Chapter 5
While eating her lunch on Friday, Nora came across an article about the snow sculptures.
Toronto Enthralled by Mysterious Sculptures
Apparently, a third one had appeared overnight, in a park close to where she lived. She scrolled to the picture: a hippo wearing a Santa hat and holding a bag of toys.
She might not be a Christmas person, but like the other sculptures, it made her smile.
Nobody knew who was making the sculptures or how they managed to pull them off so quickly.
Based on the locations of the first two sculptures, a few people had camped out at a nearby park in the west end, thinking it might be next and hoping to figure out who was behind it all.
But they’d been wrong about the location, and no one had seen anything at the latest park.
Nora couldn’t imagine being that dedicated to such a mystery.
She continued reading the article. The author had interviewed a snow sculpture expert—how did one become an expert in such things?
—who made it sound like it was impossible for one or two people to do it all in a single night.
He was mystified by the sculptures, but he admired the skill it had taken to make them.
Yes, it had to be a coordinated effort, and presumably, whoever was behind these would want credit at some point, but until then, Nora would simply enjoy them. There weren’t enough things to enjoy in this hellscape of a world, and so she’d do what she could.
Perhaps, after she finished work for the day, she’d go to see this one in person.
City Captivated by Snow Banksy
Snow Banksy! Ha!
Everett couldn’t help the burst of laughter that escaped his lips. His stunt was capturing people’s fancy just liked he’d hoped it would.
Then, of course, he had to ruin his good mood by reading a diatribe from someone who thought it was stupid and represented everything that was wrong with Toronto.
To cheer himself up, he put aside his phone and recalled when he’d come across Nora at Trinity Bellwoods.
He’d made the trip down because he wanted to see people’s reactions in person.
His neighbor might scoff at snow angels and sleigh rides, but she’d gone to see his sculptures, and if nothing else, the delight on her face had been worth it.
And then he’d watched her drink hot chocolate. She hadn’t asked the barista to hold the whipped cream, as he’d thought she might do; no, she’d licked the foamy peak and gotten a little on her lower lip.
It was fun to watch Nora indulge herself.
He had the sense that it wasn’t a common occurrence, even if she claimed she didn’t need the excuse of Christmas to enjoy sweets.
Sure, she might not have eaten gingerbread ice cream loaded with chocolate and pretzel bits and other things, but Everett could appreciate that it wasn’t for everyone.
He wanted to know everything she liked.
Just before four o’clock, he knocked on her door and hoped he wasn’t being too presumptuous. She answered half a minute later, wearing yoga pants and a hoodie. Her light brown hair was loose around her shoulders.
“If you’re finished work for the day,” he said, “would you like to see the latest sculpture together?” He, on the other hand, hadn’t done any work—it was one of the days he’d scheduled off so he could conduct his plan without running himself ragged. “But if you don’t—”
“No, no, that sounds good. I was thinking of going anyway. Give me another twenty minutes to finish up, and I’ll meet you in the hall.”
Twenty minutes later, she emerged from her apartment. He refrained from saying she looked cute in that knit hat with its white pompom, but she did. Very cute.
“Where did your wreath go?” She gestured to his door.
“It’s against the Ontario Fire Code, apparently.”
“I’m sorry,” she said.
He bowed his head in a moment of silence for his poor wreath. “Are you ready to head out? Looks like it’s a fifteen-minute walk.”
It had been nice to make a snow sculpture nearby; he hadn’t needed to get on the TTC afterward. But on the way home, he’d been so tired that the trip had taken him twenty-three minutes.
They set out into the cold, and Nora walked at a brisk pace. Did she walk this fast in the summer, or was it only to keep warm in the winter?
When they arrived at the sculpture, there were several people standing around it. A small group of teenagers, all wearing clothes that didn’t look warm enough for the weather. A few young children. A baby in a blue hat with ears, securely held by an older relative. A middle-aged couple.
“Dada, it’s a hippo!” shouted a little boy.
Everett was glad he’d come. Seeing the reaction online wasn’t quite the same.
But for whatever reason, observing Nora’s response was the best part.
He tried not to stare at her slow smile of wonder.
He didn’t need to see the sculpture himself—he knew all the details intimately—but he turned to look at it anyway so he didn’t appear suspicious.
Though it wasn’t like she’d suspect the truth.
“If I had to choose a favorite animal,” she said, “it would be the hippo.”
“Yeah?” he said. “Why’s that?”
“Because they’re mean. Not that I, personally, have come across a hippo in the wild, but they seem like they don’t take shit from anyone. They’re vicious.”
“Do you feel a kinship with them?” He tried to make his tone light. Teasing.
She rewarded him with another smile, this one rather different from the last. It was a smile that spoke of mischief, rather than delight or wonder, and he forgot to breathe.
“I do,” she replied at last.
“Should I be worried?” This time he knew he didn’t succeed in making his tone light.
There was something about the way the fading light danced on her pink cheeks…
it made him uncharacteristically serious.
She was breathtaking. He wished he could capture her expression in a sketch or a snow sculpture, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to do it justice.
He also wished he could cup her cheeks and warm them.
When she took a tiny step closer to him, he couldn’t help wondering if she felt the same way. If she wanted to kiss him in the cold, among the small crowd of people who’d gathered to admire a snow hippo.
But she didn’t. She just said, “I think you’re okay. For now.”
And then he realized that she’d stepped closer to him because there was a family right behind her. It was silly to have thought she might want to kiss him.
“So,” Nora said, “what do you think is the story behind the sculptures?”
He shrugged. “It’s got to be…a well-organized group of people. They must have everything carefully planned in advance.”
She nodded. “Why do you think they’re doing it?”
“For fun?”
“Hanging out in the snow for hours at night isn’t my idea of fun, but I suppose it could be for some people.”
“Because they want to spread Christmas cheer?”
She rolled her eyes. “Maybe. I wonder if it’s meant to entertain the city at large—or if it’s mainly for someone in particular.”
He didn’t, of course, say that when he’d made this sculpture, he’d thought of her more than anyone else.
Well, most of the time, he’d been concentrating on the snow. But when his thoughts wandered for a second or two, it was mostly to her.
“Their children, perhaps,” he said instead.
“Yeah. Maybe they’re claiming Santa was responsible.”
“Did you ever believe in Santa?”
“Until I was six, but I pretended for longer.”
“Why?” he asked.
“Because of my younger sister. Also, I was afraid that if I told my mom, she’d stop giving me presents from Santa, and then I’d get fewer gifts at Christmas.”
“Ah, you were being practical.”
“I was a mercenary child, yes.” She shook her head. “I should have known my mother wouldn’t do that to me. I got presents from Santa even in university.”
There was a wistful look on her face, and he understood, without her saying the words, that her mother was gone. He knew she wouldn’t want him to mention it, not now, and he couldn’t help wondering if the loss had affected her feelings toward Christmas.
She turned back to the sculpture and took a few pictures. Then she rubbed her hands together and put on her mittens.
“Let’s go,” she said.
They were five minutes from their apartment building when Nora stopped in front of a shawarma restaurant.
“I’m going to grab something to eat,” she said. “I don’t feel like cooking tonight. You don’t need to join me, but you can if you’d like.”
He joined her.
Once they had their sandwiches, they sat at the counter by the window. His ass was a little too big for the stool, and while it seemed sturdy, it wasn’t the most comfortable. But that was okay. It wouldn’t take long to eat. And there were other reasons, too, that he didn’t mind.
“You’re doing Christmas with your sister this weekend?” he said.
She nodded. “What are your plans? More holiday decorating?”
“No, I’ve got some errands to run.”
He hadn’t thought it would bother him that he couldn’t tell anyone the truth about the sculptures. He’d discovered his magic more than twenty years ago; he was used to this. But now, something in him ached to reveal it. To her.
“Sounds exciting.” She reached for a piece of cucumber that was threatening to escape from her sandwich. “Do you think there will be more sculptures?”
“I do,” he said, “but not tonight.”
“They’ve been three days apart so far. Presumably, Sunday night will be next?”
“That seems reasonable.” He swallowed. “Would you…would you like to see the next one together, if it works out?”
She didn’t grace him with one of her smiles, but she did say, “I would.”
It caused a flutter in his chest.