White on White

“—expected to reach three and a half to four feet, with winds from twenty to forty miles per hour.”
Click.
Bianca turned off the television and stared at the black screen.
I fucking hate winter, she thought.
It was the third day of January in New England, and everything outside was gray, gray, gray—the trees, the ground, the houses, the street, the sky. A flat, boring, ugly gray. Only the flurries of tiny white flakes broke up the monotony of the grayness.
Glaring out the window, Bianca could see her neighbors unloading their car with blizzard supplies: gallons of water, batteries, flashlights, tons of food, bags of ice, and books and games for distractions in case the power went out. Had Bianca stayed at her apartment in the city, she and her roommate would have survived on chips and margaritas all week. They were typical college students, barely responsible adults.
Instead, she’d left the city and the apartment and memories of Nolen behind her for a few weeks, at least for Christmas break.
Don’t think about him, she chided herself.
Bianca peeled herself from the plushy, expensive sofa and got dressed for work—black pants, white collared shirt, black bowtie. She was a waitress at a fancy seafood restaurant in Boston, but she would be lucky if she made $40 on a snowy night like this. Everyone would probably stay indoors, snuggled up in front of the TV watching movies or in front of a crackling, comfortable fire…probably with their significant others.
I miss him.
Don’t think about it!
How could she not? Was it really only a week ago that they’d broken up? They’d never really broken up, though. Bianca was still ignoring his calls. She didn’t give a shit what he had to say. Knowing him, he’d probably try to lie. Baby, it wasn’t what it looked like. No, of course not. It only looked like you were in bed with someone else.
Nolen had said he’d be working all day, so Bianca had planned on leaving his present on his bed as a surprise—a PSP, just like he desperately wanted, plus tickets to see his favorite comedian, Dane Cook. She’d squirreled away money for a month to be able to afford everything.
So she’d snuck into the apartment and into his room. Instead of an empty bed, there were two bodies tangled in the covers. For a split second, Bianca thought she’d made a mistake and ended up in his roommate’s bedroom. But no, there was Nolen’s shaggy blonde hair on the pillow, and that was definitely his navy blue down comforter, and his leg sticking out from underneath, with the crucifixion tattooed on his calf. But she didn’t recognize the long brown hair on the other pillow, or the perfectly French-manicured fingers on the blanket, or the unfamiliar perfume that lingered faintly in the air, like a provocative afterthought.
She couldn’t move, couldn’t look away, could barely breathe. When she finally gasped loudly for air, Nolen stirred. With a sudden flash of inspiration, Bianca hurled the PSP as close to his head as possible. He thrashed for a few seconds, trying to throw the heavy blanket off, and finally sat up. They stared at each other, his face expressionless, hers a grotesque mask of pain and anger. She finally saw what a cheating, lying bastard Nolen was—a little too late, but better late than never.
Bianca had hurtled down three flights of steps to her apartment—they lived in the same building, had met in the elevators—thrown some clothes haphazardly in a bag, and made the 45 minute drive to her parents house in 25 minutes. She was livid. Almost two perfect years ruined by this. How long had it been going on? She couldn’t even guess. She’d trusted him; she’d had no reason not to.
Her phone rang all day, but she never picked up. She didn’t even give him the satisfaction of turning it off. Every time he called, she wanted him to think, “Maybe this time she’ll pick up.” But she never would.
She ran the whole thing over in her head for the fiftieth time.
Stop it. It’s over.
It most certainly was.

Bianca parked her Jeep at the Riverside T Station and shoved the door open against the already buffeting winds. The snow fell harder now, but it was still light compared to what it would be. Only an inch had piled up.
Forty-seven more to go, she thought.
She took the T to Copley Station and walked the rest of the way down Newbury Street to the restaurant. It was 5:30 on a Saturday, and only one couple sat a table—late twenties, sophisticated yet trendy, obviously crazy about each other. The woman sported a ring with a diamond the size of a peanut.
Screw love. I’ll bet he bones the stripper at the bachelor party, because he’s a guy, and guys tend to be cheaters and liars. She was bitter, to say the least.
While Bianca clocked in, her friend Sami bombarded her, hugging her and stroking her hair. “I’m so so sorry about what happened between Nolen and Cassie,” she cooed. “You holding up OK?”
Bianca didn’t say anything. She stared blankly at Sami. She could only utter, “Cassie?” She’d had no idea who the other girl was, but now it made sense. Bianca was somewhat acquainted with her because she worked with Nolen. She had to admit, Cassie was beautiful, but she was a total flake. She was also five years younger, eighteen, barely legal.
Sami’s expression went from sympathetic to mortified. “I’m sorry, I thought you knew.”
“Don’t worry about it, I feel better that I know.”
Inside, of course, she seethed with rage. How could he degrade himself like that? How could he make her look so stupid?
Jess, the hostess, popped her head in the kitchen. “Bee, you have a table.”
Bianca smothered her hurt, put on her big, fake, waitress smile, and got to work.

Despite the fact that it was the weekend, the restaurant was dead by nine. Bianca finished her tables and clocked out, but instead of going home, she sat at the bar.
Man, I need a drink.
“Vodka martini, extra extra dry,” she said to the bartender, a new girl she didn’t know very well.
“That’s a tall order.”
Bianca turned, looking for the guy who’d said it. There he was, seated at the end of the bar, hovering over some pinkish orangish drink.
The first thing she noticed was his body. He was well-built (to say the least), his gray Armani Exchange sweater stretching over his toned biceps and chest. Short, black hair, flipped up with a little gel in front. A goatee, neatly clipped. Prominent nose, but not overwhelming. Dark, brooding eyes, with long lashes that made him look younger than he probably was. Definitely Mediterranean, Greek or Italian most likely. And definitely gorgeous.
Bianca just flashed a little smile and started up a conversation with the new bartender. The last thing she wanted was to talk to beautiful, strange, mysterious men tonight. She just wanted to get home, curl up in bed, and sleep for a month. Maybe she’d feel better when she woke up.
A pair of women sat down at one of the bar tables, and the new girl rushed over to greet them, leaving Bianca and the man alone at the bar. She couldn’t help glancing over at him again. He was sipping his drink and reading a magazine, but he looked up as she looked over, causing her to snap her attention back to her own drink.
A rustle of paper, a shuffle of feet, the creaking of wood, and there he was, sitting next to her.
“Aiden,” he introduced himself, extending his hand.
“Bianca.” Any attention felt good at the moment, but attention from this guy? It wasn't unthinkable--Bianca was beautiful herself, but she tended towards more boyish-looking men. Like Nolen. She didn’t blush often, but she definitely did now.
“You work here?” he asked, even though he knew the answer. She was still wearing her uniform, sans bowtie.
She nodded.
“That’s cool. Slow night?” Again, he knew the answer, but he was trying to ease her into conversation. By this time, all that was left in her glass was the olive. “Can I buy you a drink?”
Bianca opened her mouth to object, but he interrupted her. “That wasn’t a question.” The bartender came back and he ordered her some drink she’d never heard of.
“Is that was you’re drinking?” she asked timidly. Bianca was hardly ever shy, but she couldn’t help it with this guy. He was imposing and powerful, but in a welcome way.
“Yup. I think you’ll like it.”
She did. It had a kick to it, but it went down smoothly.
The martini had already loosened her up a bit, so she ventured, “Do you come here often?”
He laughed. She blushed again. “I’m sorry, that was so cheesy, I can’t believe I just asked that.”
“No, no, it’s ok,” he laughed, waving it away. “I don’t come here much, but my roommate’s gone back to Cali for Christmas and the apartment is too quiet. I came here hoping to be around people, but—“ At this, he gestured around the near-empty bar. “I guess all the snow drove people inside.”
“Is it getting worse? I’ve been in here for a few hours.”
“There were almost six inches about an hour ago.”
Bianca nodded, looking back to her drink.
“So do you go to school in Boston?” he asked.
“Yup. I go to B.U. You?”
“I’m a graduate student at Northeastern.”
And so began the typical school conversation. What year they were, what they studied, what they wanted to do afterwards, all that stuff. He was an interesting guy—second year graduate student studying biology, genetics to be specific. He was trying hard to resist his parents’ pleas to go to medical school. He wanted to start working in his field as soon as possible.
As they talked, Bianca couldn’t help comparing him to Nolen. They were polar opposites. Nolen was light-haired, immature, didn’t have much ambition. Aiden was dark, older, and wanted to change the world through science.
Stop comparing them. It’s not like you’re ever going to see him again, she kept yelling at herself. But Bianca certainly was attracted to him.

Five drinks and three hours later, they walked outside to get some air. The snow was falling hard now, with giant, fluffy, wet flakes being hurled from the sky. Another six inches of snow had fallen, and it showed no signs of stopping. The snow muffled all other sounds, leaving the air heavy with silence, and there was almost no one else on the streets. As they walked down Newbury Street towards the T station, it was as if only they existed.
At the street entrance to the T, Aiden looked at her as if he wanted to say something important. Bianca, now tipsy, tried desperately to suppress a giggle, but she couldn’t. He smiled a little.
“What’s so funny?” he demanded.
“Nothing, nothing, everything. You just looked so serious, and I barely know you, and I just broke up with my boyfriend, and I can’t help wanting to go home with you.” Neither Aiden nor Bianca expected those words. She covered her mouth, blushing from head to toe, and started walking down the steps to the T.
“Hey, wait up!” he yelled, running after her.
“I’m…so…embarrassed. I didn’t mean to say that. I’m sorry, you probably think I’m a total freak.” She was on the verge of tears, furious with herself for screwing up something so good.
He laughed, took her hand, and walked back up the stairs and towards his apartment.

Bianca had had her share of one-night stands during her first couple years of college, but then she’d calmed down and finally met Nolen. She’d been with only one person for two years, one person who’d broken her heart. Now she let her guard down and fell. Not hard, just a little, but she fell nonetheless. All night they drank more and talked and laughed and finally went to bed at five that morning, the snow falling around them, blanketing the sleeping city.

Bianca was startled awake the next day by the sound of clanging pots and pans. She figured it was just her roommate making breakfast, so she tried to go back to sleep.
Suddenly, her eyes flew open and she glanced around, almost panicking. Where am I? What happened last night? It came back in small episodes, last things first—two wine glasses, stained pink, and an empty bottle of Chianti; the walk back to the apartment, the snow tinged yellowish by the light cast from Christmas lights that hadn’t been taken down yet; sitting in the dim bar, talking for hours, no one and nothing interrupting them.
She had the slightest hint of a headache, so she wrapped a blanket around herself—a forest green comforter, still warm from the heat of two sleeping bodies—and found the kitchen. Aiden stood in front of the stove in a pair of cotton pajama pants, playing air guitar with a spatula, humming a tune, while eggs sizzled in the frying pan.
“Hey you,” she said from the doorway. Her throat was hoarse and still heavy with sleep.
He looked at her, smiled, and started singing a Jack Johnson song, strumming his imaginary guitar the whole time.
She cracked a smile.
“I was going to surprise you with eggs, but I guess you ruined it. How do you like them?” he asked.
“However you’re making them,” she replied.
They ate at the wood table in the corner of the small, cozy kitchen. After breakfast, they went back to bed and stayed there until six in the evening, talking and goofing off. Bianca couldn’t remember a time when she’d had so much fun doing absolutely nothing.
They ordered pizza for dinner and watched a movie on his big screen TV. Bianca looked at the clock around ten and realized it was time to go home.
“I’m going to head out,” she said, standing up and stretching.
He put his hands on her waist and gently steered her to the window. At least three feet of snow covered the ground, and it continued to pile up. Bianca had temporarily forgotten about the blizzard.
“The T is probably shut down, at least the green line because it’s partially above ground, so unless you planned on walking, I think you better stay here for the night. Unless you’re having an awful time and hate hanging out with me,” he joked. She knew that he knew she was having a great time.

Sunday night and all of Monday went by too fast. They stayed up all night and played board games and watched old movies and baked cookies and played hide and seek—not that there were many places to hide in the two-bedroom apartment. When was the last time she’d had that much fun?
It stopped snowing sometime Monday afternoon. Street crews worked furiously to clear the snow and get the city up and running again. Monday night they walked to a tiny Italian place in the North End, only to find it closed, and ended up eating cannolis for dinner in an authentic Italian bakery owned by Aiden’s distant cousin.
Bianca lay in his arms that night, unable to fall asleep, depressed and a little anxious. She didn’t want to leave, not yet, not so soon. Of course they would see each other again, and hopefully their relationship would progress to something meaningful. Bianca had only been single for a week, and she knew she was probably jumping into this too fast, but she couldn’t help it. No matter how hurt she’d been by Nolen’s transgressions, she couldn’t distrust men forever; distrusting them for a week was enough. Nolen was just immature and flaky and didn’t know what he wanted in life yet. Bianca had known that from the beginning, but at that time she’d been young and flighty, too. Let him keep fooling around—he would only hurt himself in the end.
But Aiden was different. He was older and wiser and how could a guy like him not be trustworthy? He was so sincere.
When she finally fell asleep, she dreamt of kids in a sunny meadow, playing tag, the wind rustling the grass and someone knocking on wood—a tree?—somewhere in the distance. Then it started to snow and they had to go inside, and Bianca, deep in her subconscious, was stung with a profound sense of loss.
That feeling did not leave her immediately upon waking. The past two and a half days were now gone forever; only a faint whiff of them remained. Outside, cars honked and children screamed as they threw snowballs at each other. People trudged back to their daily routines of work and school, smearing the perfect whiteness with black and brown slush, disturbing the serenity of the blizzard.
She got dressed and snuck out of the apartment while he was still sleeping. She didn’t want to have to say goodbye. Ten steps out the door she realized she’d forgotten her phone. She considered leaving it there, giving him an excuse to come see her and return it, but decided against it. She jogged back and was about to open the door when a piece of yellow paper taped to the door caught her eye.

Aidy, where have you been? I’ve been trying to call you for the past three days, but you’re phone’s been off. What happened? Are you ok?? Call me!
Love you.
Your Girlfriend

“You’re fucking kidding me,” she said aloud. She took the note off the door carefully, trying hard not to rip or wrinkle it, and crept into the apartment to retrieve her phone from the bedside table. Before stalking out and slamming his bedroom door, she scribbled her own little note across the bottom of the paper:

Busted.
Sincerely,
Bianca.