seasons
(the one where winter is long, too long, and she goes blonde in the spring)
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I was pleasantly surprised when Billie asked me to move away with her. Yeah, we'd been together for two years, but it reaffirmed something for me. I knew we were in deep now, that she trusted me to be there for her and she knew I trusted her too.
It was her idea to take off in her truck and move to the city, and when she'd asked me to come with her I had no other choice. I was hopelessly, desperately in love with her. How could I say no?
It hadn't been easy. Billie found out the hard way that moving to a big city with your savings was harder than it sounds. Plus, the city was hot. Too hot.
Billie hated the summer, and she never let me forget it either. I think it goes back to her childhood, growing up in California under the constant gaze of the sun. You always want you don't have, and Billie craved the cold.
The unforgiving heatwave just made her cranky, which in turn made her complain about everything. At first I was annoyed, but then it just became funny- her constant huffing and whines and groans of discomfort as the temperature climbed steadily for weeks on end.
"I thought this was the fuckin' east coast," she huffed from beside me, pouting under her dark sunglasses and crossing her arms over her chest. Her hair was a dark blue-black and had been hastily swept into a bun on her head, her neck and shoulders shimmering with sweat. We sat before the open window, desperately hoping the breeze would find it's way through our cramped apartment.
"We got all four seasons babe, it'll be fall soon enough," I laid a hand on her thigh.
She just shoved it away, scoffing, "don't touch me," before standing up and storming off towards the kitchen. I just smiled to myself. I had long since learned that Billie's tantrums are as short as her fuse.
Sure enough, just a minute later she wordlessly stalked back into the room with a popsicle between her lips and flopped down next to me. She leaned her head on my shoulder despite the heat and said nothing. No apology necessary; she knew I understood.
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She perked up when the first autumn winds arrived, carrying a chill that swept the area overnight. I swear her eyes got brighter, shinier as the cold front rolled in. Her temper improved along with the weather, and she slept closer to me now that she could stand the feeling of my skin on hers.
On our days off we went for walks in the park and she chattered the whole time, kicking leaves with her feet and bounding across the open space. She broke out her flannels and cardigans and hoodies, and I couldn't get enough of snuggly autumn Billie.
In the evenings she loved to sit on the fire escape, the closest to a porch we could get in New York, and sip her wine while cars and people passed beneath us. She shined like the city around us, the skyscrapers forming a sparkling skyline in the distance. The September breeze would whip through her pony tail and send her flannel billowing around her and I couldn't get enough.
She would wait up for me on nights I worked late, and I'd come home to her sitting on the couch in her underwear with a bottle of wine. Her music was playing, the old stuff, Johnny Mathis and Julie London, and candles burned on the coffee table. The apartment smelled amazing and Billie looked even better.
"I made cinnamon rolls" she greeted me with a kiss, "cuz' I missed you."
I just hummed against her lips, "we'll eat them after," and laid her down on the couch.