The answer was that indulging in snow angels and impromptu outings to the ballet felt like exposing herself somehow. Putting on display the tender, inner part of her that was capable of taking delight in innocent pursuits, and that, in turn, felt like she was setting herself up to be mocked.
Which was sad. She had never been a frivolous person, but she used to have fun.
In one sense, the sum total of her experience with Max was him asking her to do stuff and her saying no. Do you want to go to dinner? No. Do you want to go to The Nutcracker? No. Can I send a car for you? I’ll take the subway. Can I walk with you? You don’t have to.
Vince had done this to her. Vince and his operas and his cubist literature.
No. As much as she hated to admit it, that wasn’t entirely fair to Vince. The hard truth was she had done this to herself. She had let Vince turn her into this brittle, careful, suspicious person.
She had turned into a person who didn’t trust her own judgment.
That was why she had her list.
But the list didn’t say anything about outlawing fun. It was one thing to be post-men. But did that have to mean she was on the defensive in all human interactions? Did she have to become a misanthrope? Her parents had moved to Long Island. Leo had moved to Eldovia. She’d been thinking just yesterday about how she hadn’t seen much of Sinéad this semester. If she saw the people she trusted rarely-to-never, what did that mean for her life? Not to be too melodramatic, but what did that mean for her soul?
Snow angels it was.
“You’re not dressed for it anyway.” Max started back toward her.
“No, no. Stay there. I’m coming.” He grinned, and she gasped as she stepped into the snow. It wasn’t a gasp that came from the shock of confronting painful truths this time, though; it was a gasp that came from the shock of confronting painful cold as her feet sank into the snow. She wasn’t dressed for this, but she could hardly turn back now. Snow-angel-ing, to use Max’s silly verb form, had become symbolic.
“That was false bravado a moment ago,” he said when she reached him. “I haven’t done this since I was a child.” He eyed the snow. “I’m not sure I remember how.”
She made a shooing motion to get him to move farther away. “The trick is to have a big enough patch of fresh snow.” She waved her arms like she was doing jumping jacks. He did the same, positioning himself so he was next to her. “And keep your legs spread,” she added, stepping wide and ignoring the stabs of pain in her pantyhose-clad ankles.
He cracked up. “Keep your legs spread. Yes. A particular motto of mine.”
“Oh, shut up. No off-color jokes allowed during snow-angel-ing.”
He made a show of shutting his mouth as he got himself into position. She adjusted her stance and looked over her shoulder to make sure the ground they would land on was still pristine.
“All right,” she said. “Fall flat and decisively. If you slump back or are tentative, your angel will look sad.”
“How do you know all this? I’m the one who grew up in the Alps. You grew up in an apartment in Queens.”
“My dad used to take my sister and me to the library every Saturday, and it was across the street from a big playground. In the winter, my sister and I would make snow angels, and then we’d inch in along the top and add halos out of rocks or sticks. We had quite the technique developed.”
“Your dad sounds rather wonderful, if you don’t mind my saying. The library, the beach, clamming.”
She smiled. “He is wonderful.” Both her parents were. She felt lucky, both to have them and to be here, now, back to the pre-Christmas excitement she’d skipped last year. “Are you ready?” she asked Max, who nodded. “On three.”
She counted, and they both landed with a muffled thud.
“What now?” he said through laughter.
“Oh my god, that’s cold!” She was wearing a knee-length coat, so her legs were unprotected. “Flap your arms and legs.” His continuing laughter was contagious, and once she started, she couldn’t stop. She was making snow angels in Central Park with an Eldovian baron. How utterly ridiculous.
But also how fun.
See? She could have fun.
Max started to move like he was going to get up. “No!” she said. “Stop! The dismount is critical!”
“The dismount?” He cracked up again, but he went still. “What do I have to do?”
“Try to lever yourself up without making any marks outside your existing angel, then stand up at the bottom of your leg indentations and take a giant step away from the angel. The idea is to try to keep the outline pristine.”
He did what she said, getting to his feet and taking not a step but a large—and graceful—leap away.
“Yes! Good job!” She, however, was having more trouble. “Ugh, my high heels aren’t getting purchase on the ground. Mine is going to suck.”
“Hang on.” He came toward her but stopped a few feet away and peeled off his coat. He was left standing there in his suit—the same blue one from yesterday, but today he was wearing a lavender-striped tie.
“What are you doing?”
He balled up the coat—the plush, expensive-looking one she’d been admiring earlier—and said, “Catch” as he unfurled it toward her.
“Oh!” She was too late to understand that he intended for her to grab it like a life preserver. “Do it again! I’m ready this time!” They both laughed as he re-threw the coat. Once they’d each got a good grip on it, he started pulling on his end. “Ahh!” she exclaimed as he levered her up. He didn’t ease off soon enough, though, and she was unsteady on her feet in the snow—oh, her poor shoes—so she didn’t have a chance to catch her balance. She pitched forward, stumbling until she crashed into him.
“Steady now.” His arms came around her. They teetered together for a few seconds. It was as if they were dancing but doing a very bad job of it.
Once they’d righted themselves, he didn’t let go. He was no doubt making sure she fully had her feet before he retreated, but it felt like a hug. Something happened to her body in that moment. It relaxed, despite the cold. It felt so good to have arms around her, to have someone help her bear her weight.
When was the last time she had hugged anyone she wasn’t related to? Probably not since she’d been to Eldovia last summer and hugged Leo and Gabby goodbye before she got on the plane to come home.
Oh, but all of a sudden this wasn’t that kind of hug. Now that they’d got their balance, she was suddenly aware of him. The solidity of him. A little bit of bare skin visible on his throat between his scarf and the collar of his coat. She could see his pulse thrumming at that spot.
She stepped away.
It felt too good. This was not something she could have. It wasn’t something she wanted, not beyond the weakness of the moment. She couldn’t get seduced by the momentarily buoying sensation of a hug like that, because ultimately, she had to buoy herself in this world. And she most definitely couldn’t get herself into a position where she was noticing things like hard chests and fluttering pulses. Maybe someday, but not yet.
Max stared at her for long enough that she started to feel awkward, but then he cleared his throat, breaking the spell, and turned and contemplated their angels. “Well, that’s not going to win any awards. So much for a pristine outline.”