Inside all of us we take the time to inhale and impale;
Nail our frail, calloused hearts carefully to the 
Doornail. In detail, we downscale our
Emotions, all of them fragile. Nevertheless, we
Prevail; our faces perfectly pale--topped with a high ponytail,
Enduring the stale catcalls and telltale gestures,
Not giving into the blackmail; that retail fairytale that would
Derail the female.
Exhale.
Nothing will resale that folktale more than
The full-scale strength of a woman after a dumbass male.

Annalie hadn't slept all night and neither had Mason. Annalie was about to lose it. She needed a break; she needed Eddie.

Had it been a week already, since she had to say good bye? Shadows seemed like punching bags under her eyes as she rocked Mason in that old wooden rocking chair. A zombie, she stared out the window, almost immune to Mason's shrieks. Dawn was growing, shedding light onto a snowless world. The colors outside were too bright. The grass was too green, the sky was too blue, the plants were too vibrant. Winter needed to come--snow needed to fall. The white blanket would tuck away the colors, the grey sky would reflect her woes. Everything just needed to be muted, to quiet down for a few peaceful moments.

Staring into hopelessness, Annalie watched the sun rise, chasing the long shadows across the field. It was another too warm, too sunny, January day in northern Minnesota. 

The days blurred together. She knew she needed to take care of bills, her late husband's affairs, and figure out what to do with Mason when she went back to work. Could she afford to keep the house? But all she could do was pace the hallway with Mason leaving behind a trail of tears. 

It was late in the evening when Annalie placed Mason in his bassinet, fists flailing. She needed a break. With heavy eyelids, she sunk down beside him in the overstuffed chair that Eddie liked to read in. She'd often find him in the lamplight with his glasses--that he didn't like to wear in public--reading Arthur Conan Doyle, or Agatha Christie, or Herman Melville. He enjoyed his job as an English teacher at the high school and her mind floated to another memory of Eddie.

"Are you coming back to bed?" Annalie asked. She waddled down the stairs and held her pregnant belly. Their first-born son was due soon. The heat of August was making Annalie's patience thin, no matter how pleasant life was being. Now, though, in the coolness of night, she was a bit more peaceful. 

She sat on the arm of the chair and draped her arm over the back. Eddie leaned his head against her stomach and the baby went wild. Eddie sighed in contentment. Words were lost in this moment; a moment when they realized their family was now three.

A refreshingly cool breeze raced through the screen in the window. "If I could get you anything right now, what would it be?" Eddie asked. Annalie, for some reason, never had weird cravings during her pregnancy and it was one thing Eddie looked forward to. He wanted to go out in the middle of the night for pickled herring and a can of pumpkin pie filling; he was eager to help in that way. 

Annalie sighed with a smile. Her hand played with Eddie's dark brown hair. "Snow," she said longingly. Wisps of her hair clung to the sweat on her forehead. Being so heavily pregnant in the summer was nearly unbearable for Bailor women. She longed to trudge through the crunching snow in a pair of boots, to hang her wet gloves and scarf on the radiator to dry, and watch the flakes float down from the sky from beside the fireplace.

Unexpectedly, Eddie jumped from his chair. "Coming right up!" he said and ran to the kitchen. Annalie was curious but sunk into the chair and decided it wasn't worth the effort to climb out of it just yet. It was warm from Eddie's body heat, but she didn't care. 

Annalie nearly fell asleep in the cool breeze, despite the noise Eddie was making in the kitchen. When Eddie reappeared, he held a bowl out to her full of snow. A smile broke across Annalie's face--a rare occurrence this late in the sweltering summer season. "You made me snow?" she asked, happily taking the chilly bowl from his hands.

"I'd make you a blizzard if I could, but I hope you'll settle a bowl of crushed ice for now," he said, kissing her forehead.

The memory made Annalie sniffle. She had dozed off and found herself draped over the same chair. The world felt different, almost comfortingly. Mason's cries had ceased! Sitting up, she stretched a kink out of her neck, careful not to make a sound. She wanted to hold onto this peaceful silence for as long as she could. It was like the silence that falls just after a hearty snow, where the world sighs in its beauty.

Annalie glanced out the window, ready to sigh at the sight of the lack of snow. A smile cracked across her face at the sight of large winter pennies falling against the velvet sky. It climbed up the walls, halfway to the window pane.

A blizzard! Tears fell down Annalie's cheek with a mixture of emotions and the wind howled along with her cries. A coat draped itself around the house--just how Eddie draped his jacket around Annalie when she refused to wear a coat in the fall--she wanted to feel the cold seep into her pores and erase the summer heat.

All night the snow fell, each flake a supportive hand on her shoulder. When the sun finally did rise, on what would have been Annalie and Eddie's ninth wedding anniversary, the snow reached the windows and it still fell, but lightly now.

Under a blanket in the threadbare chair, beside her sleeping son, Annalie slept soundly, conjuring memories and visits from Eddie in her sleep. Serenity finally seemed to settle upon that house. She was snowed in. Safe. A glimmer of hope sparkled on the untouched cover of purity that protected the house. Annalie was no longer alone.

It had been four days since the funeral. Four days since Annalie had to say goodbye while Mason screamed for his father. Mason wouldn't stop screaming.

Being a single mother was hard. It had only been a week since Eddie walked out the door; if only she had kissed him goodbye that night. It was such a usual scene:  just going to the store. Only, the ice had taken him down a different path.

Ice! That impersonator! The counterfeit, the sham, the hard knock thief masquerading as winter precipitation!

Annalie paced up and down the bookshelf-lined hallway between the living room and front hall. The weather had only gotten warmer and so did her blood. She hadn't found a moment to shower while taking care of Mason. Her oily hair was a mess as she ran her hand over it repeatedly in frustration. She wanted to cry--not from missing her husband, but from wanting to run away from it all. She felt guilty for wanting to put her four-month old son in his crib and let him cry. She felt worse that she never felt the need to cry from missing her husband. Oh, her heart broke. She felt the ongoing ache of pain in her chest every moment of the day, but tears never came. 

The minutes ran right into the next without Annalie noticing. Mason screamed in her ears as she switched arms. She bounced him up and down, sung him songs, but nothing seemed to work. A hard, scratchy feeling arose in the back of her throat as the doorbell rang. The sound put a bookmark in this harried tale of woe and Annalie welcomed it for nothing more than to hear a sound other than wailing.

Joy and Peter stood on the other side of the door. It was so warm out that coats were left at home and cotton sweaters were all they needed to keep warm. Their arms were laden down with groceries and casserole dishes. "These are donations from the church group," Joy said, walking past Annalie towards the kitchen.  "Can we do anything?" she asked as Peter loaded the food into the refrigerator.

Annalie wanted to shout, "Yes! Take him away!" and hand over Mason, but didn't. "No, thanks though, Joy," she said meekly.

Her sister looked at Annalie as if she was a billboard, gawking, and trying to read the advertisement through the blazing sun. Joy extended her arms and took Mason from Annalie's grasp as he screamed louder. "Go," she said, nodding towards the staircase. The gesture confused Annalie, due to her lack of sleep. "Go take a few minutes for yourself. We'll watch him." Joy instructed, bouncing Mason as he fought out of his blankets once more. "Take a nap, take a shower, read a book. Do something that's just you."

Annalie found herself crawling into her bed. Eddie's indentation was gone due to Annalie's policy to make the bed every morning. At least it still smelled like him. She closed her eyes and inhaled. Her mind traveled back to their first FIRST snow as a married couple.

Annalie could feel it coming, as all Bailor women did. She was restless in bed that night. Their first ten months of marriage were a dream--though there were some nightmarish moments when little things--Eddie leaving wet towels on the bathroom floor and Annalie never wanting to wash her dishes--made them want to explode with frustration.

They lie in the bed of their small apartment in Minneapolis. The moonlight lit up the room--Annalie never liked to close the shades and curtains in the winter. Moving boxes were everywhere as they were getting ready to move into the house in the country they just bought, which was closer to her family. The warm down comforter settled upon them, trapping the heat of their bodies and passion. 

Eddie was sleeping; his eyelashes danced as he dreamed deeply. Annalie glowed. Happiness exuded from her as if it was sunlight. She had everything; a loving husband, a house, her family close by, and soon there would be the first FIRST snow of their marriage.

She leaned over and kissed Eddie's cheek. Rough stubble tripped on her lips, but she liked that. Eddie moaned questionably as if testing to see if he really needed to open his eyes. "Wake up," she whispered with a smile.

One eye popped open. Eddie took in the glow of his wife and it seemed to wake him like his morning thermos of coffee. He propped himself up on his elbow and rubbed his eyes, squinting to read the time on the alarm clock behind Annalie. "What is it?" he asked. His voice was sticky with sleep. The blanket fell from his frame with the movement and revealed the white t-shirt he wore to bed. It reminded Annalie of an undisturbed blanket of snow on the fields by Eddie's childhood home.

"It's about to snow," Annalie whispered excitedly. For a moment Eddie wanted not to care and go back to sleep, but he didn't. His love for Annalie--despite this eccentricity--outweighed his heavy eyelids. "If you dig out the snow pants, I'll get the hot chocolate," Annalie offered, wiggling her eyebrows.

Eddie smiled despite the early morning hours and the chill in the air. With the thrill and love found in young marriages, he eagerly wanted to make Annalie happy. So, throwing off the down comforter, he raced from closet to closet, cardboard box to cardboard box, searching for their snow pants. With the same vigor, Annalie dashed to the kitchen and got out the ingredients and a thermos to make her mother's Super Secret Hot Chocolate Recipe. She knew the other Bailor women would be awake, looking out their windows, or waking up their children for the season's first winter pennies.

Annalie buried her head in Eddie's pillow with the memory. Annalie longed for the snow like an old friend; someone to confide in, to tuck herself into, to make her feel like everything will be all right.

The doorbell rang three times before Annalie snapped out of it. She had gotten lost in a memory again, staring at Eddie's snow boots in the hall closet. "Are you ready to go?" Peter asked when Annalie opened the door; she silently cursed how bright the sun was this winter day. Beyond him, she saw Joy and her mother in the car, nervously eyeing the house. No doubt they were talking about what a tragedy this all was; words Annalie didn't want to hear.

With a curt nod, Annalie picked Mason up from the play pen and followed Peter out the door. A snarl crossed Annalie's angry lips when she walked outside and felt the unusually warm temperature. The fifty-five degree weather taunted her like the school bully; the wind didn't have a fierce bite like it should.

Mason cried from the car seat between Annalie and her mother. He was too warm. His cries turned his face red and he was sweating beneath his onesie. More than once Annalie's mother checked if it was a fever, but no. Poor Mason was feeling the absence of snow... his first snow. And, of course, his father. The father he would never know. Annalie let Mason cry the tears that she couldn't.

Clutching her black wool skirt until her knuckles turned white, Annalie stared at the bare land as they traveled down the bumpy gravel roads on the edge of town. Eddie wanted this small house in the country. He was a country boy. Eddie made life this far from town bearable, even magical, to Annalie. She thought back to Eddie's smile; the one he bore cutting the lawn and cleaning the gutters; the jubilant smile he displayed when Annalie agreed to purchasing that house. Memories of Eddie were easy to get lost inside.

The funeral home was warm and dark. There was a discreet festive wreath hung over the stone fireplace where Eddie's father sat, hunched over a hankerchief. Everyone dressed in black. The tears supplied were almost overwhelming. The people who loved Edwin T. Harrison and Jack Harris Lovitt took over the entire funeral home. 

"Would you like me to come with you?" Joy asked, oozing with the concern of an older sibling. She placed a hand on Annalie's shoulder and looked too deeply into her eyes.

Shaking her head, Annalie handed Mason to her; he had quieted into a fitful sleep, his red cheeks glistened in tears as he moaned. She walked slowly down the aisle of people who watched her, concerned. She would see Eddie again in twenty steps.

Fifteen Steps.

Ten Steps.

Ten years. They would never make it to their tenth wedding anniversary. It would have been their ninth anniversary in a week. Annalie thought back to her wedding day--how handsome and proud Eddie looked. They had both dressed in white, to match the snow-covered view outdoors, though Annalie's dress had a hint of wintry blue that twinkled in the light.  She looked at herself in the full length mirror, putting on her silver snowflake earrings that she borrowed from her mother and the pearls that embellished the back of her dress looked like winter pennies falling down her back.

A knock at the door distracted her from her reflection. "It's him!" Jane said, her eyes wide with concern. "You can't see him before the wedding, it's bad luck!"

Barefoot--those uncomfortable shoes were banished to a corner until the ceremony began--Annalie opened the door a few inches but kept out of sight. She could hear the tapping of the pearls on the wooden door as she put her back to it.

 "Annalie?" Eddie's voice made her smile.

"Yes?" She asked, suddenly impatient and hoped that the ceremony would start sooner. She couldn't wait for Eddie to scoop her up in his arms.

"Just making sure," he replied with relief.

"That I didn't run?" she asked with a hint of humor.

"That you didn't get distracted from the snow." He laughed. "I saw it begin to snow from my room and just imagined you running outside, in your dress, and falling into the snow to make an angel."

"You just didn't want to be left out of the fun," she teased, sneaking a glance at the snow outside her window; her best friend had made an appearance on her big day.

"You know it," he said. Annalie could just picture his smile. A deep breath rushed out of his mouth before he asked, "You ready?"

Annalie glanced at her sisters who tried not to look like they were eavesdropping from the corner of the room. "I'll make you a deal," she said.

Eddie answered tentatively, "Shoot."

"We say our 'I dos' real quick," Annalie proposed, "and then we run outside to catch some pennies."

"Am I allowed to start a snowball fight?" Eddie asked without skipping a beat.

Annalie laughed; love for Eddie filled her at that moment. "What else would we throw at our wedding? Rice?" she joked.

"I love you," he said through the door.

Annalie's placed her hand on the door and said, ​"I love you too."

The trees along the roads were coated in icicles that seemed to grow by the minute. Jane's husband, Peter, drove the minivan through town, but no matter how careful he was, he still slid at stop signs and when he had to hit the gas pedal. As Annalie stared out the window, anxiously biting her nails, Peter would mumble about snow tires and other people's lack of driving skills. They were all on edge as the hospital drew closer.

​The rest of the family waited anxiously at the house. Annalie's mother held Mason as they rushed into their coats and down the driveway that night. Even now they had no information. Annalie bit her fingers raw from her perch on the padded wooden chair of the waiting room. Jane paced slowly, holding her belly, taking a moment here and there to rest, while Joy stared at the television mounted on the wall; she wasn't watching the poor reception of "It's A Wonderful Life" playing on the screen... none of the women were.

Annalie stared past the bleak reflection of the bright waiting room in the large window across from her. Ice was wrapping around the trees as if they were presents to be opened in the morning. The man in the corner nervously tapped his foot on the chair beside him, which matched the beat of his companion who snored loudly, spread out across the plastic chairs.

At long last, Peter returned to the waiting room with vending machine coffees. Though Annalie was rattled with worry and distracted with uncertainties, she managed to give Peter a small smile when he handed her a coffee with a candy cane hanging over the rim; just how Annalie liked it. 

As minutes turned into an hour, and then two hours, and then three hours, nothing but anxiety filled Annalie. Little to no words were exchanged between the four. Worrying about Eddie's fate on top of the anticipation for snow made Annalie feel like she was being pushed to the edge of the earth and was hanging onto reality by a rope whose fibers were slowly springing apart.

It was the longest night of the year in more ways than one. Sometime between the darkest veil and no hope for dawn, the doctor walked in who had introduced himself before the surgeries. He rounded the corner with an expression that had been practiced; an expression of stone, no emotion. Annalie already knew. How could she not?

Jane, who had been resting beside Joy and Peter, looked up hopeful. With eyes of glass, the doctor regretably shook his head.  He spoke of the procedure and what went wrong--Jack and Eddie were in critical condition in the first place. Annalie stopped paying attention; emotion had escaped her.  It was like the ice had come and numbed her senses instead of her limbs. When the doctor's white coat disappeared through the door and tears filled the waiting room, Annalie's world had ended. 

 This nightmare of a Christmas seemed not to want to end. As the clock on the mantle chimed at half past eleven, Annalie rose from her chair and lifted the sheer curtain with two fingers from the window, before continuing en route to the kitchen. Through clenched teeth she breathed out, “It’s raining,” in two disappointed words. There was a malicious emphasis put on the second word.

Hoping to prove her wrong and that it was actually snow coming down from the sky, all five women went to the curtain and peered through their persistent reflections, past the dark window. Their gazes swept across the lawn and then pierced through the sky, desperately searching for the smallest snowflake. Nope. Everything was covered in the slick shine of rain. The walkway was drenched in water, as if it had been raining for a while. Tiny icicles started to form on the three foot tall plastic candy canes that lit up the front lawn. A shiver broke out across Annalie’s shoulder blades as she returned from the kitchen and joined her sisters.

The piercingly loud shrill of the telephone broke a few of the women away from the window, but not Annalie; she still searched between the freezing raindrops, looking for that hint of snow; the smile from an old friend. As her icy blue eyes desperately searched, something in kitchen unexpectedly dropped and there was a sense of panic in the air.

The remaining women at the window exchanged curious glances when Annalie's oldest sister, Joy, returned to the living room, her face as white as a sheet. “Annalie…” she began, her hands shaking in emotion. "There was a car accident..."

If you ever have a broken heart
be sure to visit Mr. Fix-It.
He's made a living of mending such things;
running a well-known business 
tailored to his ever-growing clientele.
Such visits are never lovely or expected,
but his clients are glad for his company
and experience in such things.

They flock to his storefront,
framed in dark wood,
which was like a permanent cloud
pierced by a large open window
that let in buckets of sun--
reminding his clients that
hope could always be found
even when their faith is gone.

Gently he'd take the heart,
in all its broken pieces,
and place it gingerly in a crystal bowl.
He'd reply, "Ah yes, I can help,"
as he looks down over the basin,
through his dark-framed glasses
with a concerned and all-knowing gaze.
Sadly, broken hearts are his business.

As the customer wrings their hands
and paces to and fro, worrying
and fretting; a weeping of his soul,
Mr. Fix-It goes straight to work.
Turning his back, he hunches over his work bench
on a small stout wooden stool,
under a bright lamp that leans over his shoulder,
like a master supervising his apprentice.

Silently, with measured movements,
he goes about his work. His hands
move like a dance. His mending tools
stand at the ready, like an army
awaiting commands. With glue and tape,
Mr. Fix-It rearranges the broken pieces
of the sufferer's heart. Never again
would it look the same.

Sweat collects on the brows of both men
as one awaits in anguish,
and the other mends the fragile pieces
that seem to crumble
with the slightest touch.
The clock on the wall ticks
as if the pendulum was
pacing in impatience.

As the sun casts long shadows
across the floorboards of the storefront,
the client suddenly ceases his weeping.
Warmth comforts his cold limbs and 
feeling rushes inside of his shell.
And there is Mr. Fix-It, bathed in the setting sun,
as the tortured client lifts his chin: a whisper of hope.

Mr. Fix-It stands, cradling the mended
heart in his arms like a newborn.
"It is done," he says and presents to the anguished man.
"It's not the same," says the client, his lips faulted
but his eyes spark with life once more.
"No," says Mr. Fix-It, shaking his head.
He takes a deep breath--news he never liked to give--
"And it never will be again."

Before the client gets dismayed,
Mr. Fix-It reassures him, "It is the same,
just rearranged. It is stronger now,
moreso than before. But it is also fragile
before it gets strong. That's how these things go."
Slowly, the client nods and takes his heart
tenderly into his own hands, he cradles it
and rocks back and forth; second chances born again

"Can you make it unbreakable?" asks the man.
"Cast it in iron or gold?" His eyes look hopeful
as he looks up from his patched-up bundle.
Mr. Fix-It frowns--a question heard too often.
He shakes his head and wisps of gray hair 
agree with his movement. "No," he whispers.
"Only you can do that. Through forgiveness
and taking chances. Surviving in the darkness."

A bottom lip quivers as the client nods.
With a gentle touch to the sensitive heart,
the man moves to leave,
"We'll be strong again," he whispers,
gingerly tucking away his heart,
as he walks into the dusk-covered streets.
"In time we'll love again," he says before
slipping into a lullaby and disappearing into a new life.

Usually the Christmas season was a time of relaxation and gratitude in Annalie's family. Instead of hurrying from shop to shop to collect presents for the family, the women would stroll gaily through the snow, a smile across their lips. This Christmas was different though. Lights were hung outside, trees were cut down, and fire wood was chopped without one flake of snow in sight. Still, as the family gathered for the holiday, there was blind hope; a sort of dull electric current emanated from the house.

As the hours ticked by, the anticipation of a surprise snowfall hung anxiously in the air. Every Bailor woman took turns glancing out a window every ten minutes hoping, waiting for white specks to trickle down from the clouds. The lack of their seasonal topping made each woman impatient and restless, which made the holiday almost unbearable for the men.

Her mother’s famous Chunky Chicken Pot Pie was served for dinner, as was tradition. It caused all the children to flap their arms and stomp their feet while singing “Do the Funky Chunky Chicken with meeee!” Regrettably, this only built onto the mounting headaches of every adult in the room. Though the pot pie was delicious and satiated most of the women's anxiety for a few moments, Annalie’s sister, Jane, had a painful craving for her asparagus-and-marshmallows-wrapped-in-an-Eggo-waffle sandwich to tame her screaming pregnant taste buds.

Jane's husband, Jack, wasted no time in offering to get out of the house and run to the store for his wife. "No, no, I'll go," he said to the other men and jumped up in jubilation at the opportunity. His stocking feet padded against the white carpeting as he rushed to the foyer. “Where are you going?” Eddie asked Jack as he descended the staircase. Eddie had just spent the past hour putting Mason to sleep in a quiet bedroom upstairs.

“The baby is demanding is own menu, wanna come with me?” Jack asked and stole a glance beyond his shoulder into the living room. The Bailor women sat quiet, cross-legged--some with a foot bouncing in impatience--and all stealing glances out the picture window.

Jack didn’t even bother to button up his coat or tie his shoe laces. He had one foot out the door before Eddie agreed in carefully contained excitement. The rest of the men glowered in jealousy from Eddie and Jack’s freedom.

The curiously long time that passed in their absence was spent in heavy silence around the fireplace. The children had been forced to go to bed, although once in a while there were muffled whispers that escaped from behind the door of the den. The relatively new Bailor women—the wives of both of Annalie’s brothers—occassionally tried to make small talk and liven the situation, but when that failed they sought refuge in the family room to watch the last installment of the "A Christmas Story" marathon on television.

A soft, soothing voice on the radio delightfully shared listener's Christmas stories on a LiteFM radio station. It drifted through the silence and sighs between each woman. It had to have been the first Christmas that their Minnesota hometown ever experienced the lack of snow, but each woman stayed awake stubbornly, waiting for their white Christmas.

Three uneventful seasons had passed and it was winter in Grand Folks once again. With only a semester left to complete before graduation, Annalie found herself sitting in the same Grand Forks coffee shop, this time on the frayed maroon couch with Eddie, marking their one year anniversary.
​
Eddie placed his Steamline Express next to one of the dragonfly lamps that sat on the oak end table. Two ugly pigeon sculptures watched the pair of them from their spot perched on either side of the lop-sided bookshelf mural that was painted onto the wall behind them. Annalie had just finished telling Eddie the tale of how her parents had spent their honeymoon, again. She gazed out of the window and imagined herself in her mother’s world as a flurry of icy feathers stained the atmosphere in white blotches outside.

 The most significant thing that Eddie had observed about Annalie during their relationship was how her face glowed in the winter; the sparkle of the snow that reflected in her eyes was the magic that made the season bearable for him.

“I really think it’d be nice to be snowed in. No one can come to the door and bother you and you’re left with nothing entirely important to do but sleep and eat,” she paused and sipped her Christmas in a Cup. “It’s just you and your thoughts; it’d almost be like living in a dream.”

Eddie smiled. He could never wrap his mind around why Annalie loved everything about the winter. “Yeah, but what if you run out of food or need to get to a doctor? I wouldn’t want to be stuck in a blizzard then.”

Annalie pried her eyes off the window and frowned. “That’s not the point," she said and wiped the rim of her mug with her fingers.

“Then what is the point?” Eddie asked bluntly.

It took a few moments for Annalie to translate her feelings into words so that maybe this time Eddie could understand her. “It’s like you and your dog—”

“—my dog?” Eddie asked with a puzzled expression.

“Just listen,” Annalie scolded, tapping his wrinkled jeans with her hand. “When you plop down on the couch and the dog rests his head on your lap, you feel comfortable, like it’s home. He’s your best friend but he can’t talk to you and you only get to see him when you go to your Dad’s house for a weekend. But when you drive up to the house, he gallops down the driveway and you both get so excited at the feeling of familiarity and comfort and love. That’s what the snow is for me. I could be around it all the time, smothered in its security and endless conviction.” Annalie paused and took a deep breath. Her eyes reached up to the ceiling and she eagerly searched her mind for the absolute best words to describe her feelings. “A blizzard, to me, would be like an old friend, wrapping their arms around me, protecting me from mundane routine and welcoming me home.”

Eddie shook his head and a frivolous chuckle escaped, “Geez Annalie," he started. "Some girls want the moon and the stars, but only you would want a blizzard.”

Annalie didn’t say anything but tugged at a loose thread on her sleeve. Eddie, thinking he had just forced a painful splinter into the skin of their relationship, put his arm around her and replied, “If it was ever possible, Annalie, I would give you a blizzard.”

Smiling, Annalie shook her head from side to side, brushing away his remark as a joke.

“No, really, I promise,” he insisted. “How much snow would you like in your blizzard?” He asked as though he were copying down a recipe. “Three feet? Ten feet? We could go for a world record.”

Annalie sighed. “You still don’t get it Eddie.”

”I’m trying to Annalie.”
​
She faced him, placed her pale hand against his scruffy cheek and said, “I know Eddie, that’s why I love you.”

Annalie smiled at the memories that the snowfall had brought her. Her mind quickly glanced over the fact that Eddie had taken her to Finland for their honeymoon, in hopes of running into a blizzard. They only experienced Finland’s warmest winter on record.
​
Smiling at her husband’s sweet but stubborn persistence, she tucked young Mason tighter into his blankets and decided to return to bed. The ground would be covered in a thin layer of snow by morning, she hoped, and another flood of memories would overcome her dreams.

When Annalie went away to college, she loved to sit at Clever Grounds Coffee Shop in chilly Grand Folks, North Dakota and stare into the outside world. The place wasn’t crowded with college students in the early chilly mornings, and she often parked herself in front of the window; the people rushing from store to store under their hats and scarves amused her. While partaking in this favorite past time one morning, and sipping a large mug of the shop's signature flavor Christmas in a Cup, she unexpectedly met her future husband, Edwin Evans.

He was trekking through the mounting snow, gracefully stumbling over the heaps that the plows had accumulated against the curb. Short strands of brown hair peeked out from underneath his leather and sheepskin bomber hat. He didn’t bother to wear a coat, only an extra large University of North Dakota sweatshirt that was sodden in melted snowflakes by the time he stumbled into the coffee shop. Annalie eye’s followed him as his wet shoes squeaked across the black and white linoleum floor; she became intrigued by the cheekiness he flaunted towards the weather.

She overheard him ask for an advertisement he needed to collect for The Dakota Student newspaper. “Hold on a sec,” the petite barista said with an annoyed tone. She flipped her long auburn hair over her shoulder and disappeared behind a swinging door.

While he waited, the young man turned around, leaned on the counter with his elbows and surveyed the few people seeking refuge in the tiny shop. He caught Annalie’s gaze and smiled. She returned a blank stare, much like a deer caught in headlights, and then pulled her textbook a few inches higher to cover her face.

“Here, this is what he left on his desk,” the petite barista shoved a manila folder into his hands and he thanked her.

He made his way to the door and paused abruptly, as if he had stepped into a puddle of quick drying super glue. “The Biogenetic Foundation of Literary Representation?” A mixture of astonishment and threat coated his words.

Annalie brought the book down a few inches, revealing her eyes and the bridge of her nose, knowing that he was reading the title of the book she was holding. “I don’t even understand the title; do you even know what you’re reading?”

Feeling offended, a cold rigidness breezed briefly upon Annalie’s face. “My major is biogenetic engineering,” she said matter-of-factly.

He could only form his mouth into a surprised, “Oh,” and stared at the book, no doubt trying to translate the title into layman’s terms.

“Are you intimidated?” Annalie asked with a smirk.

“A little,” he said, creasing his brow. His gaze shifted from the book to her, “I’m Eddie.”

She observed his demeanor for a few moments and decided to let go of the offense she took to his earlier comment. “Annalie,” she replied.

“So what exactly does a biogenetic engineer do?” Eddie asked, thinking he gotten the green light. He sat down at the chair opposite from Annalie and ordering a tall, foamy Steamline Express from the barista. Annalie sighed in defeat; he was going to stick around for a while, so Annalie began to explain her exciting world of biogenetics to the man who was soaked in winter pennies.