Page 66 of Snowed In on Valentine's Day

I knew it was a massive risk to bring this up, but I’d been unable to forget about the perplexing incident, especially considering the passionate kiss we’d shared just before that.

He sighed and looked at the wall for a long moment, so long I was convinced he wouldn’t reply. “I’ve always hated the holiday.”

I felt my encouraging smile wobble. Whether I was dating or not, I was a romantic. And hearing this admission from him hurt my heart.

But this wasn’t about me.

After a moment where he seemed to consider whether to continue or how much to say, he swallowed slowly and then spoke, “My parents loathed each other. Father put all his energy into the business, and what little time he had left, if any, was for his affairs. And there were many. On the rare occasions we saw him, he was verbally abusive to both of us. I began to feel grateful when he was gone on business trips, or so he called them, because the atmosphere between them became so toxic.”

I merely nodded, sadness and empathy coursing through me as I studied this grown man in front of me who’d endured this. I gripped his hand and saw some of the tension leave his face.

“So, it was just my mother and me most of the time, and I learned to be OK with that. And Fluffy and Furry.” He glanced over at me and rolled his eyes. “If it’s not obvious, I named our pets.”

Offering a small smile, I said, “I love it.”

“Anyway, we were close when I was little, but she eventually became more distant. I guess she was breaking down herself, I don’t know, but I was a little boy so I couldn’t have understood that.

“One morning when I was ten, I woke up to find my mother gone, along with Fluffy. She’d written a brief note that I don’t remember very clearly, and the housekeeper consoled me until my father got home late that night. He was of course no help. Instead of comforting the boy whose mother had just abandoned him, he seemed to resent me more than ever. I could never please him after that, though I rarely had before it either.”He took a few steadying breaths before finishing. “And that day she left … it was Valentine’s Day.”

I gasped. “No.”

As he nodded, the pain etched into his features was evident. I’d never seen him so open about his feelings. If only I could hug him, but climbing on top of him in his hospital bed might be frowned upon.

“I assumed the date was intentional to send a message to my father. But now, as an adult, I don’t know. Maybe the holiday just made her finally give up on any chance of romance with him. She must have had her reasons.”

I shook my head. “No. No! Don’t rationalize this. No matter what her reasons were, she didn’t just leave your dad. She leftyoutoo. That’s … inexcusable. Did she at least call you? Visit?” My parents had at least waited until I was eighteen before splitting up. My little sister hadn’t been so lucky though.

His exhale was shaky as he shook his head. “Not for a long time. A couple years or so.”

My eyes filled with tears, and I looked away, not wanting him to see me crying—because this was about him, not me. I tried to discreetly wipe my eyes before turning back to him. “I’m so sorry, Peter. I don’t blame you at all for hating Valentine’s Day.” My mind raced. “Oh, so that’s what set you off—”

“Yes,” he said with a grimace. “Shehadcalled me on the holiday, and I deleted the voicemail without listening to it. And when she brought it up so casually last night … I just lost it, I guess.” He studied me then. “Tell me something. She didn’t come to the hospital, did she?”

I couldn’t lie. Shaking my head sadly, I squeezed his hand. “I’m sorry. I was shocked, to say the least, when she claimed she had to get back to the hotel.”

He shook his head, looking down. “You know, it’s fine—”

“It’s not fine!” I exclaimed.

“I’ve had a long time to accept this,” he reminded me. “I never expect anything from her. Or him, for that matter. He was disgusted with me when I quit the business recently, which isn’t surprising.”

I wrinkled my nose in distaste. “It’s not? I would think a father would be concerned first and foremost about his only son’s health.”

He let out a chuckle. “One would think that. But not him. He never approved of anything I did, even though the business was far more successful after I took over years ago, when his health forced him to retire. For similar reasons, actually. I don’t know what his deal was, but he’s always seemed disappointed with me. Either that or … irritated that I exist.”

My eyebrows scrunched together as I processed this. “I’m so sorry, Peter. How awful.” My heart was breaking for that little boy, but also for the man who sat next to me and shrugged, even though he was obviously struggling with his feelings.

“Like I said, I came to terms with all this years ago. Or at least I thought I did.” His lips curved downward.

“It makes sense. By showing up here, she opened up the old wounds. And that was before she even mentioned the date of her Valentine’s call so flippantly.” I searched for the right words to say but came up empty. “I get it, you know. I was already eighteen when my mother left, but it was still traumatic. I still remember every detail about the day before she left, when I burned some food and she looked so disappointed … silly now that I think about it. But anytime I burn something in the kitchen, the memories assault me, and I can barely breathe.” I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to block out the memory. “I get it, kind of. It doesn’t make it any easier. But I’m sorry, Peter.”

He lifted a shoulder then. “She’s gone. Got a text from her about an hour ago, something about Randall needing her.” His exhalation was shaky.

“Butyouneeded her too,” I said, my voice nearly a whisper as I squeezed his clammy hand.

He squeezed it back and then reclined against the single pillow on the bed. I stared at his weary face; Peter was nothing like I’d imagined. The real Peter, inside. When he let his guard down.

And he thought we were more than just friends? Or had I misinterpreted that?

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