Your Mark on Me

Chapter 17: Winter Wind

I didn't hear from Mark at all over the Christmas break.

Between dinners with the extended family, visiting Aunt Helen, furious piano practice and a couple of clumsy dates with Roy, life was following its usual course, almost as if Mark had never happened.

I loved this time of the year. Me and Mom had our little traditions, the special cake we made before Christmas Eve, watching "The Nutcracker" DVD which I knew by heart, but still enjoyed as much as when I was a kid, shopping for the Christmas tree and decorating the house — all of these were the same as they'd been every year for almost a decade now; but somehow, they felt different.

We spent Christmas at Aunt Helen's, in Pittsburgh. Among our relatives, she was my favourite. She had a fun, bubbly personality, so unlike me or Mom. When we were at her house, I always found great entertainment at the acid, but incredibly funny verbal sparring between her and her eternally disgruntled husband. Had it not been such a long drive we would have visited her more often, but, the way it was, we only did at Christmas, birthdays and in the summer, when I'd spend a couple of weeks there.

On Christmas day, I waited in vain for a phone call or at least a text from Mark, wishing me a "Merry Christmas". When I tried to phone him myself, the number couldn't be reached. I didn't have any way of contacting him, I didn't even know the name of the place where he lived in the UK.

Since he'd given it to me, I hadn't taken off the ring. Mom and Helen both complimented it; when I explained that it was a gift, they both thought it was from Roy. I didn't contradict them. Roy thought it was a gift from Mom.

Between Christmas and New Year's, I met up two or three times with Roy. Mom approved of him (I think she'd seen it coming long before I had) and was actively encouraging me to get out of the house more often. I think that my newly acquired apathy regarding everything around me was worrying her. For New Year's, Roy came over to our house and brought flowers for both Mom and me. It was sweet.

In the first week of January, we had our first snow storm and the whole city was glistening. Roy and I walked through the small park close to my house, our feet leaving a row of traces in the fresh layer of snow. We found a good place, covered in pristine white, and proceeded to build a clumsy-looking snowman. When Roy found a big, crooked stone and used it as a nose for the face of our snowman, we both laughed heartily as we observed the uncanny resemblance with Mrs Thornton.

My cheeks were red with the cold. The freezing touch of the snow was starting to seep through the thick fabric of the gloves, but somehow there was an unexplained warmth in the air. We started throwing snowballs at each other; I gave a surprised scream when Roy almost got me, and cried with delight when I hit him, splattering snow all over his coat. As we smiled at each other, panting for air, little circles of steam coming out of our mouths, for a second I almost felt alive, free of the longing that was ever on my mind, since Mark.

Roy took my hand and I let him. Then, he shyly pressed his lips against mine. They were cold with the frost, but in the wintry air, felt warm and soft. For the first time, I enjoyed the kiss. There was a silent comfort in it, like a shy reminder that, somehow, life was possible even without Mark.

My phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled away from Roy.

It was a text, from a long, international number, that wasn't in my contacts.

"Great news, little one: the book might be published. I'm at the airport now: an hour until the flight. Look forward to seeing you."

It wasn't signed, but there was no need to. My face lit up, a large grin stretching from ear to ear with a joy that I couldn't contain.