February Lemonade
On a bitterly cold Saturday in February, I took him some of my homemade lemonade. It was the only thing I knew how to make, and it was good. I placed the peeled-and-sliced rinds of the four lemons in sugar for an hour and then covered the rinds and sugar in boiling water, before mixing the resulting liquid with the squeezed lemon juice. I had thought of going to him first to borrow the cup of sugar, but had decided against that. I waited until I saw his brother leave to go over there.
At noon, after a snowstorm the day before and then overnight freezing, every tree was covered in crystallized snow, every icy white branch and twig defined against the sunny sky at a level of precision rivaling that of the definition of the same trees, when bare of snow and leaves, backlit by certain special dusks.
Even in my bulky-yarn handmade knit hat, with my huge scarf wrapped twice around my neck, in the puffy men’s winter jacket I got at CVS for twenty dollars, wearing the sturdy men’s winter gloves I bought at Stop & Shop, and after being outside for only a minute, I was shivering as I was walking up his front steps. He came down to the door pretty quickly after I rang the bell. I had never seen him up-close before; he looked even better than I expected. He was wearing a T-shirt, shorts — those long shorts — and heavy white socks. He smiled at me and said, “Hi.”
“Hi,” I said. “I’m your neighbor. I brought you some lemonade. It’s here, in this thermos-like cup to keep it from getting warm.”
He laughed. “Thank you,” he said. He took the cup from me. “Would you like to come in?”
“Do you have any vodka?” I asked.
“Vodka? No, I don’t. I have some beer,” he said.
“Yeah, vodka. It just occurred to me that lemonade and vodka is a mixed drink, though I really don’t know anything about mixed drinks. I thought that maybe if you didn’t like the lemonade alone, it would taste better with vodka. But vodka is tasteless, right?” I still hadn’t accepted his invitation to go in.
He said, “I don’t really know anything about mixed drinks either. Please come in — you’re shivering.”
I was afraid I wouldn’t stop shivering when I got inside. At least my teeth weren’t chattering. But being with him was warming me up.
How had I lived here for four years and only noticed him recently? This guy that I was now completely in love with — how much time had I wasted? I never even wanted to go back home — all sixty yards away — except to get my cat. I had barely met him, yet I never wanted to leave him.
He gestured for me to go first up his inside stairs, and he followed me. I took off my hat as I got to the top of the stairs.
