Free Dust of Snow by Indra Vaughn

it still. His mouth was very close,
and I elbowed him, not that it did much good. I was trapped unless
I seriously wanted to hurt him.
    “No,” I snapped, squirming to get away,
readying to shove my knee where it mattered. I wrenched my face
from his grip and stuffed the flask in his hands. “And take your
flask with you, I don’t want it.”
    David opened his mouth to say God knows what
when a voice bellowed down the hallway.
    “Let go of him!”
    Carl was on David in seconds, almost lifting
him bodily off me and tossing him out the door. “ Va te faire
foutre! Gregory, are you all right?” he asked, one hand on my
shoulder, the other on my cheek. I nodded, and then I saw Ashley,
who was standing a few yards away, breathing hard like he’d come
running and stopped abruptly midstride. Great. I had at last
reached the depths of ultimate humiliation. I could fall no
further.
    “I’m fine,” I mumbled, but it worried me how
Ashley’s hands were balled into fists by his sides. He turned and
stalked away. Again.
    When Carl noticed, a string of French curses
fell from his mouth like I’d never heard from him before. “I did it
again,” he said. “Just when I thought I had mended the bridge. When
I saw that man on you… Ah, mon coeur , I should have left the
rescuing to monsieur Montgomery. But I care for you, mon
petit . I couldn’t do nothing.”
    I could tell he was drunk, or he’d never have
said those things. Not wasted out of his mind, but enough to loosen
his tongue. Mon coeur? His heart? It should have been nice
to hear, but the fact I’d needed rescuing in his eyes—and
Ashley’s—took all the sweetness from his words.
    “I’m going home.”
    “Gregory—”
    “No. I’m going.”
    “All right.” Carl stepped back. “But you
should talk to Ashley. He cares for you too, maybe even more than I
do.”
    “Uh-huh.” I didn’t believe Ashley felt more
than pity, but I didn’t have it in me to fight about it. I felt
cold, exhausted, and a little bit sick.
    “At least let me step outside with you and
make sure that man is gone.”
    Humiliation burned in my chest. “I can handle
him,” I snapped, sharper than I meant to. After a deep breath I
added, “I’ll be fine. See you Monday.”
    “Take care, Gregory.”
    I grabbed my coat from the store room and
left without looking back.
     

     
    The closer Monday morning loomed, the more I
wished time would grind to a halt completely. At least with the
holiday party over, work would be so insanely busy as we prepared
for the annual corporate meeting at the Marriott that I wouldn’t
have time to think about anything else. And once that week was
over, Carl would go to France for Christmas, and I’d be off for a
few blissful days. I wished we could just have the whole week off
between Christmas and New Year’s, but head office wouldn’t hear of
it.
    Monday morning brought, to no one’s surprise,
more snow, and no magical clearing service. I plowed my way through
it with the snowblower, fueled on resentment and bitter
moodiness.
    The first thing I did when I had two seconds
to myself at work was put the damn snowblower on eBay and call a
snow removal service. I was pleased to hear they’d start the next
morning. If I couldn’t sell the snowblower I could just shove it in
the basement.
    With a start, it occurred to me that my small
basement was still half full of David’s stuff. All things he
obviously didn’t miss. I realized I’d been hanging on to them for a
whole year, hoping that somehow he’d come back. And now he’d tried,
and I’d turned him away. I reached for the antacids in my
drawer.
    Maybe we could make it work this time. Isn’t
it better than being alone? Shouldn’t I be glad he wants me back?
Isn’t it what I want?
    I chewed the chalky tablets and washed them
down with crappy office coffee.
    Carl didn’t treat me any differently after
the incident. I hung his borrowed shirt and sweater—cleaned and
ironed—in his closet,