Snow Days

Years earlier, when Maximillian had still been learning to fly airplanes in Montana, Leo was slipping over the ice in New York City. Snow had been a part of his life every winter since he was born. His mother almost hadn’t been able to get to the hospital because of the snow. His father, terrified of having to deliver his son in the backseat of a car, had gotten out and shovelled a few feet, then gotten in and driven as far as they could, and gotten out and shovelled more. Snow had never been enough to stop Dean Sherman, and it wouldn’t be enough to stop his son.

Leo’s heavy boots slid sideways, and he stopped with a jolt, re-evaluating his path. He placed his feet with careful deliberation and kept walking. Most of the streets were plowed, but the sidewalks were caked in ice. He was almost alone, unusual for 10 am on a Monday, but most of the locals were tucked away inside. This city could handle 102 degree heat, 98% humidity, mosquitos the size of your fist, terrorist threats and oncoming hurricanes. But a give them a little bit of snow and everyone lost their goddamn minds.

When he and Maximilian Franzen finally met, three years later, snow was forecast but never came. Instead they had freezing rains and dashed from the bar back to his hotel room. They ordered room service the next day and hardly got out of bed, laughing and watching tv, listening to the rain pounding down outside. Maximillian told him that he was a pilot, and didn’t get to come to New York very often.

“I won’t even be in New York after this summer,” Leo said. “I’m probably going back to Wyoming to be nearer to my family. So I might not see you again.”

“I’m based in Montana!” Max blurted out. “Maybe… I don’t want to impose, but I would like to see you again.”

“I’d like that too,” Leo said. He drove Max to the airport the next day and they kissed outside of the the security checkpoint before Maximillian got onto his plane and flew it to Hong Kong.

Eight months later the two were reunited, meeting at a diner in Northern Wyoming, when a late summer storm rolled in. Maximillian laughed about Leo always grounding his planes, and they listened as the rain turned to hail for a moment, but the skies cleared an hour later.

Five years after that, married, the two stood in front of their kitchen sink, watching snow pile up outside.

“Looks like you’re grounded again,” Leo wrapped his arms around Maximilian and kissed his neck. “You’re trapped.”

“Well, I’ve been to the Pago Pago before,” Max said sipping coffee. “I’m not missing much. Private jet with all the amenities, a handful of CEOs, all the strippers and coke they can reasonably smuggle.”

“Ugh, all that money and luxury, who needs it?” Leo said, unwrapping himself and turning to the stove. “Pancakes?”

Max nodded his assent, then turned away from the window and sat at the table. “I always loved snow days.”