Kate McMurray - Kindling Fire with Snow.pdf - Kate McMurray - chillipi

SETH wore many masks.

At work, for instance, he put on his serious mask, his yes-sir

mask, his professional mask. This mask was mostly bland and

agreeable, perfectly appropriate for the business-casual

environment. He kept the mask firmly in place as the day

progressed, as he slogged through corporate hell, as his boss

made unreasonable requests, as he wished he were anywhere but

in his office. He’d finally graduated to a workspace that was sort

of near a window, and he had to keep himself from gazing too

much. The view was mostly of other skyscrapers, and it was

partially obscured by Bob Wilson’s bald head, but what mattered

was that it showed what was out there, outside the daily

drudgery of the office job Seth needed so he could put on a

different mask at night.

He left the office one night after many of his coworkers had left

for the day, most of them cutting out early to get on the

commuter trains back to their suburbs. The weathermen were

doomsaying about a blizzard coming that night, as if it had never

snowed in New York City before, as if the remnants of the last

storm weren’t lingering on the sidewalk. It didn’t escape Seth’s

notice that the old snow still sat in sooty clumps on the curb like

used cotton balls.

It started to drizzle, a precursor to the snow, perhaps. It had

been warm the last few days, making the old dirty snow turn to

slush, then melt into puddles on the sidewalk, giving the streets a

glossy sheen that reflected the lights of the stores and buildings

that soared into the sky. Seth thought the city lost some of its

magic once Christmas was over, that the strings of lights

someone had forgotten to take down seemed tawdry instead of

festive.

- 2 -

It was nights like this that his missing Evan became a palpable

thing, that Evan’s absence became more of a presence, that Seth

could feel the empty space beside him where Evan should be,

that Seth could so easily imagine that arm slung around his

shoulders or the ghosts of his fingers lingering against his hand.

Of course, now Evan was gone, run off to California, a place

that was sunny and warm instead of dreary and wet. “I’ll always

be your friend,” he’d said on his way out the door, but some

friend—Seth hadn’t heard a peep from him in weeks.

He sighed and rubbed his face, preparing to put on his next

mask, his I’m-fine mask, his I’m-happy-to-spend-time-with-my-

friends mask. Part of him wanted just to go home, to sit in the

dark with low music, or to watch TV, or not to deal with people

that night, to wallow in his sadness and the loss of Evan.

But he’d made plans. He took a deep breath and pushed open

the old wooden door to Lachlan’s Pub and strolled inside. Marty

was already there, sitting at the bar, a grin on his face as he

talked up a brunette with big boobs. Seth unbuttoned his coat

and waved to Marty, who gestured for him to come closer.

“Hey, Seth.” Marty grinned and slapped Seth on the back.

“This is Astrid. Isn’t that a spectacular name?” He paused to let

Seth look her over.

She was pretty, Seth conceded. He shook Astrid’s hand. “Nice

to meet you.” To Marty he said, “You’re awfully early. I wasn’t

expecting you until closer to seven.”

Marty nodded. “They closed the office early on account of this

blizzard they’re expecting to come obliterate the city any minute

now. I heard they’ve already closed the public schools

tomorrow. This of course means we’re only going to get a

couple of inches of snow, tops. It’s always so much ado.”

Seth leaned on the bar and managed to catch the bartender’s

attention. He ordered a beer and surveyed the room as he waited.

- 3 -

The crowd was a little thin; Lachlan’s tended to get pretty lively

during happy hour, but the weather seemed to be keeping people

away. He turned back to grab his beer, and as he took a sip, he

heard a voice behind him.

“Seth? Seth Roland?”

Seth turned around, and suddenly he was seventeen years old

again.

“Hi. It is you! I’m Kieran. We worked together when we were

kids, remember?”

Funny that it was the job that he chose to remember. Because

here was Kieran O’Malley, who, granted, was often associated in

his mind with soft-serve cones and perfect little frosting roses

atop immaculate white ice-cream cakes, but who also evoked in

Seth’s mind Saturday afternoons spent horsing around in

between serving bratty teenage girls, silly conversations late at

night when they closed together, and stealing kisses when the

store was empty. Here was Kieran O’Malley, the cute guy from

the next town over, the first person to see through all of Seth’s

masks, to see the person that Seth really was. And here he was

smiling, looking the same yet totally different, older, more

beautiful, and he was a thirty-year-old in a bar in New York City

instead of an awkward seventeen-year-old in an ice-cream parlor

in suburban New Jersey.

“Kieran,” Seth said, and something in him wanted to shed

everything right then, to pull off his coat and his dull work

wardrobe, to leave everything bare and open in a way he hadn’t

let himself in years, because there had been a time when Kieran

had understood him, had loved him, had been his friend. Yet this

man who stood before him, who nervously ran his fingers

through his hair, was also a complete stranger. Instead of saying

everything he wanted to say, Seth tugged on his polite mask, his

nice-to-meet-you mask, and he smiled.

- 4 -

“I remember,” he said. “It’s nice to see you again.”

- 5 -

Kate McMurray - Kindling Fire with Snow.pdf

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