“Sweet Faith.”
I clearly needed a book that dealt with being courted by an ice sculpture.
I poked my head out the window. Snow landed on my face. I looked at the rest of the yard. The mermaids had passed out over on the right of the house. Santa lay between them. And just like the dream, he was completely recovered from my melting him.
Okay. My torching him didn’t do anything? That doesn’t make me feel jolly, at all.
I looked back at Remy, my twisted, bedroom burgling snowman. “I have no idea what is going on. Either I’m fucking going crazy or. . .”
Remy remained solid and unmoving.
“Oh, never mind. I’m talking to a snowman, so I am crazy. There’s no other evidence needed.” I shut the window, then opened it back, and stuck my head out. “Mr. Snowman. I mean. . .Remy. I don’t know if you’re evil or not, but thanks for not. . .killing me. . .and thanks for the roses. . .I guess and. . .okay. I don’t know what else to say. Was the sex real? Oh, God. Why am I talking to you?”
I closed the window. “What do I do? What do I do? Either this is real or I need help. Either one of those options are not good ones. Okay.”
I paced back and forth. “Okay. Just breathe. Calm down. Everything is going to be fine. I will get through this. Oprah always says that when you’re faced with a hard problem, just think to yourself, what is the next move.”
But has Oprah ever dealt with a horny snowman?!
I took my time taking chairs away from the door. “Option one, there are no living snow creatures. I’m crazy. I’m imagining this all in my head. Maybe I’m even moving things around and forgetting it. It could be like those movies where the woman sees a dead body and she’s all scared the whole time, thinking the killer is chasing her but then at the end of the movie, she realizes that she is the killer and she forgot it all.”
Am I the killer?! Wait. No one has died. Yet. Stop saying that.
With the chairs gone, I left my bedroom and wrapped the blanket around me.
Everything will be fine. No worries. None at all.
The blanket dragged behind me on the floor and swept the steps as I headed down to the kitchen. “Option two is even crazier. The snowman can come alive. Santa and the mermaids are real. I did create or at least, witnessed magic last night. That is not what I want to deal with. In fact, I would rather go with option one.”
If everything was real, then my life would implode. Nothing would ever be the same again. The impossible would then be possible and all the things that made me feel safe would give me anxiety. With this world, not much made me safe anymore.
I was a Black woman in America.
I didn’t need to fear cops, racists, rapists, crazy gun-wielding citizens, and horny snowmen. How could I sleep in a world where ice came alive, entered dreams, and fucked the shit out of people.
And boy did he give it to me. Okay. I’m not thinking about that. I won’t get crazier than necessary and start reminiscing on how I had sex with a man made from ice. Do not think about it, Faith! Try to be less crazy whenever possible!
I stormed into the kitchen. Instead of turning on the coffee maker and making a fresh pot, I walked back and forth, back and forth in front of the sink.
In one second, I laughed out loud and shook my head at the absurdity.
The next minute, I broke into tears and wiped them with shaking fingers.
What should I do?
I blew out a long breath.
Calm down. Calm down. This is totally fine. Every problem has a solution.
I stopped pacing and glanced out the window. Santa, the mermaids, and the snowman remained where they’d been when I checked on them from upstairs. I studied Santa. Even though I’d melted him to a crushed ice heap, he looked as if I’d just finished carving him.
“Fire doesn’t work.” I tapped the counter with my fingers. “I can’t melt the problem away. I probably can’t hammer or chain saw them to bits because they’ll just reform and appear the next day.”
I thought back to the dream. Remy had said a lot before making love to me.
My body trembled with desire.
Damn that was good. And it felt so real. Was it real or had he just did that in my dream?