch a glimpse of the lone man sitting at the bar.

  Anders.

  “It can’t be.” But even as the words leave my mouth, I know it’s him. He’s in side profile, body angled away from me. Head bent as he twirls something shiny on the bar’s smooth surface. The bartender, a young man from what I can tell, leans toward him, a look of concentration on his face.

  My feet have a mind of their own as they propel me forward. My mind screams “Abort! Abort!” but I continue to ap
proach. I slow as I hear his smooth, deep voice.

  My skin prickles in awareness. His voice. That’s all it takes and my body responds, heats and readies for him.

  “I fucked it up.” He shakes his head. “I let her walk away. I fucked up.”

  The bartender looks at him, eyebrows drawn together, but doesn’t comment.

  “I came here to tell her. To give her this.” His fingers still the spinning object. “To tell her how I feel. But I couldn’t do it. She looked… happy. She was so happy.” His body slumps a little further. “She doesn’t need me. She’s moved on.”

  His eyes meet the bartenders in what must be a quest for acknowledgement or possibly advice, but the bartender just grunts.

  I strain to hear, but it’s difficult, so I inch closer. He’s so near. I can smell him. Pine and mint. I can feel him. His heat is drawing me in. My nerves buzz as adrenaline pumps through my body. So close.

  His fingers drum a slow beat on the bar, drawing my attention. That’s when I realize what the object is. A ring. A shiny, diamond ring. My chest constricts and for a second I can’t breathe. I suck in quick breaths, lungs greedy for air.

  I stand there for a while longer, regaining my composure. Regaining my sense of reality. The seconds tick by, bleeding into minutes until I finally find my voice.

  “Anders.”

  My body responds to that voice, her voice, as if I were electrocuted. She’s here. Standing mere feet away from me, looking like an angel in a white cotton dress, hair swept back with only a few soft curls framing her face.

  I blink once, and then again. I must be dreaming. Is it possible to sleep with your eyes open? Maybe sleep deprivation has finally given way to full-on hallucinations.

  But then I remember where I am—North Carolina—and why I came here in the first place—her graduation—and some small part of my brain begins functioning.

  “Gigs?”

  My face must be a mask of confusion, because the bartender looks from me to her, eyebrows high. “This the girl?” His voice rises.

  I ignore him. “What are you doing here?”

  “I was just going to ask you the same thing.” She takes a baby step closer.