She was crying. Even without Juan’s sweet smooth voice, she was crying. Big, hot tears that pooled in her eyes until her entire vision was watery. They careened down her chilled cheeks. She wanted to scream. This was all so desperately unfair, and she was so desperately stuck
And then. It started to snow. Tiny, cotton flakes that swiftly became giant puffs, and she couldn’t believe her stupid damn luck. Snow so early in the year. The flakes clung to the asphalt, the sidewalk, her clothes and hair. She tucked her hands into her pockets and dipped her chin into her collar. Her scream had become a syrupy choke, thick with exasperation. Of course it was fucking snowing.
Mom had loved the snow. She’d grown up out West where the snow was like the down in a pillow. Mom had been an avid skier, used to regale her with stories of slaying mammoth slopes. Mom had tried skiing in the East, but didn’t like it, said it only made her sad. Just made her miss the infinite peaks and airy powder of her youth.
Elle’s breath evaporated and she hunched her shoulders forward. She gazed skyward into the white speckled air. She closed her eyes and let Mom wash over her. She held out her hands and caught the crystals of ice in her palms. Every flake that kissed her body was Mom, Mom, Mom.
This was missing.