Where I’m Meant to Be

A bubble of warmth envelops my body under the blankets. It’s freezing outside, and I can see the hail and snow dance with the frenzy of a couple that have one night left to live and love. I snuggle in closer to her, feel her curves fit along me like a key in its lock. This is where I’m meant to be.

We had spent the morning sledding down roads covered in slush, alone in the endless hilly suburbs, the snow blindingly bright in the rising sun. All our neighbors had made the more intelligent decision of staying inside, but we live the day like there won’t be another. We’re snug out here as well, tightly packed into a cheap red sled. She’s basically sitting on my lap, which does both wonders and problems for me depending on the bumps. We fly down, snow spraying up and blasting our faces as we try to keep our eyes open, with water trickling down underneath our clothes. We giggled every time at the bottom without fail like the toddlers we are, she proceeded to push me into several snow banks to get a headstart in the races back up top (leaving me with the sled). I consistently caught up to her and “slipped”, ending in her inevitable victory, and back down we would go. She was permanently aware of how close we were, and took undo pleasure in my heated face as she squirmed into her nook in my lap. Finally, once she had exhausted both of us, we went back inside to warm our icy extremities and her hands found their way under my shirt, much to the complaint of my skin.

“Well I guess the snow means I can’t go get that gift that I definitely didn’t forget at the store.” I say with a sad face. I watch her face fall for just a second and my face opens up in a wide smile.

“Jerk!” She says as she pouts at me and punches my shoulder.

“Sorry, sorry, but really I wish we could go out for our plans. This storm’s the worst for Valentine’s Day.”

“That’s okay,” she comes in for a hug and she continues with a whisper in my ear, “this is where I’m meant to be.” Her sweet voice sends chills down my spine, and I start attack-kissing her, little pecks all over her face and neck until she’s forced to run away laughing.

We cook my choice for lunch: Indian style curry that warms me up almost as much as she does. A knobby snowman named Olaf, (big Disney fans), and many snowballs follow after we’re done eating. A shower together, “We’ll huddle together like penguins for warmth,” she says with a small grin that tugs at the corners of her mouth. Dinner’s amazing, her choice of spaghetti and meatballs, and she covers for my abysmal taste for spicing and I get the grunt work done. There’s a unique satisfaction to eating a meal that you have made with your own hands and with a loved one.

Gifts are given to many hugs and only a little crying. Hot Cocoa with mini marshmallows is the chaser as we watch Hercules and sing the songs too loud and off key. I find myself interlocked with her under the blankets watching the storm living in its own moment. I give her a quick kiss on the back of her head, and wonder at how this is real life. This is actually happening, this is my life. What have I done to deserve such a perfect day?

She starts to do the worm against me and I laugh, jolted slightly from my comfortable position. The blanket shifts as well, and some fresh air drafts in.

“Now I’m cold,” I pout at her.

She flips over and looks me in the eyes, “Well I have a remedy for that…”

This is where I’m meant to be.