Page 58 of Let It Snow
Lake comes over from the kitchen with Jordan. For a moment, his hand lifts as if to reach for me, but then he lets it fall, maybe understanding that it shouldalwaysbe me who chooses to initiate touch.
I stare at my plate, keeping my head down. Jordan and Bay continue talking. Bay complains about his manager messing up ticket sales and overselling a concert hall.
Lake glances at me and quietly asks, "You okay, Summer?"
I give the smallest nod. What could possibly be different with me, other than that I’ve been binging articles, stuffing myself with food, fixing my nest, and impaling myself on a dildo every few hours? Not exactly the kind of updates I’d share with anyone.
I lean closer to my plate. Jordan has served me two pieces of toast with scrambled eggs, some bacon, and a tomato salad.
With my head down, I notice something odd. Out of everyone in the room, the only presence I truly feel is Snow’s. Strange.
A ball of energy on my sight’s periphery.
I seem to know exactly where he is, as if my awareness is tethered to him. The others fade in and out unless I look directly at them, but Snow feels solid, anchored in my reality, almost physically tangible.
Then something peculiar happens.
I lift a slice of tomato to my mouth, still staring blankly at the toast in front of me. Out of nowhere, something flickers across the soft part of the bread. For a moment, I think I’m imagining it. But no. Two tiny glowing dots appear, followed by a curved line beneath them.
A glowing ‘smiley face’ burns briefly across the toast!
My face floods with heat. I stare at the little smile until it fades away, leaving only ordinary bread behind.
I hesitate to lift my head, but of course I know it’s him, Snow.
Did anyone else see it? Probably not. Everyone is caught up in their own conversations. Aiden and Bay are talking now about Bay’s latest video that got an unusually high number of views. He plays three different instruments in it, edited together into one polished song.
Snow is focused on his plate, at least outwardly, though I know he’s somehow watching me, gauging my reaction to the light smiley. Lake and Jordan are busy making an online order for kitchen supplies.
I sneak discreet glances at Snow, his perfect profile pulling my gaze again and again.
What was that glowing smiley about?
Was it flirting? A way of cheering me up, just a joke to lighten the mood?
I stay silent for the rest of the meal, only listening.
From their conversations I learn that Lake works part-time as a music teacher at a local inclusive preschool, purely because he wants to, not because he needs to. Aiden composes music on commission for various companies, and occasionally Lake helpshim. It seems Snow is doing something similar, composing and teaching.
As they’re all musicians, a normal day in the Nolans’ house usually means Aiden and Snow working in their music studios while Lake after returning from preschool, tends to the garden and the two greenhouses.
Jordan takes care of the house chores and cooking. I learn he’s a relative of Aiden’s dad, who ran into some bad luck with his old job and had to leave earlier than planned, without enough savings to retire comfortably. That’s why he chose to work here with family.
Life in the Nolan residence seems slow and peaceful. Nothing much appears to happen; they just get along easily.
But the calmness of this breakfast has the opposite effect on me. It makes me strangely eager. I want more, to expand a bit, maybe even pay a visit to the basement. I just can’t stay in my room anymore, stuck like a fish in an aquarium. It’s not enough. I’m aching to see him, to interact with him.
To make sure if he’s… my True.
And to start something with him.
The only problem is that I have no experience initiating things, so how can I do that without doing something cringy? I want it to happen naturally, as if it just unfolds on its own.
Tonight feels like my chance.
The Nolans always play together as a family at least once a week, and sure enough, it’s Sunday. They’re setting up for one of their jam sessions, this loose, improvised thing where everyone just picks up an instrument, catches a tune drifting through the air, and shapes it into music.
Aiden strums an old acoustic guitar with his thumb, Lake’s fingers flutter across a small keyboard, testing chords. Bay sits straight-backed with a cello between his knees, bow glidingsmoothly. Snow draws low, yearning notes from his harmonica. Even Jordan joins in, balancing a little ukulele on his knee.
