My Life After Now - By Jessica Verdi Page 0,59

least three days, and Dad and Papa still had to go to work.

Friday afternoon, I made myself some soup for lunch and watched the snow falling from the living room picture window. Everything was so still, so beautiful. It was hard to imagine that this was the same world where so many people were dying senselessly, where pregnant women were willing to put their babies’ lives in danger, where fear triumphed over love.

Gazing out at the white-blanketed front lawn, I was transported back to a time where everything was so much simpler. There were Courtney, Max, and I, bundled up in snowsuits and hats and boots, building a snowman on the front lawn. We outfitted him with a feather boa and a cardboard Happy Birthday hat, and used walnuts for his eyes and nose and a piece of licorice for his mouth. We called him Jonathan. Courtney proclaimed he was a prince and that we should build him a princess, so they could be married. But Max and I had a better idea…we built another snowman, gave him a belt and a backpack, and called him Andrew. When we were finished, we stood back to admire our work—Eleanor Falls’s first gay snowcouple—and collapsed in a giggling heap into a snow bank.

But now, under the luminescent gloss that the snow had painted onto the world, I had never felt so alone.

• • •

I was just settling down on the couch to watch a movie when I heard the unmistakable crunch of tires on packed snow crawling up the driveway.

Who could that be? I knew it wasn’t Dad or Papa, and after my disagreement with Roxie the other night, I officially had zero friends.

I opened the front door, squinting into the falling snow, shivering against the cold.

I knew that car. It was Ty.

He trudged up the unshoveled walk, grinning. “Hey, Lu,” he said.

“What are you doing here?”

He held up a paper bag. “I brought you hot chocolate.”

I couldn’t deny the little skip my heart did when I saw him. No matter what had happened in the past, Ty on my doorstep was a welcome sight. But still, I was suspicious. “Why?” I asked.

“Because it’s a snow day and we always spend snow days together.”

“And?”

“And I’ve been thinking about you a lot lately.”

“And?”

“And I really miss you.”

I searched his face, my pulse racing with possibility. His expression was open, genuine. Ty missed me.

I opened the door wider, and he came inside.

• • •

In times past, Ty and I would have been cuddled up together on the couch, under a blanket, intertwined so that our legs and arms were indistinguishable from one another’s. As it was now, we were sitting on not quite opposite ends of the couch, but definitely with enough space between us to make the distance feel awkward. I flipped through the movie channels, looking for something to put on.

“What do you feel like watching?”

“I’m actually not really in the mood to watch anything,” he said.

I glanced at him. “What are you in the mood for—”

But I cut myself off. Ty was staring at me, a dazzling grin fixed on his lips.

Transfixed, I switched the TV off and slowly slid closer to him. He placed his hand on my cheek and tenderly touched his lips to mine. My skin was instantly on fire. It felt like my entire body had been charged with defibrillator paddles.

The kiss became more passionate, but after a moment, I pulled back. “Wait. What about Elyse?”

He shook his head. “It’s not working with Elyse. I made a mistake.”

Relief flooded through me, and I kissed him again, even more intensely. Soon we were all over each other, horizontal on the couch.

As we kissed and ran our hands all over each other, my mind was reeling with contradictions.

The rational half of me was broadcasting, in flashing, neon lights: Don’t do this.

I should stop to remember how badly Ty had treated me in the past. I should consider whether I even felt the same way about him anymore. I should think about my feelings for Evan.

And, for the love of all things holy, before we went any further, I should tell him about the HIV. That was the right thing to do.

But the rational half of me was beaten down into oblivion by the irrational half.

Roxie had said that as long as I used a condom, it was next to impossible to pass the HIV on. She knew what she was talking about—she’d had HIV for nineteen years. If she