Page 4 of Snow Harm, No Foul

“I am. Now, get back to work. Both of you,” he says before ducking out of the cubicle and most likely heading back to his office.

I’m not even sure what he does here, but I do know that he’s the one who could fire me if I do something terrible enough.

Jill waits until he’s out of earshot before glaring at me again and whisper-hissing, “You’re not getting my snow blower now!”

I only laugh in response and roll back to my desk. She slips out of the cubicle but doesn’t move a step further before pointing a finger at me.

“Text me before you meet the bar owner. I’ll have to make sure to stop by and tell him to shovelyoursidewalks.”

2

IVY

After two longnights of knitting while binge watching Christmas movies, I hold the new sweater in front of myself and inspect it for the final time. The deep green and red yarn doesn’t really give Scrooge, but they’re the colours I was drawn to. It was either green and red or my favourite purple and pink yarn I always keep balls of, which, from the descriptions I’ve gotten of the guy I’m meeting, don’t seem like they’d really be his thing.

Or maybe I’m wrong and he’s a guy who loves wearing pink and purple. Either way, I hope Niko still appreciates all the effort I put into making this gift for him and sees it as the olive branch I’m intending it to be.

The giant glass jug of moonshine on my kitchen counter is supposedly candy cane flavoured, but because I didn’t want to risk alcohol poisoning after a single sip, I haven’t tried it to check. Niko is a bar owner, so he has to be able to handle his liquor, right?

After folding the sweatshirt neatly, I tuck it into a Grinch-themed gift bag, add the moonshine on top, and stuff it full of glittery red tissue paper. My chin drops in a nod of approval before I’m taking the bag by the handles, grabbing my purse, andbringing everything out to my car, thankful for my remote start that’s already warming it up for me.

The five inches of snow weren’t supposed to have fallen until Sunday night, but it arrived early with the promise of more to come this weekend. Even bundled in my heavy winter jacket and thick boots, the chill is instant, burning my exposed cheeks.

I took Jill up on her offer and used her snow blower on my sidewalk yesterday. You’d never know looking at it today. Each step through the thick snow is grating, and by the time I make it to my car, I’ve broken into a sweat beneath my jacket.

Abandoning the gift in the passenger seat, I slip on my gloves and start clearing the snow from the roof of my car. It continues to fall as I brush away what’s already accumulated, but at least the heater is melting the snowflakes hitting my windshield.

By the time I finish, I’m both sweating and freezing. I take my gloves off and yank my phone from my jacket pocket. It vibrates as I scroll for a song to play.

Shit For Brains: Are you sure you won’t come back for Christmas? We could talk.

And another.

Shit For Brains: Come on. How many times do I have to say I’m sorry?

Talk about having the absolute fucking audacity.

I choose a song and then open the message, hating the way my stomach pinches at the sight of our last conversation and the memories it drags back up.

My reply is quick and blunt.

Eat shit, Travis.

It’s been nine months since I learned my now ex-boyfriend had been writing the cruellest things about me in a group chat between him and his friends.

Every single one of my habits, both bad and those I thought were iffy but at least okay, had been sent to a group of men who made crude jokes and nasty comments about them. And it hadn’t stopped there, either.

After one of them called me Mount Ivy during a Friday night football party we hosted and then looked like he was going to be sick afterward, I had this gut feeling that something wasn’t right. I’d never been called that before, much less by one of Travis’s friends.

I looked through his phone the next night and found all of my answers in messages where they’d been calling me that as a way to make fun of my heavy chest. It got worse after that somehow, with personal details of my body and what I enjoyed during sex being shared in a disgusting way that made me hate myself for a while. Every one of my insecurities was highlighted and shared as a way to get a few laughs.

The fact he has the nerve to still text me after I left and moved two hours away from him is beyond my comprehension.

I delete our conversation and slide my phone between my thighs as I drive. He’s not going to get the better of me today. I’ve prepared for this business meeting with Niko for too many days now to show up distracted with this shit.

If I don’t do well, I could be spending Christmas in a snow pile on the side of Main Street.

I keep my grip tight on the steering wheel the entire drive to the Frosty Mug. The roads aren’t slick, but the snow is loose, and my winter tires are old—definitely not making it another year.

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