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“Really?”
“Listen, my toes are used to being nice and toasty, usually shoved in the sand of the gulf coast, alright?” He chuckles but mutters that I’m a baby as Ollie bounds over with a bag of mini-marshmallows. I surreptitiously flip him off behind the little girl’s back and grin at her, checking out her offerings.
“Do you want some, Mac-and-Cheese?”
“Oh, of course. You can’t have hot chocolate without marshmallows. I think it’s against the law, actually.” She giggles and dumps about twenty in my mug, but I don’t mind one bit.
Eventually the sun goes down and after a little bit of fighting, Ollie finally goes to bed. I had to promise her at least ten times that I would be here in the morning before she finally gave in and let Connor go tuck her in. I’m standing by the back doors, looking out into night when Connor pads quietly back into the living room. He’s in worn jeans, a black long-sleeved t-shirt that fits close to his muscled frame, and bare feet. How they aren’t freezing, I’ll never know. I’d borrowed a pair of his thick, woolen socks earlier and I’m fairly certain that “borrow” is going to turn into “steal” because they’re amazing.
“She’s out.”
“Poor kid, she must have been exhausted. I don’t think she stopped for more than ten minutes the entire day.”
He laughs lightly. “Sounds about right. How about you? Are you ready for bed, or can I talk you into a drink?”
“A drink sounds good.”
He smiles and nods, heading to the kitchen while I turn my gaze back to the glass. The lights strung in the trees and around the yard are on, casting a soft glow over everything. So much snow has fallen since the afternoon that everything is completely smoothed over again, all traces of our snowball fight and snow angels completely gone. The lights glint off of the snow, making the ice crystals glitter like diamonds. I'd never realized how beautiful snow could be. I mean, sure, it's pretty in movies and on postcards, but I always kind of thought that was just camera tricks. It really is breathtaking though. The stars reflect off of the surface of the lake and I can just make out the mountains in the distance, just hulking black shadows against the night sky now. Connor sure did pick a great spot to call home, that’s for sure.
He joins me and hands me a glass. I take a long sip and give a littlemmmof appreciation—Jameson and ginger ale. I’d tried it for the first time when we’d gone to the bar after he man-handled my chair for me, and it had quickly become a new favorite.
“It really is beautiful,” I say nodding towards the picturesque scene just outside.
“It is. I’ve always loved the snow. Don’t get me wrong, I’m perfectly content to lounge on a beach somewhere with a fruity concoction in my hand, but snow has just always been…I dunno how to explain it. My happy place I guess?” I can't say that I'm surprised. I feel like all hockey players were polar bears in a former life.
We make our way over to the couch, settling in with a bit of space between us. Though it isn’t awkward or anything, it seems like we’re both being a bit…cautious after last night. Or I could just be imagining the whole damn thing and I’m the only one who noticed anything at all. Connor has this unflappable air about him most of the time, like no matter what’s thrown at him, he just rolls with it, and it’s hard to tell what he’s really feeling about something. I inwardly shake myself and take another sip of my drink.
“I get that. Water has always been mine. There was a small fishing pond on one of our property growing up, the bayou running along the other, and we’d taken too many trips to the beach to count over the years. My mom was the same way, always loved the water, so I think that’s another part of the reason I love it so much—it was always kind of our thing. Even before my dad bolted, mom and I would swing in the hammock right on the edge of the water or take the pirogue out on the bayou, just the two of us." At his confused look, I add with a laugh, “it’s just another name for a little boat. But we would go out for hours, exploring and talking. Nowadays, I guess I feel close to her when I’m near the water, any water.”
“Ah, so that’s why you picked the house on the Sound.” I nod and absently run the diamond along the chain around my neck. He nods to it with a question in his eyes. “Mom gave me this on my sixteenth birthday. It’s a diamond from my mamaw’s engagement ring, actually, that mom had set into a necklace. I pretty much never take it off.”
“That’s really nice.” I smile and he continues, “And what about your dad? You haven’t said much about him other than he left.”
I huff out a laugh. “He’s one of those guys that just never could grow up, ya know? Even after he got married and had a kid, he was still more concerned about going out with his friends or trying to make it as a musician playing local bars than being an adult. He tried his best for those first few years, I guess, but in the end, he just wasn’t meant to be a family man. I think he was a little intimidated by mom, too. She was the powerhouse breadwinner. She worked her ass off to get her architectural firm up and running before I was born and by the time dad bolted, she was designing multi-million dollar homes for really affluent clients—like governors and shit—and her waitlist was over a year long. I don’t think he could handle feeling emasculated.” I shrug a shoulder. I came to terms with all of this a long time ago and it doesn’t really bother me too much nowadays. “He tried to come back once, about five years after he left, and mom kicked him off the porch with a shotgun pointed at his crotch.”
Connor busts out laughing. “I think I would have liked her.”
“I think so too. She was strong and smart and witty. She was a Cajun woman, born and bred and didn’t take shit from anyone, total fire in her veins and not scared of anything. I once saw her swat a gator on the nose like it was a dog who was trying to get scraps off the dinner table. Hand on the Bible,” I say when he looks dubious. “She was great. I really miss her,” I say with a sigh. “But yeah I haven’t spoken to my dad since I was…oh, eighteen probably. He got in touch with me just after graduation and I stupidly agreed to meet with him, thinking, I don’t know, maybe he’d finally realized the mistake he’d made and wanted to reconnect, like one of those stories you see online or something. Turns out he just needed money.”
“What an ass,” Connor says.
“He is that indeed. It stung a little, I won’t lie, but I got over it pretty quickly. I threw my tea in his face—verydramatic, I know—told him I hoped a rabid nutria bit his dick off, and then left the restaurant. Haven’t talked to him since.”
Connor tries desperately to hold back his laugh, but it doesn’t work out so well. He throws his head back and laughs, that deep, husky laugh of his that I love. My lips curl upwards and soon we’re both cracking up.
“A rabid nutria? What the fuck is that even?”
Through my giggles I say, “it’s kind of like a beaver.” He laughs harder and I shrug a shoulder.
“Mac, I swear to God, you are the most ridiculous, hilarious woman I’ve ever met.” I take it as the compliment he means it to be.
We settle down again and talk about this and that, the conversation flowing easily, like always. Eventually, we end up on past relationships. We’ve touched a bit on them before now, but tonight seems to be the night for deep-diving. I don’t know if it’s the second—no, third?—drink, or the feeling of being isolated from the entire world, just me and Connor hidden by the snow, but it apparently makes us want to share.
“I haven’t been in a serious relationship in…Christ, the last one was in college actually.”
“Wow, really?”
“Yeah. Cassidy and I dated junior and part of senior year at Cornell, but it didn’t last too long after I got drafted. She couldn’t really handle the lifestyle and honestly, I was too wrapped up in it all to care enough to try harder than I did.” I give him a knowing look and he shrugs. “Reformedplayboy, remember? Anyway, she’s married now, has three kids, and seems super happy, so it worked out the way it was meant to. We’ve stayed in touch a bit after the initial her-hating-my-guts-for-being-an-asshole thing passed. I got them all tickets to the game last time we were in Buffalo, actually. Her oldest son is big into hockey and I gave him a stick signed by the whole team. It was a good time.” I smile, liking that he’s one of those guys who’s genuinely happy for an ex to be happy.
