What was love after the adrenaline of the chase? She was finding out now, finding layers of warmth and affection, loyalty that she didn't know she was capable of. He was older than her, handsome and in good shape, but she still wondered if people questioned their age difference, passed judgement about it. In such a small community she knew almost everyone that they ran into. Everyone would know exactly how old each of them was, so there was no point in trying to pretend otherwise.
It was winter in Alaska, and the daylight hours were short. On weekends, they went out cross-country skiing, trying to soak in the sun at every opportunity. She made hot chocolate and they stripped down and made love, laying around afterwards until she had a slight headache from too much sleep. Once the season started turning, and the days grew longer, life would become busy. Old friends would come through town, and the daily 22 hours of sunshine would fill with parties and festivals. But these dark, cold, winter days, they were just for the two of them.
It was their third winter together and in some ways it was more beautiful than the last two. Although the excitement and newness had worn off, and she no longer felt physically jolted by his touch, she felt more comfortable, more relaxed. She was more able to anticipate what they might do together, and there was a deep satisfaction in the routine.
She loved him, she was realizing, beyond romance. She knew his bad breath and his moodiness. His annoyance at his brother's quips over family dinners. She'd seen him be petty, she'd seen him be jealous, seen him spend too much time on his phone. And yet, when she pictured herself, she pictured him, and she couldn't seem to disentangle the two. He had become a part of her identity, and she liked how she looked in his eyes. He made her feel young, small, and beautiful. He was handy and steady. He knew how to build things, carried a gun in case of bears, could fix things that were broken. He was a giant in her mind, the master of all trades, the capable one.
He brought adventure into her life and yet she simultaneously worried that he made her smaller. She knew what she had to offer him, loved how he responded to her body, loved his sense of pride when he introduced her to his friends. But what did she herself have to offer outside of his desires? What would she be without him? She was a person given meaning by another person, a girl made purposeful by a man.
Fairbanks was as glorious in the summer as it was dismal in the winter. Each summer she saw the possibilities of life beyond Alaska unfold as the sunshine and long days made her believe she could move away, do something else. Her friends came back home to visit and told her about their new jobs and apartments. Maybe she could finish her degree, go to law school, rescue animals, be someone who wore pantsuits and talked in absolutes. She could live in Los Angeles, drink fancy wine, have insightful opinions about the news.
But each winter as the days got shorter, she clung to what made her feel warm and safe. Her family, who lived just ten minutes down the street, her job nannying a couple kids who adored her, the local bars and their easy traditions, and the glow of their small community bearing the dark days together. But above all, she clung to him. She clung like a child and she hated herself for it.