Winter's Eve

A strong, spicy-sweet scent filled the air as she handed me the cup.

“I’m thinking of calling the line, ‘Sugar, Spice, and Everything Nice.’” She waved her arms theatrically as she dropped the name.

I wrinkled my nose at her. “I hate to break it to you, but I don’t think you’re the first one to come up with that,” I said.

Her beam fell into a scowl. “Just drink it.”

I brought the cup to my lips. This was the second drink Nessa was making me try. The last one was almost purely cinnamon, or at least it tasted that way. I couldn’t fathom how anyone could manage to put that much in by accident, not unless she’d mixed up the teaspoon measurer with the cup measurer. I was even more afraid that it might’ve been on purpose. My taste buds were still recovering. But I didn’t want to upset Nessa, not today. I took a swig.

I resisted the urge to grimace. “Pumpkin?” I just barely managed to say. I tried to imagine her making the drink—opening a can of pumpkin puree, dumping the whole damn thing into the cup, shoveling in a cup of undiluted coffee powder, maybe adding a teaspoon or two of milk, sloshing the mixture around before popping the lid on. But I just said, “Tastes great.”

That infectious smile crept back onto her face, where it belonged.

“Doesn’t it?” Her words started tumbling out faster than I could process them. “I was going to put whipped cream on that one. Do you think I should put whipped cream on that one? Hold on, I’m gonna get some whipped—”

And she was gone in a whoosh of dark brown hair. Usually, that would leave the air smelling like her rose-scented shampoo, but today that was muffled by the almost nauseating smell of liquid autumn.

I took a deep breath and tried to bask in the light her presence emanated. Despairing thoughts fought to shadow it, but I shoved them down. We weren’t talking about it. There seemed to be a silent agreement not to since the second I’d walked into the shop. It was easy to fall into our usual banter, almost too easy, and I would rather spend our time making those happy memories than dwelling on the darkness.

I looked over at her. She was serving customers now, a can of whipped cream in one hand. She hopped around clumsily between tables with cups and plates stacked precariously on her other arm.

Casper walked in and slid behind the counter.

“Yikes,” he said, tying his apron at his back. “She’s trying the autumn drinks again, huh? I’m gonna have to fix those up.”

“How could you tell?”

“Are you kidding?” he scoffed. “That shit is potent. I’m gonna have to burn the place down to get rid of the smell.” He slipped me a sugar packet like it was a lucrative drug deal. “Shhh.”

I opened the packet and dumped it straight into my mouth, earning a chuckle from Casper and a few judgmental glances from other customers.

“Heaven,” I sighed.

“So, she told me she was… taking you to the airport today?”

I averted his prying gaze. “Yeah. In a couple minutes.”

“I’m sorry, man. That’s rough.”

“Yeah,” I mumbled and took another sip of the drink, mostly just to have something to do.

Nessa came back around to the counter, slipping her apron off. She smiled at me when she saw me drinking it. A spoonful of sugar, I thought with a sigh. I took another sip and the warmth coursed through me.

“You can take over from here, right?” she asked Casper. He nodded and she turned to me. “Are you ready to go?” Her voice was as peppy as ever, but I could’ve sworn her eyes were glossy.

“Born ready,” I murmured as she squirted whipped cream on top of the pumpkin concoction in my cup. Her lashes fluttered as she blinked rapidly.

She started out the door with her hand in mine, and I snatched up a couple more sugar packets before heading out.

She sighed as the cold enveloped us. The sky was an ugly shade of cloudy gray that loomed above us. I clutched my cup with both hands for warmth.

“Wow,” she said, her blue eyes enormous and full of wonder as she took in the reds and yellows and browns surrounding us. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

I looked down at the piles of dead leaves taking over the sidewalk. Someone ought to clean that up, I thought, but I didn’t say anything.

“Well, I think it’s beautiful,” she said to fill the silence.

She had always loved autumn. Not just the colors and the holidays and the terrible beverages, but the astrology bullshit, too. And she always talked about the leaves changing colors and what it represented. But as I looked down at the dead, brown leaves that were so far gone that they crunched beneath our feet, all I could think was, It’s not about change. It’s just dying things. Piles and piles of dead things that mean that summer is disappearing and the bleak of winter is coming.

But… “You’re right,” I said. “It is beautiful.”

The drive to the airport was quiet. Still, I was grateful that we weren’t talking about it. I didn’t want to spend our last few minutes together arguing. This was the last time we would see each other in… God, who knew how long? Maybe forever. We’d only been together a year, and I wasn’t sure if we would be able to survive an indefinite break.

The car tires crunched over the dead leaves as she drove. She took one hand off the wheel and took my hand. Goosebumps prickled my skin. I looked over at her. Her eyes were watery. She took her other hand off the wheel every few minutes to wipe her cheek.

I squeezed her hand in what I hoped was a reassuring gesture, but then small tremors took over her shoulders and grew until she was bawling.

“Don’t go,” she sobbed, barely coherent.

My heart melted. “Ness…”

“What if you don’t come back?”

A long silence followed, only filled with her sniffling and the crunching of leaves and the dissonant hum of her worn-out car engine.

“Nine months,” I said. “They’re only deploying me for nine months. We can do that, Ness. We went twenty-two years without ever knowing each other.”

She gave a tearful laugh. “That was before I realized how much I needed you.”

I stroked little circles on her wrist and her body was wracked with tremors again. Her hand shook as she turned onto the highway. The engine roared as she pressed on the accelerator and the tires scraped loudly over the cement.

“Nessa?” I said. The car continued racing like it was trying to outrun something. “Nessa!”

She didn’t slow down. The car started to shake. The loose sugar packets rustled in my pocket like the dead things on the ground.

“Nessa, stop!”

She pulled over then, thrusting the gear shift into park and smashing a curled up fist into the hazard button. She let out a long, shuddering sigh and pressed her palms into her hands silently. The storm was over, but the problem remained. I leaned over and stroked her back.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled.

“It’s okay.”

She turned to me. Her eyes were puffy and lined with red, and my heart throbbed a dull and empty beat, like seeing her fall apart made it want to stop altogether.

“Can I tell you something?” she asked.

I swallowed and nodded.

“I know you told me from the beginning that this might happen, but I was hoping I could change your mind or something. All this time, I was hoping I could convince you not to go.”

I started to shake my head, but she stopped me.

“No, I know. I realized pretty early on that I couldn’t. I don’t know why it still hurts so bad even though I’ve known for so long.”

“Knowing isn’t the same as accepting,” was all I said.

She turned away and nodded, slow and grim. “I don’t know if I can do that. Be with someone who might never come back.”

My heart sank and another long, deafening silence filled the car. We just sat there and thought and processed and accepted quietly until a car honked from behind us, breaking the silence.

“Can I tell you something?” I said.

Her eyes flitted back to mine. “Yes.”

I took a breath. “I hate autumn,” I said.

She laughed a tearful little laugh and buried her face in her hands. “Really?” she said, her voice muffled.

“Yeah. It’s just cold and dead and dry and dead and I hate it.”

“And?” she said.

“‘And’? What makes you think there’s something else?”

She gave me a look like I should drop the facade.

I sighed. “And… I think you should let Casper help you with that line of drinks. Maybe name it ‘Sweater Weather’. Or ‘Winter’s Eve’”.

She took a deep breath and turned to face me again.

“And?”

“And…” I averted my gaze, but there was nothing to look at but the bleak, gray sky and the piles of dead things littering the streets. “And I’m still going.”

She closed her eyes and inhaled for a long time. When she opened them, they were dry, but their pale blue was just as desolate as the clouds. “I know,” she said finally.

I took off my seatbelt and leaned over to press a kiss into her hair. She smelled like summer and roses and Nessa, something I would probably never smell again.

“I’m really going to miss you,” I murmured into her hair.

“I’m going to miss you, too,” she said. She leaned back away from me and pushed the gear shift back into drive. “Put your seatbelt on.”

She started driving. The leaves blew away as the car bustled into them. I looked out of my passenger door window. The trees bore leaves of gold and scarlet and hundreds of vibrant shades of orange, and I could almost see why she loved it so much. Their true colors.

“It is beautiful,” I said again, and this time, I meant it.