If You Love Me

28

a v e r y

THE FIRST SNOWFALL OF THE season has always been my favourite. When all the clouds slowly begin to gather; when the tiny ice crystals forced themselves in millions of snowflakes, sticking to one another just right; and when they left their homes, descending their way down the sky until they made new ones on tops of cars, in the hair of children, on to the mittens of the elderly, and in between the lips of lovers.

The snow brought no warmth, being nothing but cold and wet, yet made me happy whenever it would touch my skin and melt on my hair.

Winter was best spent with my mother. A master of all things snow angels and carrot-nosed snowmen, my mother was nothing short of a winter enthusiast. She always knew the exact moment the sky and clouds had shifted into winter; with the pad of her thumb, she knew when the weather dropped below zero; and with just the tip of her tongue, she could distinguish light flurries from packing snow.

When those snowflakes first made their way down the sky, no matter where we were or what time it was, we would stand underneath it until our hair resembled my grandmother's when she had officially gone grey. If we had been driving, she would pull the car off to the side of the road and have us sit on the hood until our bodies were imprinted into the metal like we belonged there.

My mother loved winter so much that one time when I was eight, we had gone nearly two days without heat during the season's peak. We ate old bread and packaged foods, slept on the couch with every blanket we could find in the house, and danced around with two layers of socks on our feet. Millie kissed my forehead and cheeks for hours after she discovered us, her wet and warm face hitting mine every time her lips did. She brought us back to her house, ensuring that the water was warm, the hot chocolate was hot, and that I only had to wear one pair of socks on my feet.

Millie never mentioned it and Will never went another winter without checking our furnace.

Snow begins to litter the green field, landing on the people that swarmed it from either side and lining it like the white lines of the yard markings.

Dean's brother, Jonah, pokes his head out from circle that his teammates have created around him. A boyish grin pulls across the bottom half of his face as his eyes find us in the stands before he places his mouth guard back on to his teeth. His jersey is covered in green stains, his helmet covered in scuff marks.

Thomas is on his feet, his hands cupped around his mouth as he chanted twenty-four, the number on the back of Jonah's jersey, and Carter repeatedly. Lisa has both of her arms up, holding a handcrafted sign she made twenty minutes before we left the house, her lips painted a red that perfectly matched Jonah's jersey. Dean stands behind me, his arms curled around either one of my shoulders and his hands settled on the front of my coat as he fiddles with the zipper nervously. Olivia and Heath are on the other side of us, Heath proudly in a leather jacket and Olivia with her hands in a bag of popcorn in a coat too big for her that is zipped up to her neck.

The buzzer sounds and each team returns to their respective sides of the line. The ball roars across the field, taking off in the direction of the opposing team and landing in one of their arms. The men in blue and white race towards Jonah's team not making it far before two of them are knocked off their feet and the ball to the ground. One of the referees, an older man wearing a white and black long-sleeved shirt and a cap that does nothing to cover his long grey hair blows his whistle as he makes his way on to the field. The ball is given back to the opposing team as the game resets.

"Are you okay?" Dean asks before he kisses me where my neck and shoulder meet. "Not too cold?"

"If I say yes, are you going to warm me up?"