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Angela would love Boston in the snow. She’d marvel at the way the flakes fall to the ground, glistening in the moonlight. She’d laugh, a little too hysterically, as she compacted it between her hands and sent it hurtling towards Amanda. She’d laugh harder still as she slipped and fell trying to wade her way over to check Amanda was alright.
Boston in the snow is something that Amanda has grown to hate.
As a kid, sure, it was magical. She and her sisters would curl up at the window, desperate to catch the first glimpse of a flurry. Her sisters had told her that if she made a wish during a snow storm it would come true. Amanda had tried and tested it, her eyes would be fixed on the glow of their porch lamp, watching intently as it illuminated the drops, concentrating hard on whatever it was she wanted. Back then, the snow had felt like a miracle.
Now, it’s an inconvenience.
Amanda had forgotten the intensity of winter in Massachusetts. She’s already weary of watching the soft, white blankets turn to slush and ice. Rush hour in LA doesn’t compare to having to defrost her car for far too long each morning. She’s traded her trainers for more practical shoes so she doesn’t slip on the sidewalk.
Still, there’s a glimmer of comfort in knowing that Angela would love it.
Not that she should care what Angela loves.
Not any more.
The break up had happened quickly and, to some extent, mutually. It was Amanda who’d dealt the final blow. She wears the guilt like a cloak, heavy on her shoulders.
Four months on and Amanda can’t shift the ache that’s settled in her heart. Angela is a permanent resident in her mind, just not for the reason Amanda had hoped she would be.
Amanda yawns, cold air filling her lungs, momentarily dulling the ache of loneliness. It’s dark out and, despite the clock showing it’s only just past 6pm, she barely has a reason to stay awake. Her only motivation is that she hardly sleeps anyway, even if she tries. When she finally does, it’s broken, entwined with memories she’d much rather forget.
From the window of her small, mid-city apartment, she has a view of street lamps lining the road. It’s snowing again; thick, heavy flakes spattering across the ground, beginning to cover the muddy ice in a new, false blanket of white. It’s mesmerising, almost meditative, she supposes as she takes a seat on the small nook beside her window.
She leans closer to watch the snow, the way she had when she was a kid. For a moment the world is still, and it feels like magic.
‘I wish she could be here too,’ Amanda whispers into the silence.
Her breath fogs up the glass, and she wipes the condensation away, then rests her head against the pane, flinching slightly at the coldness. Her gaze fixes on the glow of the lamp, watching the flurry until her eyes fall closed.
‘You have to go, Amanda.’ There hadn’t been resignation in Angela’s tone. She was steadfast in her decision. Emotionless. ‘You can’t let this opportunity pass by.’
‘Come with me?’ Amanda had asked, even though she’d known the answer.
Unsurprisingly, Angela had shaken her head. ‘My life is here, you know that.’
Amanda didn’t comment on the times Angela had held her close at night, whispering that she was her life now. She couldn’t form the words to explain how she’d assumed Angela would be her person, forever.
There hadn’t been resignation in Angela’s tone, but Amanda’s voice was small, lacking fight. ‘If I go, it’s over for us?’ she’d asked.
Angela had nodded, pursing her lips and fixing Amanda with a look she’d never worn before. She hadn’t cried, nor had she said anything else.
‘And you think I should go?’ Amanda asked. A small part of her hoped that Angela would say no. A larger part wished Angela would come with her.
‘I think this is your dream and you shouldn’t let go of it for me,’ Angela had replied. She sounded tired.
Silently, Amanda berated herself for not seeing this coming, but she did her best to conceal her disappointment, despite it threatening to break out of her. She took a deep, uneasy breath before replying. ‘Okay,’ she had said, ‘I’ll go.’
Angela nodded again. Her expression would have been unreadable to anyone else, but not to Amanda. Amanda knew Angela well enough to spot the small furrow between her brows, and see the way her cheeks twinged with pink as she tried not to cry. The falsity of the smile she had plastered on her face.
Amanda had hoped Angela would change her mind. That she would break and tell her not to be so stupid. Not to give up on them.
Instead, Angela had looked at her with sad, glazed eyes, willing her to go.
Amanda hadn’t cried, not then. She just turned and left. For good.
She wakes up just before 8pm with fresh tears in her eyes.
She’s stopped trying to suppress the memory. It plays on repeat every night, whether she wants it to or not. Of course, she’d rather it didn’t come, but sometimes, on her darker days, it’s the only way she can see Angela again. Sometimes that alone feels worthwhile.
Outside the snow has fallen heavy and thick, entirely covering the dirty dregs of ice with a new, temporary beauty. Amanda begins to search her pockets for her phone, but stops herself. There’s no point taking a picture if she has nobody to share it with. She can’t let herself scour Instagram to see who views her story, there’d only be emptiness in one missing name. Worse still, she might be tempted to try to reach out again, and she isn’t sure how many more times she can read “Message Not Delivered” alongside Angela’s name before it breaks her down entirely. Today, she doesn’t need to see it.
Her stomach growls, replacing the ache of loneliness with a pang of hunger. It’s nice, she supposes, to feel something physical. Any gratitude is quickly overshadowed by the tedium of having to look after herself. Her gaze shifts, resting on the almost empty kitchen cupboards.
She sighs as she rises from the window seat, wiping her teary eyes as she walks groggily to the kitchen. She opens and closes the cupboards a few times, as if the shelves will magically replenish themselves. When they don’t, she grabs a bag of half-stale chips and shovels a handful into her mouth, hoping it’ll quell her hunger for long enough to find something substantial. It only makes her feel worse.
The refrigerator is just as sparse as the cupboards. She sifts through the shelves, moving half an avocado and some oat milk from side to side. There’s a few sad vegetables in the bottom drawer, but nothing immediately inspiring. She moves to the freezer, thrilled to find a frozen pizza she’s almost certain belonged to the previous tenant, but is somehow still in date.
She rips it out of the packaging and places it on a baking tray which is far too small, but good enough for now. She turns on the oven, tapping her fingers impatiently against the countertop as she waits for it to pre-heat. Eventually, she gives up, placing the pizza inside and setting a timer for what she assumes is a little longer than the package instructs.
Out of loneliness, she allows herself to pick up her phone, grimacing as she sees she has almost a hundred unread messages in her family group chat. Reading them now feels like a mammoth task, so she chooses to ignore them. There’s a handful of other unread messages, mostly from fair weather friends wishing her “Happy Holidays!” with the same, stock scripts. She ignores those, too.
She has a message from Tommy, which she doesn’t feel like reading. Still, she’d appreciate a friendly voice, so she presses the call button, watching the screen until it rings out, unanswered. Courtney has messaged too, so she tries them. The same, dull call tone plays out until her phone hangs up. She scrolls past the “undelivered” notice next to Angela’s name, settling on Shayne. He picks up after two rings.
‘Happy holidays, Amanda,’ he says. His voice is warm and crisp, filling the room with comfort and light.
Amanda opens her mouth to reply, but her voice catches in the back of her throat and all that comes out is a sob. Tears spring back into her eyes, barely welling before she feels them falling down her cheeks.
‘Woah, hey,’ Shayne says. ‘It’s okay. You’re okay.’ He doesn’t ask what’s wrong. He doesn’t need to.
‘I’m sorry,’ Amanda chokes out. Her voice is quiet; unpracticed. ‘I really miss you,’ she adds, desperately trying to stop her tears.
‘I miss you too, Amanda.’
She closes her eyes as Shayne speaks, taking a deep breath through her nose, then letting it out from her mouth.
‘Do you wanna talk, or do you need me to distract you?’ Shayne asks after a moment.
Amanda feels herself begin to crumble again, her lip trembling as she manages to say, ‘I don’t know.’ The fresh tears are hot against her cheeks. She tastes salt on her lips.
‘How about I talk and if it’s too much you just hang up, does that sound okay?’ Shayne suggests calmly.
Amanda nods, sniffing slightly, before realising that he can’t see her. She hums in agreement.
‘I’m in the office,’ Shayne begins, ‘it’s pretty dead - almost everyone’s gone home for Christmas. Court had some things she needed to work on, so I came by with her.’
Courtney had moved into more of a background role just before Amanda left, directing and producing, rather than on-camera appearances.
‘Tommy’s here, too,’ Shayne adds. ‘They’re working on something together, but they said I’m not allowed to know about it until the new year,’ he laughs to himself.
Amanda smiles a little. ‘I tried to call them,’ she says. Her voice is hoarse.
‘Wow, so I’m not even top of the list for your emotional breakdowns,’ Shayne laughs.
‘I’m sorry.’
‘I’m just messing with you. You know I love you.’
‘Love you, too.’ She takes another deep breath, then lets it out, rubbing her eyes as she does. ‘God, I’m so sorry I’m such a mess.’
‘Your entire life changed, Amanda. Plus, it’s the holidays. I’d be concerned if you didn’t feel unsettled. You’re doing great.’
‘I don’t feel like I am.’
‘That’s okay. We’re all here to help get you back on your feet.’
You’re not here, though, Amanda thinks, but she doesn’t let herself say it.
A beat of silence passes before Shayne speaks again. ‘How’s the writing going?’
Amanda looks over to her laptop, which has been untouched for several days. It’s on her coffee table, a fresh notepad and pen laying on top of it. She scoffs. ‘Awful.’
‘I’m sure it’s great,’ Shayne offers kindly.
Amanda laughs bitterly. ‘I haven’t touched it in days. Weeks, maybe.’
‘And teaching?’
She laughs again, even more bite behind it. ‘Thank God the semester’s over already.’
It’s how she ended up here. She hadn’t intended to. In fact, it’s such a blur, she isn’t entirely sure how it happened. She was happy in LA; happy with her life. Things seemed to change overnight. Aging parents, and her sisters’ growing families made her think seriously about relocating. Then came a book deal which, in the end, she couldn’t turn down. Inexplicably, it came with a teaching gig at UMass and an apartment in Boston.
‘It’s just a year, right?’ Shayne asks.
‘Right.’ Her eyes shift back to her unopened laptop. ‘As long as I get the damn book done.’
‘You will. You work hard, Amanda, you’ll get this…’ Shayne drifts off, distracted. ‘I’m sorry, one second.’
The phone is muffled as, presumably, Shayne places his hand over the speaker. Amanda can’t hear the conversation, but another person has clearly arrived. She’s almost certain she hears Shayne whisper her name. She can picture him, mouth wide as he tries to speak quietly, pointing unsubtly at the phone.
Realistically, she knows it’s Courtney. Maybe Tommy, too. Still, she can’t suppress the tiny part of her which hopes it’s someone else entirely.
‘I’m so sorry I missed your call, are you okay?’ Courtney's voice sounds through the speaker after a few more seconds of silence.
‘I just miss you guys.’
‘We miss you too, so freaking much.’ Courtney clears their throat, as if they’re trying not to get choked up themselves. ‘Come home, Amanda. It’s not the same without you.’
Amanda thought Courtney’s words might make her cry, but they don’t. Strangely, they rile something inside her. She doesn’t snap, but she can feel a tinge of anger building. ‘This is my home now, Court. You know that.’
‘That’s not true, Amanda,’ Courtney speaks with force, rivalling Amanda’s attitude. They push on, ‘LA is where you belong. Everyone needs you here.’
‘Not everyone,’ Amanda mumbles.
She assumes it’s too quiet for Courtney to hear, but there’s silence for a moment after she says it. There’s a change in Courtney’s breathing, as if they’re having a hushed argument with Shayne. Amanda can almost picture it: the pair waving their arms animatedly, trying to decide what to tell her.
‘You can just say it, Courtney,’ Amanda says. She can only assume who they’re discussing.
Courtney clicks their tongue. ‘She won’t talk to us.’
‘Oh.’
There’s the sound of their car starting and Amanda assumes she’s now on speaker phone. She places her phone on the counter, putting them on speaker so she can pace around the kitchen. Her oven timer beeps twice: she silences it without checking inside.
It’s quiet again, until Shayne speaks up. ‘It’s bad, Amanda.’
‘How bad?’ She wants to know. Of course she wants to know, but she isn’t sure that she should ask. She isn’t sure how she’ll feel when she receives their answer.
‘She’s refusing to shoot with us or Tommy,’ Shayne confirms. ‘Her entire schedule’s been changed to avoid the three of us.’
‘Outside of shooting, she’ll only talk to Chanse. Sometimes Arasha, but she’s pretty much avoiding everybody unless she has to see them,’ Courtney adds.
‘Right,’ Amanda nods, taking in the information. It’s not her business; she shouldn’t involve herself. But it’s Angela. She sighs, holding the bridge of her nose and squeezing her eyes closed. ‘What can I do?’
‘Nothing, Amanda,’ Courtney says firmly. ‘We shouldn’t have said anything.’
‘No, of course you should. She’s…’ Amanda trails off, searching for the right word. She’s what? Her ex-girlfriend? The person she knows better than anyone else? Her soulmate? A single word forms on her lips. ‘She’s…everything.’
The line falls quiet again. She hears Shayne take a shaky breath in, then let it out unsteadily.
She can feel them about to speak again but it’s interrupted by a high-pitched, persistent beeping. She turns to see a tiny plume of smoke rising from her oven.
‘FUCK,’ she yells, launching herself towards it. More smoke billows out as she opens the door. She pulls out the almost cremated pizza, placing it on the stove top, then lets out a frustrated growl.
‘Amanda?’ Shayne’s voice is full of concern.
‘ONE SECOND,’ she calls back, springing into action. She draws open the window, then wafts a dishcloth below the alarm, desperate to turn it off.
Finally, there’s silence.
Amanda leans against the counter, letting her head fall into her hands. It’s not long before her eyes fill with tears once more.
‘FUCK,’ she yells again, louder this time. She slaps the counter, then kicks a cupboard door, hoping it’ll make her feel better. It doesn’t. She inhales sharply through her teeth.
‘’Manda?’ Courtney’s voice cuts through her irritation.
‘It’s Christmas Eve,’ Amanda chokes out, not sure whether she wants to cry or scream. She sounds pathetic, but she’s past caring. ‘And I just burnt a fucking frozen pizza. I have no other food and I just…’ she trails off, letting her tears fall thick and heavy.
‘Amanda…’ Shayne’s voice is full of sympathy.
‘Text me your address, we’re ordering you some food,’ Courtney says. It’s not a question, it’s a solution.
Amanda wishes the tightness in her chest would be replaced by gratitude, but she doesn’t have space for it right now. All she can do is whisper an almost silent ‘thank you’ while she texts Courtney her address.
‘Okay,’ Courtney says after a moment. ‘You have pho arriving in twenty minutes, okay?’
‘Thank you,’ Amanda whispers again. Her tears are still falling, but they seem to be slowing slightly. ‘Do you guys know how much I love you?’
‘Not as much as we love you,’ Shayne replies.
‘You guys should go, thank you for calling,’ Amanda says. She yawns loudly.
‘Oh no, we have a looooong drive home,’ Courtney says. ‘And I am already bored of Shayne.’
‘HEY,’ Shayne protests through laughter.
‘Shut up,’ Courtney shushes him.
Amanda can almost picture them as if she were there too: Shayne driving, Courtney sat with their feet up on the dashboard. The two of them laughing together, looking across the car the way you do when you love someone deeply. The way Angela used to look at her.
‘Amanda, we’re gonna talk until your food arrives,’ Courtney says, interrupting her thoughts. ‘That way you don’t fall asleep and I get to talk to someone other than Shayne.’
‘Court, I’ll be fine-’ Amanda begins to argue.
‘Nope. You can’t wake up on Christmas day to find frozen pho on your doorstep, can you?’
Amanda laughs. It’s the first genuine laugh she’s had in weeks, if not months. For a moment, everything lifts.
By the time the food arrives, Amanda’s sorry that Shayne and Courtney have to go. She knows it’s Christmas Eve and they have better things to do than console their tragically single friend, but for a second time seemed to reverse. It was almost like being back in LA.
The familiar empty ache creeps back into her stomach after they hang up. Perhaps out of habit, Courtney seems to have ordered enough food for two people, and the second pot looks sad sitting out on her table. She can’t help but feel an emptiness when she looks at it, so she places it in the refrigerator as she gets up for a spoon.
Out of sight, out of mind doesn’t seem to work for Amanda, and she finds herself looking around the room, as if someone else should be joining her. When she tries to distract herself by eating, she’s only reminded of the time Angela tried to surprise her when she was sick, then spilt soup all over their bed. She swallows the memories and the pho begrudgingly.
It’s almost 10pm by the time she’s finished eating. Outside, it seems to have temporarily stopped snowing and the fresh layer is almost entirely untouched. As much as she hates it, she has to admit that it looks beautiful.
Her street is filled with Christmas lights, reds, greens, and golds twinkling as far as she can see. It’s a perfect scene: the kind you’d see in a cheesy Hallmark movie. In the movie version of Amanda’s life, she’d see a figure walking down the street towards her. Angela would knock on her door, and she’d scoop her up in her arms, kissing her desperately.
But life is not a movie, and the street is empty.
She sighs, pulling her curtains closed. The room is darker without the glow of the outside lights, and it makes her apartment feel even emptier than it did before. For a moment, she wishes she’d decorated her place for the holidays; something to make her little apartment feel like a home. She doesn’t dwell on the feeling: she just gets into bed without changing, and pulls the comforter over her head to block out the world.
Amanda must have slept through the night, because it’s just about light by the time she wakes up. She hadn’t set an alarm, and her phone is dead, so she forces herself out of bed to check the clock in her kitchen. It’s 7:15am.
She knows that she could try to sleep longer, but her body seems to be out of practice with relaxation, so she decides to just get ready for the day. She switches on her coffee machine, letting it pour while she takes a shower and changes her clothes.
It’s Christmas, so she selects an appropriately festive sweater for the day; one that will be warm enough when she has to venture to her sister’s house later, then settles on the window seat with her coffee. Outside, her neighbour’s Christmas lights sparkle, bringing a little warmth into the room.
A fresh snowman has popped up. It’s early, but she supposes neighbourhood kids must have built it, desperate to be out in the snow before their parents had woken up. There’s something oddly empty about it: no hat or scarf, just a maniacal smile and two bare twigs for arms. She forces herself to look away from it.
This isn’t the first Christmas morning she’s spent alone. Even when she was with Angela, they’d spent almost all of their Christmases apart. Last year was the first they’d spent together; just the two of them in LA. They’d holed up in their tiny apartment and spent the day watching the shittiest holiday movies they would find before rewatching their favourites.
Inspired by the movies, Angela had wanted to see snow. Of course, it was almost impossible to find in LA, but Amanda had driven them to The Grove. She’d watched with tears of laughter in her eyes as Angela ran around in the soapy snow, screaming in delight. Angela had held her tongue out, catching the bubbles in her mouth: she’d yelled in disgust as she’d swallowed it, then grabbed Amanda by the hand to hold her close. She tasted of soap and cinnamon, Amanda thought, as Angela had kissed her deeply.
Thunk.
Amanda jumps as there’s an explosion of snow against her window. A second snowball lands against the glass as she stands up.
‘What the fuck?’
She narrows her eyes, trying to see the perpetrator. It’s probably just some idiot kids; perhaps the same ones who built the sad snowman, but her window is too icy to see through.
Whoever it is pelts a third snowball against the window.
‘Jesus Christ,’ Amanda yells as she runs to open her front door. She’s ready to scream at whoever is there, but her voice is knocked out of her when she sees who it is.
‘Hi.’ Angela’s hand is raised halfway, readying herself to launch another snowball. Her expression is somewhere between joyous and tearful as she looks at Amanda.
Amanda blinks three times, trying to work out whether she’s having some kind of Christmas induced psychosis. Is it possible to wake up in a Christmas movie? Maybe she’s still asleep. She stares at Angela, open-mouthed, unable to speak.
‘Amanda?’ Angela drops the snowball on the ground and approaches the door carefully. Her eyebrows are raised, pinched in above the bridge of her nose. Her doe-eyes are wide and hopeful.
‘What the fuck are you doing here?’ is all Amanda can say.
Angela is on her porch now, waiting to be invited in. Her cheeks are pink from the cold, and she wraps her arms around herself, shivering slightly. She’s not dressed for the cold.
‘I wanted to wish you a happy Christmas,’ she says, as though there’s no animosity between them.
‘No, Ange, what are you doing here? How the fuck are you here?’ Amanda asks. She should invite her in. The cold wind whips around her, chilling her. Angela must be freezing, but Amanda feels stuck in place.
Angela casts her eyes down to the ground. She kicks at the porch step with her boot, leaving a tiny pile of snow behind. She smiles shyly as she looks back up.
‘I changed my flight,’ she says, eventually.
‘What?’
‘Courtney sent me your address out of the blue-’
Of course. Courtney Miller loves to meddle, but more than anything, Courtney Miller loves their friends. Amanda laughs, and Angela joins in. It could be the most beautiful sound in the world.
‘-and I was on my way to LAX. I’m supposed to be in Florida right now,’ Angela holds her arms out, indicating how poorly she’s dressed for the snow. ‘But something…I don’t know, called out to me. Is that stupid? I just knew I needed to come to Boston.’
Tears catch in Amanda’s eyes as she listens, and she’s not sure whether they’re from happiness or absolute shock. Either way, the sound of Angela’s laughter seems to thaw Amanda enough to allow her to move. She reaches out, taking Angela’s hands in her own. It’s not supposed to be romantic, but she can’t help but wonder whether it comes across that way.
‘God, you’re freezing. Get inside, now,’ she says, trying to dispel any idea of romance.
She doesn’t let go of Angela’s hands as she pulls her inside. She continues to hold them in hers, desperate to warm her up.
Once she closes the door, she pulls Angela in for a tight hug. Angela leans into her, embracing the warmth of her body. She runs her hands under Amanda’s sweater, searching for more heat. Amanda flinches slightly, both from the shock of the cold, and the familiarity of her touch. She rests her chin on the top of Angela’s head.
‘I knocked and you didn’t answer,’ Angela says quietly. Her face is pressed against Amanda’s chest, her voice muffled.
‘It’s barely seven thirty in the morning, I just woke up. What time did you get here?’
Amanda feels Angela shrug against her. She wraps her arms around her even more tightly.
‘I didn’t want to wake you up,’ Angela says. ‘I figured I’d wait until you were awake, but I got bored. I built you a friend.’
Amanda’s eyes fall on the snowman outside her window again. This time, it fills her with warmth rather than sadness. 'He's horrifying, thank you,' she laughs.
‘HEY,' Angela protests, but she laughs too. 'And then I saw you through the window and I wanted your attention. Throwing snowballs seemed quicker than walking to the door, but now I am freezing,’ Angela mumbles, running her hands up and down Amanda’s back to create friction and warmth.
Amanda clutches the back of Angela’s neck, trying to transfer her own body heat.
‘Did you even bring gloves? Or a real coat?’ she asks. She feels Angela shake her head against her chest in response. ‘My God, Ange.’
Angela takes a short step backwards, as far as she can move without releasing her grip from Amanda’s back entirely. She catches the taller woman's gaze, and her eyebrows furrow sadly.
‘In my defence, I’m supposed to be in Florida.’
‘Did you even think for a second before you left?’ Amanda steps backwards, forcing Angela to release her grip. She regrets it as soon as she feels the absence of her touch.
Angela shakes her head in response.
‘You’ve done some stupid things, Angela, but this…’ Amanda rolls her eyes as she knocks her shoulder into Angela’s chest. She wants to smile at the shorter woman, but stops herself, biting her lip. ‘You’re an idiot,’ she says, her face finally breaking into a broad smile.
Angela doesn’t smile. She looks at Amanda seriously. ‘You’re right, I am an idiot.’
‘No, I didn't mean it like-'
‘I am, Amanda. I’m an idiot who’s in love with you.’
Amanda’s smile disappears as quickly as it formed, replaced by a look of utter confusion. ‘What?’
‘I love you,’ Angela repeats, more forthright this time. ‘And I’m an idiot for letting you leave. An even bigger idiot for not coming with you. I’m the biggest idiot in the world for not coming here sooner and telling you how much I love you. I thought I could ignore it and move on. That I could just avoid everybody at work and forget about you, but I can’t, Amanda. I love you.’ The words tumble out of her, leaving her breathless. She takes a moment to level her breathing.
Amanda takes her own time to process Angela’s words, letting them settle over her like a fresh blanket of snow. Her eyebrows knit together in concentration as she tries to understand what’s happening.
‘I’m not asking you to come back to LA,’ Angela says, studying Amanda’s face. ‘I’m not even asking you to take me back, not if you don’t want to. But it’s Christmas, and I just wanted to…check.’
‘Did you just quote Love Actually?’ Amanda’s lips quirk up at the sides, dimples forming in her cheeks.
‘I gave a whole romantic speech and that’s your reply?’ Angela lets out a shocked but amused laugh.
‘I’m sorry, this is just…’ Amanda trails off, not sure what to say. ‘It’s a lot, Ange.’
Angela looks crestfallen. She sniffs, wiping her face with one hand, and stands up a little taller. ‘You’re right, I’m sorry.’ She turns away, moving towards the door. ‘This was stupid. I shouldn’t have come, I’m sorry.’
‘No, wait,’ Amanda shouts, her voice much louder than she intended it to be.
She takes a few large steps, catching up to Angela before she’s able to open the door. When Angela doesn’t turn around, Amanda grabs her hand. It’s still cold.
At Amanda’s touch, Angela stops in her tracks, but stays facing away from her. Amanda watches the woman’s shoulders rise and fall as she takes a few deep breaths. The room is still and quiet, but peaceful.
Amanda tugs slightly at Angela, pulling her backwards. She lets go of Angela’s hand, placing her hands on her shoulders instead, guiding her to turn around. Finally, they’re face to face again. There’s almost no space between them.
‘I-’ Angela begins, but Amanda cuts her off.
‘You’re right,’ she says, ‘you are an idiot. You’re stupid, but so am I.’
‘No, you’re not, you’re per-’
‘I wasn’t fair to you, Angela. I should have told you what I wanted, instead of expecting you to guess.’
Angela’s brow furrows in confusion as she looks up at Amanda, her deep brown eyes narrowing. ‘What did you want?’
‘The same thing I want now.’
‘Wha-’
Amanda doesn’t let her finish the sentence. She interrupts Angela mid-word by pulling her in, their lips crashing together. Angela melts into the kiss, wrapping her arms around Amanda. Amanda relaxes for the first time in months, letting her shoulders drop and jaw unclench as she softens into Angela’s embrace.
The kiss is only broken when Angela’s hands, still freezing cold, brush against Amanda’s bare skin. She lets out a yelp of shock.
Angela looks at her, doe-eyed and full of concern. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘You’re freezing,’ Amanda laughs, brushing her thumb against Angela’s cheek. Angela leans into her touch, closing her eyes for a moment. Amanda tucks a strand of Angela’s hair behind her ear, then presses a gentle kiss on her forehead. ‘Come on, you’ve gotta warm up, go take a shower.’
Angela’s concerned expression vanishes momentarily, then reappears. ‘Shouldn’t we talk first? Properly?’ she asks. She doesn’t resist Amanda, who places her hands on her shoulders, guiding her towards the bathroom.
‘We have time to talk. I’m not letting you get frostbite on your first winter in Boston. Shower - now.’ Amanda throws a clean towel at her, and closes the door until it’s ajar. ‘I’ll grab you some clothes and make coffee while you warm up,’ she adds before she shuts the door completely.
Amanda presses her hands against the closed door, then rests her head against it. She takes a deep breath, letting overwhelm take over for a moment as a couple of unexpected tears fall from her eyes. She steadies herself, taking another deep, calming breath.
Angela must turn the shower on, because there’s the sound of water hitting the ground, then the scent of soap wafting under the door. It’s soothing, a comfort to have someone else here after months alone. Amanda takes a final deep breath, then moves away from the door.
The move to Boston had been quick, so naturally a few of Angela’s items had accidentally accompanied Amanda to the east coast. Amanda had intended to send them to her, maybe deliver them in person whenever she made it back to LA, but in the months of cloudy despair, she hadn’t gotten round to it. She’s thankful for that now, as she pulls a pair of Angela’s sweatpants out of her wardrobe, laying them on her bed. She sets out a fresh t-shirt, fluffy socks, and one of her own hoodies next to them.
As the sound of gentle water stops, Amanda leaves the bedroom to allow Angela some space.
‘There’s fresh clothes on the bed for you,’ she calls as the bathroom door opens. She keeps her gaze away, focusing on making coffee instead of watching Angela leave. ‘Warm clothes,’ she adds.
‘Thank you,’ Angela murmurs quietly. Amanda hears her footsteps, padding gently from the bathroom to the bedroom.
Amanda has barely set the coffee down on the countertop when Angela appears, looking considerably warmer than she did before. She’s bundled in one of Amanda's old “UMass” hoodies, her hands tucked into the sleeves. Somehow, Angela remembered her glasses, and she looks adorable as she stands across the kitchen, unsure whether she should approach.
It’s a scene straight out of their past, so much so it knocks the wind out of Amanda for a moment.
‘Thank you,’ Angela says softly. ‘For the clothes, I mean. And y’know, not kicking me out in the snow.’
Amanda laughs gently. ‘I’d never kick you out, you know that.’ She picks up a mug, handing it to Angela. ‘Here, I made coffee.’
Angela accepts the mug, wrapping her hands around it, as if they’re still cold.
They stand in silence, sipping coffee and taking tentative glances at each other when they think the other isn’t watching. Angela catches Amanda’s gaze on her third look up. She holds it, as if it’s the most precious thing in the world.
‘I missed you,’ Angela says. Her voice is quiet and soft; comforting. She places her mug, still half-full, on the counter.
Amanda follows suit, taking a measured step towards Angela.
‘I missed you too,’ she says, closing the distance a little more. She’s almost in front of Angela when something outside catches her eye. ‘Hey, it’s snowing,’ she says, nodding her head towards the window.
Angela follows her gaze, turning back to Amanda open-mouthed and wide-eyed. She gasps, clamping her hand over Amanda’s wrist in excitement. Amanda can’t help but laugh, a warm glow spreading over her. She pulls Angela in tight, hugging her from behind, and pressed a kiss on the top of her head. Angela leans into her, resting her head against her chest.
‘Y’know, my sister’s always told me if you made a wish during a snow fall it’d come true,’ Amanda says.
‘Yeah?’
‘Mhmm,’ Amanda hums. ‘I don’t think I ever believed it was true until today’
Angela chuckles softly. ‘You made a wish?’
‘Last night.’ Amanda nods, Angela’s hair tickles her nose.
‘What did you wish for?’ Angela asks, turning around in her arms. She looks up at Amanda, her deep brown eyes crinkling at the corners as she smiles.
‘You,’ Amanda says, pulling the shorter woman in for a hug. She’d almost forgotten the feeling of holding Angela like this; the way she fits perfectly in her arms, the way Angela runs her hands against her back because she hates to stay still. ‘I wished that you could be here.’
Angela gazes up at her with starry eyes. It’s impossible not to get lost in them, and Amanda can’t stop herself being drawn in closer. She’s not sure whether Angela kisses her first, or the other way around, but it doesn’t matter. What’s important is that they’re here, together again.
‘I’m here as long as you want me,’ Angela says when they finally break the kiss.
‘Forever, then,’ Amanda laughs.
Angela wraps her arms around Amanda’s neck, standing on tiptoe to try and level their eyes. ‘Forever,’ she confirms. She kisses Amanda again, gently, then looks over her shoulder.
‘You wanna go out in the snow?’ Amanda asks.
Angela turns back to face her, shaking her head violently. ‘God no, I’ve only just stopped shivering. It looks pretty, though.’
Amanda nods in agreement. She takes Angela’s hand in hers, leading her towards the window seat. Angela kneels on it, watching in amazement as the fresh snow falls. After a few, still moments, she sits down and holds her arms out. Amanda takes her cue, snuggling up in Angela’s embrace.
‘It’s like being in a snow globe,’ Angela says. She wraps her arms even tighter around Amanda as she presses a kiss on the top of her head.
Time seems to stop, hanging softly in the liminal way it does when you’re in love. Outside, fresh snow begins to fall, covering Angela’s tracks as if she’d always been inside.
Amanda was right, Angela loves Boston in the snow, but she’d forgotten the most important thing: Angela loves her more than anything else.