It was snowing when he came out of the hospital. Snowflakes fluttered in the air, flapping his face with the icy cold wind.

Till then, Eric Cleese finally realized, the winter had already come.

It’s another usual chilly winter of Chicago. Eric wiped his face and fixed his scarf mindlessly. Reports were clasped in his hands, all rumpled. At other times, Eric would press all winkles from it with patience. But at this moment, he had no intention to do this.

The diagnosis he got made him feel a bit numb.

While waiting for the likely-never-coming bus, Eric fumbled his phone out and dialed a number that he remembered so well.

Maybe, too well.

All he got was a cold and endless busy tone. He dialed again and again, holding the phone to his ear, till his hand was frozen by the wind.

He quitted. Balling up his reports, Eric threw them in a dustbin nearby.

About half an hour later, the bus finally arrived. There were only a few people in it and left enough space for Eric.

He chose a seat at the very end of the bus, dialing once again.

This time, it was answered.

“It’s snowing. It’s winter now.” He bit back a whimper, keeping his voice steady.

Although he tried very hard, tears were streaming down his face.

There were always things he couldn’t control.

At the other end of the phone, John Chapman gently put a shush finger on lips of the twink lying beside him. If there was anything he hated most in this world, that would be Eric’s charades. “Is it emergency? I’m kind of busy now.”

“Will you come back tonight? You’ve been left so long?” Eric rubbed his wedding ring absently. Tears dropped on the little silver ring, making it even shinier.

John sensed something different from his tone: after all, they’d been together for 14 years. He raised his perfect eyebrows, pressing, “What’s wrong?”

Eric didn’t answer. Instead, he asked again, “Will you come back? We’ve agreed snowy day is dumpling day. Chinese dumplings, tortellini, or ravioli… you name it! I’ll cook for you.”

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“Can’t do it. It’s a really busy day.” John was rolling his eyes now. If there was anything he hated more than Eric’s interminable riddles, that would be his calmness.

How could he be so calm about anything and everything?

John replied carelessly, “Don’t cook. Eat out. I’ll ask my secretary to pack some from your favorite restaurant. Need to go. Talk to you later.”

Then, he hung up.

Eric was completely still. He held to phone to his ear, listening to the tedious revolving busy signal. After God knows how long, he finally collected himself and stuck the phone back in his pocket.

How could one too busy to back home for dinner?

Eric knew John had an affair with someone, long before any other realized.

From four years ago, John Chapman was already not the earnest and loving man he once was. Eric saw how life changed him and could do nothing about it.

He always tried to convince himself that those beautiful young things were just meaningless flings. Men all do that.

And John Chapman was nothing but a normal, middle-aged man.

It’s not that he didn’t care. He cared too much and was afraid to confront John with his affairs.

He was afraid that the truth would tear their already damaged little family apart.

He had loved John for over 10 years and would continue to do so. He was so used to John’s scent, voice, and the feeling of his body pressing on his back, and could risk losing him forever.

So, he kept quiet. He ignored the strange perfume he smelt on John’s suit; brushed aside the sharp pain that crossed his heart when he saw lipstick on John’s collar and believed every ridiculous excuse his lover fed him.

They were so in love once. What did life do to them and turned the sweetness of love into bitterness of betray?

It seemed that John loved him the most when life was hard for them.

Eric got off the bus when he arrived at their apartment. Although with usually pale face and red-rimmed eyes, he was absolutely collected; and no one would know he had been crying all the way back.

He quitted the plan of grocery shopping: it’s for the preparation of the dumpling day. Since John refused to back for dinner, there was no need to cook for himself.

He was in fact begging John to come back because Eric really didn’t know if he’s still alive on the snow days of next year.   

John’s s secretary, Thomas Mattei, came in no time. He was all suit up and still holding a thick roll of documents. He bowed to Eric and handed him a delicate hamper.

Eric smiled coyly, “You shouldn’t do this. You are John’s secretary, not his valet.”  

Thomas was also smiling, “Well, I’ve heard that Secretary is the modern way to call a valet.”

He chatted with Eric for a little longer, then left.

Eric put the hamper on the table and stared at it blankly.

For over 10 years, they had sat at this table, chatting happily and making dumplings together. John always acted like a child, filling chocolates and coins in dumplings and claiming it’s an ancient Chinese charm, would bring lucks to one who ate dumplings with them.

He’d always said that Eric was the luckier one, and he needed to eat more special dumplings to fill the gap between them.

His nose bled again. Eric calmly wiped blood clean and wondered, maybe, just maybe, he got sick because he gave all lucky dumplings and his luck to John.

Thomas brought him several different kinds of dumplings, but he only ate four. In his mind, each one of them represented a season and hopefully would keep him safe all year round.

Four was good enough for now. Eric thought dizzily. He got a low fever and felt he was slowly swallowed by exhaustion and sorrow. Finally, he decided to take a nap. A rest would melt all grieving and make them into a vintage called loneliness.