I pull out my phone to send Ari a quick text letting her know that I need a little space and I’m walking home. Soon I’ll want to call Meredith so she can jump into problem-solving mode. Soon I’ll want Ari to wrap me in her soft arms and tell me I’m pretty. For now, though, I just want to be alone.

It’s not a long walk between here and the Burnside Bridge, and I make my way down quiet, dark streets as snow swirls around me, tiny flakes, illuminated in the streetlamps. And damn if it isn’t a little bit magic, the way it floats in all directions, the way it paints the ground a pristine white, the way it immediately transforms the world into something new, right before your eyes.

Snow days mean freedom, and some part of me does feel impossibly free. I finally told Jack how I feel—full honesty game. And she doesn’t feel the same way, but at least…

At least I tried.

I slide my hands into the pockets of my coat. Maybe this snow will bring its own magic. Maybe it will bring me something new.

Two Christmases ago, the snow brought me Jack, and even if we didn’t work out, we had one perfect day together.

This last Christmas, the snow brought me Andrew and the Kim-Prescotts.

Maybe this snow will bring me a new person—a messy, honest, too-loud person, one who can love me back. Someone else who shoves their fists into the pockets of her Carhartt jacket, someone else who flicks her chin to get her hair out of her face, someone else whose smiles come in increments like the phases of the moon.

I know there’s only one Jack. But maybe someone else will make me feel the way she does. In time. If I can be that open version of myself I was with her.

I step onto the sidewalk on the edge of the Burnside Bridge.

Last year, with Jack, we walked down the middle of the bridge. There were no cars, no boundaries, no restrictions at all. Everything was blurred and indistinct. Now, I stick to the path as cars chug by, slowly, windshield wipers pushing aside the mounting snow. Yet, even now, there’s something magical about this bridge, too.

Maybe the someone new this snow will bring me is myself.

Behind me, a car honks, and fuck it—nope, I’m still the Ellie Oliver who despises being honked at by strangers. I fold my arms across my chest and hope they pass quickly.