Aspen #7
The first fall of snow always saw Safi step outside wearing at least four layers of clothes.
They’d all laughed until they cried the first time they saw her so bunched up in her winter jacket and thermals that she could barely move.
She’d mauled them all with fistfuls of snow in return.
And she flat-out refused to stay at Nai’s or Harper’s—no fireplace, no chance.
Nai’s and Harper’s idea of heating was “put on a sweater.” Safi’s idea of winter survival was “tropical or nothing.” Anything under 74°F was pretty much considered an act of violence.
Nai didn’t mind. Safi’s and April’s houses felt more like home than hers anyway.
How many layers do you need? Nai had growled many times as she tried to peel them off Safi, who simply said it was only right Nai had to work a little for it.
A little? Don’t I always do all the work?
Safi had laughed, tossed her hair, and shown Nai the true meaning of Pillow Princess firsthand that night.
Nai grinned and shook her head. For the briefest of moments she wondered what it might’ve been like if she’d never lost it. If the snap never happened. What if she had stayed?
The image arrived, startling in its vividness.
Christmas again, years on—a different house this time.
Bigger and messier, a home lived into by years of laughter and ordinary chaos.
Safi at the stove, older but entirely herself, hair up, sleeves rolled up, laughing as she argued with someone over a bubbling pot.
Aunties weaving in and out, cousins appearing and vanishing, the whole house filled with music and commotion and overlapping voices.
And children. At least three—the minimum Safi’s mother had always joked was required—her voice ringing bright and hopeful. Half command, half blessing.
Nai saw them. Each one distinct, one with their arms wrapped tight around a parent’s waist, another darting boldly through the tangle of relatives, a third asking endless, impossible questions.Safi moved among them, easy and at home, kissing a forehead here, scolding gently there, her laughter rising above the din.
And Nai was there, too. Not watching from the margins, not calculating her role or performing presence, but fully inside it.
This version of her could still feel things.
The warmth in her limbs, the layered joy of noise and mess and the rare gift of belonging.
The secret thrill each time Safi caught her gaze across the room and smiled a smile just for her, out of habit and history and something still wild between them.
This Nai felt everything. Love for her wife, deep and unguarded, built from years and years of choosing her day after day. Love for her children, raw, immediate and breathtaking in its ferocity.
In that room, in that impossible life, Nai was not distant or shut off. She was present for all of it, alive to every joy, pain, and everything in between.
The vision glowed a moment longer, impossibly whole, before dissolving at the edges. Colors faded, warmth ebbed, giving way to the silence and cold of the mountain night.
Gradually, the present reasserted itself. The sound of distant laughter drifted from the house, cold pressed against her cheek, the sky above stretched silent and wide.
Nai tipped her head back and exhaled. The stars winked down at her, oblivious to her rumination.
Whatever life they could’ve had wasn’t meant for them.
Not in this lifetime. But maybe, maybe there was something to that spirituality Safi’s grandmother had talked about.
Maybe somewhere out there, there were other versions of them.
Echoes across time and space. A younger version of her would’ve doubted it.
But she hadn’t lost what Nai had. Not yet.
And in another universe, maybe she never would.
“I hope that somewhere else…we found each other,” she spoke softly, her words nearly lost to the dark. “Another version of us,” she added, quieter still.
She pictured it again, the outline of two lives that didn’t fracture. Two people who stayed, and a love that was allowed to run its full course without interruption.
“I hope they stayed,” Nai murmured, letting the thought drift up to the indifferent sky. The night offered no answer. No clues that they existed happy in a different world.
Nai breathed in, slow and deep, letting the cold settle her back into the body she inhabited, and finally turned to head inside.
When she opened the door, she was immediately hit with warmth and enveloped by sound and motion. Laughter rose and fell. A child squealed somewhere near the living room. Someone called her name before she was fully inside.
“Nai,” Jillian said, already smiling. “There you are.”
“Just needed air,” Nai replied, her thoughts and memories from the balcony already tucked away.
Jillian accepted the answer without question. She always did.
The girls were sprawled on the sofa near the coffee table. Junie looked up first, eyes heavy-lidded, cheeks pink with exhaustion.
“Mom,” she said, voice slightly slurred with tiredness. “You went outside.”
“I did,” Nai said gently, crouching. “Just for a minute.”
Junie nodded as if this made perfect sense, then leaned forward without warning, pressing her forehead briefly against Nai’s shoulder before settling back down again. “You smell weird.”
“I’m sorry.” Nai brushed crumbs from Junie’s sleeve and smoothed a curl into place. Junie leaned into her side immediately, already half-asleep, trusting the contact without thought.
Nai steadied her automatically. She knew this emotion, even if she couldn’t feel it.
The certainty of it lived in her bones. The way her attention narrowed instinctively to the children’s faces.
The way the rest of the room faded just enough to keep them centered.
The way her body angled toward them, protective without effort.
Love did not require sensation to be real.
She knew this because she knew, with the same unshakable clarity, that she had loved Safi. That whatever had dulled inside her had not erased the truth of that love, only its heat. This was no different.
She loved these children more than anything she could name, even if the feeling arrived as knowledge rather than ache or warmth.
Even if it did not swell or rush or overwhelm her the way love was supposed to.
Love existed in the weight of her kids snuggled up on her chest, in the comforting press of Jillian’s arm around her waist. Love still existed in her, she didn’t doubt that.
It simply looked different for her these days.
Jillian watched her with a warm expression. Nai straightened just enough to lean in and kiss Jillian’s cheek, familiar and unceremonious. Jillian smiled affectionately. “I’m really glad you’re here,” she said, quietly enough that it felt like it was meant just for Nai.
“Me too,” Nai replied.
Sophie appeared then, carrying their plates.
Jillian gave Nai’s hand a small squeeze before letting herself get dragged towards the dessert table.
Nai watched them go before turning to Junie, who lay curled like a small shrimp on the couch.
Smiling, Nai grabbed one of the quilts and draped it over the girls.
She pressed her lips to Alina’s forehead, then moved to Junie’s side.
Junie’s eyes fluttered open, heavy with sleep but full of earnestness. “Did you know,” she whispered, “you have to make a wish at Christmas? That’s how the magic knows where to go.”
Nai smiled and tucked the blanket higher around her. “Is that so?” she murmured, her voice tender. “Well then, I suppose we’d better do it properly. You make your wish, sweetheart.”
“But Mom, you have to make a wish too.”
“Oh, ok, what should I wish for?”
Junie clicked her tongue and snuggled closer. “You’re not supposed to tell.”
Nai chuckled and gave Junie’s round face a caress. “Of course. Silly me.” She kissed her cheek.
“I wished for a puppy.” Junie yawned.
“I thought you weren’t supposed to tell.”
Junie considered this. “But you’re my mom, it doesn’t count.”
“You’re tired, baby.” Junie nodded against her shoulder.
“It’s okay if you want to sleep. Alina is already asleep.
” She jutted her chin towards her youngest slung out on the couch.
One arm hung off the cushions, the other resting on her tummy, mouth open, a string of drool hanging from the corner of her mouth.
“She’s smaller than me.”
“By a whole year.”
“Did you make a wish?”
“I did,” Nai said, tucking Junie under a blanket.
“What did you wish for?”
“Well behaved children and breakfast in bed.”
Junie managed a drowsy giggle, and Nai stroked her knuckles across her cheek.
“I just want you, your sister, and Mom to be happy,” Nai whispered, voice softer than she meant. Junie’s eyes drifted shut. For the briefest moment, watching her, Nai wished magic was real, and that it could return her memories and the missing beat of her own heart.