Free The Snow Maiden by Eden Royce

The Snow Maiden
     
    I hurried to the table in back of the coffee shop as fast as my legs in their four-inch spike heels allowed me without spilling my cinnamon mocha. “Hey, Jenn. Sorry I’m late. Conference call ran over.”
    “Hey, girl.” My best friend bit at her lip, leaving an edge of red on her teeth. “You gonna be mad at me if I cancel on you tonight?”
    Even though I cringed at the thought of spending Friday night alone – again – I kept my face impassive and looked straight ahead at the dark suits, almost identical to mine, scrambling by outside. “Depends on why you’re canceling. We were going to try the new Asian fusion place.”
    Her uncomfortable tone, blanketed by a thick, fluffy Southern drawl, crawled around my ears. “Um. Something came up.”
    “Was it a penis?”
    “Claire!”
    “What? I’m pretty sure I’m right. Right?”
    “Well, what happened was…”
    Oh God. This was gonna be big. Significant. Big, significant penis. I was already picturing my phallus-free evening: A glass of wine while I sat on my couch and watched reruns of Frasier. Jee-zus. I imagined having sex with Kelsey Grammer’s sitcom alter ego. Even in the heat of passion, he would call my pussy a vulva. I shuddered and pulled myself back to Jennifer’s high-pitched explanation.
    “…I’d get to wear my new dress. The red one, remember?”
    I remembered. It was a strappy little thing my D cup breasts would laugh at. Plus, Artesian was the place to be seen at and it was right up Jennifer’s alley – tiny portions served on tiny plates by tiny people. Give me a diner burger and a side of crinkle fries any day.
    As usual, Jennifer took my silence for acquiescence. “Anyway, it was a last minute thing. Oh, please don’t be mad.”
    I wasn’t mad at her for canceling at the last minute. But I was mad at her for believing that asshole wanted to bring her to a work event. His first and possibly second choices had fallen through, and he was trying to save face by bringing someone. I wanted to slap her silly for being so… well, silly. “No, it’s fine.”
    “See, he’s been assigned to–”
    “I said it was okay, Jenn. Don’t worry about it. I’ll live.” I always did. Just once, I wanted her to choose hanging out with me over a date.
    “Thanks, girl. You’re the best.” Apparently, I wasn’t going to be her choice tonight. I looked at my watch and groaned. It was almost time for my appointment with Dr. Lawrence.
    #
    By nature, I’m not a calm person. Type A, all the way. I stay awake nights, thinking of what I did or need to do. I go into the office early, work through lunch, stay late.
    At least I used to until I burned out. More like a flaming jet crash, smoking fuselage that looks tiny up in the air, but grows to gargantuan sheets of white-hot metal as it reaches the unsuspecting earth. The wreckage didn’t resemble who I thought I was: a tireless wonder woman. I felt more like Aquaman, useless until someone needed to talk to fish.
    I’d been making the company my life since I was twenty-five. Now, ten years later, my life consisted of meeting with a shrink two hours a week and wondering if getting sex on a regular basis could have slowed my burnout. I hadn’t made time for a real relationship since I started working. Blamed it on being too driven to do anything boring like sit at long, leisurely dinners and answer questions about my family, hometown, and outside interests.
    The few times I did date, if I was horny enough, I might force a smile and ask if he wanted to go back to my place. Most times, I had to take charge of my own orgasm. Fine. I could handle that responsibility, too. Senior Executive in Charge of Climax. It was the delegating I had trouble with.
    “Claire!”
    “What?” Dr. Lawrence’s sharp tone yanked me from the bitter memory.
    “We aren’t making much progress. Your tension is obvious. None of my relaxation techniques are working.”
    “How can they? I can’t even