I nodded and took it out. The necklace was so delicate, but so, so pretty. I didn’t really have that much fine jewelry. I handed it to him, whirled around, and lifted my hair so he could place it around my neck and fasten it.

“Diamonds are forever. And so are we,” he’d whispered in my ear. As corny as it sounded, I liked it. We’re forever. It made all those thoughts of walking the streets of Philadelphia next fall, hand in hand, and his bended-knee proposal, solidify in my mind. He kissed my ear. “I read that on a jewelry ad.”

I shook my head at him as if he was a total nut and modeled the necklace, doing my best Vogue poses.

“Oh yeah. The unicorn slippers really pull the outfit together.”

I kicked him in the shin with one pointy, stuffed horn, but it probably felt like being hit with a pillow.

“I’m gonna text you,” he said to me. “Perpetually. From in front of the fire in the lodge. Where I’ll be bored as hell. And having no fun whatsoever.”

“I’m counting on it,” I teased him.

It turned out he didn’t text me much. The first couple of days he did, all the time. He texted about how the food sucked and snow sucked and everything about that particular area of the world sucked. By Christmas, he’d texted me twice, once to say, Merry Christmas, love, and another time, he texted a picture of him and Kane in front of a massive Christmas tree at the lodge.

After that, nothing. But I didn’t mind.

Well, I minded a little. But I reminded myself that on New Year’s Eve, we’d be together, and everything would be okay.

Wednesday, February 27

Of course, the little snow holiday we were having couldn’t last forever.

At six thirty in the morning, the temperature is frigid. An icy wind is blowing off the retention pond. I rush out of the house, slide into my Jeep, slam the door, and power up the defrost. The windows are covered with icy starbursts, but I’ll let Kane use the scraper. I sit there, teeth chattering, waiting for warmth to toast my frozen face.

Kane shows up late and slides in. He screams something that sounds like “Witch’s tit! Mother of hell!” but I can’t really tell because he’s breathing into his hands at the same time.

Okay, forget Kane using the scraper. “You are such a wuss,” I say to him, watching as he positions the vents so they’re on him. He even tries to position one of my vents to blow on him, but I slap his hand away. “How is your mom? When are they coming home?”

“My dad was home last night. But Cooper the Pooper’s in NICU. It’ll be another few days until they bring him home.”