Of Clichés and Winter Romances
Month Three: February
Nachzes Black-Rider

Valentine’s. Phoenix’s frown deepens as she glowers through the plastic display case at the heart-shaped box of chocolate inside. “$14.99,” reads the price tag, and, in bright pink block letters, “SALE!”

Phoenix has exactly seven dollars and thirty-two cents.

She has counted it thrice while standing there on the sidewalk; a crumpled five-dollar bill, a loonie, five quarters, a nickel, and two pennies.

A muttered curse escapes her lips, and she jams her hands into her jacket pockets, kicking a discarded, flattened pop can near her feet in frustration.

Sighing, she looks up at the display again and resigns herself to drugstore candy hearts and a very nice card; Skye wouldn’t like stolen chocolates.

Disappointment.

Half-heartedly, Phoenix pushes open the door to the Shopper’s Drug Mart with a shoulder, slouching over to the racks of Valentine’s Day cards, almost all of them bright pink and flowery, covered with giant red hearts and plump cupids armed with quivers of arrows. Phoenix glares at them. Selects one with sprigs of dried baby’s breath and rose petals. The paper outside is sky blue, the inside light pink, with white cursive lettering. Tromping up to the till, boots clumping, Phoenix drops the card onto the conveyor belt , grabbing a box of candy hearts as well. “That’s seven-o-nine,” the too-cheerful-to-be-human clerk chirps. Phoenix glares at her, too, and slaps her money down on the counter, and penny bouncing off onto the floor. A somewhat-subdued clerk hands Phoenix her change, and the redhead angrily seizes both it and the bag, then storms out of the store. On her way past it, she shoots another glare at the box of chocolates in reprisal.

---

The box will not wrap. Phoenix glares at it, and then at the wadded-up pieces of pink wrapping paper strewn across the table around it. Suddenly, the doorbell rings, and Phoenix’s head jerks up, violet eyes widening slightly as Skye walks in, radiant. Her blonde hair is done up in some complicated braid-y-thing, and she has put make up on, and Phoenix is certain that she catches a whiff of some perfume as the other glides into the room, a card held in one hand. “For you,” she says, handing Phoenix the card and kissing her on the cheek, frowning when the other draws back, stiff. “Phoenix? What’s wrong?” she asks, a hand coming up to rest on Phoenix’s shoulder—Skye is a touchy person. Phoenix is not; she pulls away, and gestures, glaring, at the box of candy hearts on the table.

“It won’t wrap,” she says lamely, and feels Skye smile indulgently, half-amused. Sometimes Phoenix feels as if she is the fourteen-year-old in this relationship, not sixteen.

“Well, let’s see if we can do something about that,” Skye placates, laying a hand on Phoenix’s shoulder again, and this time the elder doesn’t draw away. “Now, how were you wrapping them?” Phoenix shows her, and Skye shakes her head, placing a hand gently on Phoenix’s. “No, no, you’re doing this step wrong. See, you’re supposed to fold this first, and then you do that. Here.” She demonstrates, unfolds the paper, and gives the box to Phoenix again. “Now you try.” Carefully, the redhead copies what Skye did, and the younger nods, smiling. “That’s right,” she says. “Now do it on the other side, tape it up, and you’re done.” Phoenix does so, and then turns around and hands the box and her card to Skye. The blonde smiles at the dried flowers on the card, and kisses Phoenix. “Thank you,” she says, “it’s beautiful.”

Phoenix shakes her head. “I’m sorry I couldn’t buy you that big box of chocolates,” she says. “I didn’t have enough money.”

Skye shakes her head and lays a finger over Phoenix’s lips, silencing her. “Phoenix,” she says, “Valentine’s Day isn’t about how much money you spend. It’s about spending time with the one you love, and showing them how much you care, with the little things.” She shakes the box of candy hearts. “Like these.”

Phoenix’s face breaks into a grin, and she grabs Skye, kissing her fiercely. Skye kisses her back, and Phoenix feels something inside of her break free, taking flight.

It’s February in Toronto, the sun is shining, and neither one of them is disappointed.

Fin