Tattered Heart, Late Snow

May 6,2026

Shaker Heights, OH

We should be knee-deep in Spring, but last night the latest snow ever dumped on us and our tulips. I had just unboxed my Dior boots from RealReal, and I despised the thought of wet salt and old snow coming into contact with the silver hardware and black leather. I curse under my breath. I'm already late for work, and I was just now seeing that I forgot to lock my car door last night--again--probably due to drinking too much on a Sunday night with Mackie, one of my newest and latest friends.

Why am I so upset? I should be grateful nothing is amiss in my Mercedes. It could have been stolen or vandalized! But just to be sure, my hands search through my console, just to make sure no one took off with my weed or my spare dollars for Turnpike tolls and gummies.

My fingertips do not recognize the lacy, velvet material that they brush against. My nose wrinkles, and I keep the car in park.

I slowly pull out a large, triple-layered, fancy valentine. It is burgundy, peachy-pink, and cream colored. There is a poem of some kind on it, but I am too weirded out by this whole incident to bother reading it right now. I need to get to Lapis, the make-up store that I work at and one day hope to own. When I get there, Samantha can help me process this strange occurrence.

Because why am I just now getting this valentine?

And worse, who is it from? There are too many names to consider.

To make everything feel harder, I have no time to get my Vinti Americano with extra soy, as my lateness is worse due to this one season too-late valentine. As I slide onto the road, the city of Cleveland seems to share my frustration with this too-late snow. Everyone is running behind today!

I rush into the store, expecting Samantha to be half annoyed, half empathetic because of the weather but as it turns out, she isn't there. I check my phone.

"I am running late, do you want your usual coffee order?" her text reads.

"Yes pretty please!" I text back, with a big heart emoji. I clap lightly to myself, a big smile on my face. This will be a beautiful morning once the caffeine kicks in, I think to myself, studying my reflection in the mirror. I like my long, dark-brown side-swept bangs, with my matching dark brown eyeliner, a classic cat-eye. I could use a better foundation, one with a bit more depth. My rose-colored lip gloss is on point though, literally the best thing about my whole look. I pat my side pocket to make sure my mint stash is there, so as not to offend my customers with my coffee-smoke breath. My vape pen is in my other pocket.

I spray myself down with the most masculine scent so as to balance out everything femme in me. Hot Shot Man by Mateo does it every time. Its woodsy-tobacco and orange scent fills the small space.

Instead of standing around staring at my new Diors in the mirror, which I kind of already did, I get going on the restock. We had a busy weekend, and most of the slots look empty. The new Lapis Shadow-Stones are a hit! We can barely keep them in stock. I can't wait to do a video on it later today.

I'm so excited about this video together, I nearly forget about the valentine. I pull it out of my workbag, and I slowly read it.

'Be it now, or in many years,

Ever aware, where all our fears

Melt away, demanding extra salt,

I just may lay my head across your back. Finally, able to relax.

Not to worry about any others. Not

Ever again, my love.

Or shall we invite them in? Let them witness

Righteous passion, all they'll miss with you!

I don't summon or stir their feelings like you do.'

I huff, not knowing what to make of this non-sensical poem. It's odd and I don't like it. I stuff it back in my bag, taking no care to protect the delicate lace, the velvet material.

And now, a blast of cold air enters our tiny make-up boutique. Samantha's bright blonde hair and her arms full with coffee enter the room.

"Good morning, Paulie!" she says softly. "We are all a bit late, aren't we?"

"Hello, love! Thank you, thank you. I'll Venmo you now!" I say, taking the coffee off her hands, smiling brightly. "How much?"

"Ten dollars and eighty-cents."

"For coffee?" I ask, pulling up the app.

"I picked up a breakfast sandwich, thinking you were hungry. Please don't tell me you are on another cleanse...or worse, not eating."

"Not at the moment, and I thank you. I will enjoy it later." I tuck the sandwich away with the valentine. "The snow made me so mad, I forgot to pack a lunch!"

She and I quickly go over our schedule for the day, the appointments, the shipping needs from overnight orders. I start the packing process, not expecting personal appointments until after 12:00 PM. She unpacks the huge shipment of restock that we received yesterday.

As I continue to pack and recheck orders, I look out into the parking lot from my counter. The winter in Cleveland lets off a bluish-cast light, but by 10:00AM, it usually fades. The blue has not faded.

I see him, his frame backed by the blue morning atmosphere. Pashnell is back, as usual.

"Paul, are you doing ok? Why are you so quiet?" Samantha asks, not knowing that Pashnell is lurking in the parking lot.

"I got a strange valentine placed in my car last night. Who knows, it could've been put there days ago. Anywho--I don't know who it's from."

"Start asking your roster of men and women," she quipped.

"Why would I do that? Any one of them would say I'm making them jealous. Even if that's not my intention!"

I look up again. He is still standing out there, closer than before. He wants me to know that he is there.

"Can I read this strange valentine?" she asks.

"Please do!" I reach in and wrestle it out impatiently. "Will you excuse me?" I ask, grabbing my work bag. I head outside as the snow begins to fall again.

***

I've had a roster for the past year, that way, I don't attach to anyone. If my heart seems cold, the reason for this now stands outside in this parking lot. If his customer doesn't pick him up, he knows I will, and I'll do it for no other benefit other than to quelch my guilt. I break off 1/2 my sandwich--probably the best food he will have today, and I give him $75, which is slightly less than what he makes on a date. I don't even want a hug or a kind word. But at least I gave him some food, not just the money.

Sometimes I get a thanks, other times I don't, just like when we were dating. I had the upper hand, why should he be grateful for anything I did for him? But back then, we were the stuff of fantastic teenage drama--2 bisexual young men, from successful families where the fathers despised the other, as they competed and clashed in the medical world. We were forbidden from being gay and especially from being with each other. Pash and I laughed, calling our situation Romeo and Julian. But no one else laughed at our us-against-the-world dynamic.

And now, it's worse. Our Netflix romance is no longer interesting. It's one ex giving another ex food, money, and sometimes, a ride somewhere. A depressing fall-out that keeps failing, and I keep reviving it, all the while knowing I would trade in my 5 loves in order to be with him again.

How awful for my 5 loves.

"Thanks for the sandwich, I forgot I was hungry," Pashnell mumbles into his food, not able to look at me. We stand in the parking lot, looking like two strangers. The snow catches on his dark lashes, and melts as soon as it touches his skin. When we were young, I wondered if Latinos had an intolerance to the cold, as newly emigrated families from Mexico and Brazil often had difficulty with the cold Cleveland weather. As I continue to stare at him, I'm glad I never asked. He can wait in the cold for hours.

"Paulie, you doing okay?" he asks half-heartedly. But before I can answer, a woman in her 40s pulls up in a Bentley. Before I can ask how they met, he gets in her car and drives away. I don't even think they looked at the other, or said hello, which means they have known each other awhile. I shake my head slowly, and I look down at my Diors, which are now wet with snow.

I am not bothered in the least by my new wet boots.

By the looks of it, that woman he is with can afford to buy him fancier meals than what I can offer, but I'm glad that I beat her to it with a half egg and sausage sandwich.

When I get back inside the store, I find myself to be agitated. Finally, Samantha tells me to get myself together.

"Paulie. You make a choice to give him money and food. You don't have to, but you choose to. Then it ruins your mood for like...I don't know, five hours? It hurts your productivity!"

I don't want her lecturing me today. I'm aware of the choices I have made.

"That valentine is disturbing, by the way" she says.

"No kidding, genius."

"If you can stop being a brat for a moment, I'll tell you why it's so disturbing."

She picks up the valentine and brings it over to me. "It's an acrostic piece. Look at the first letter of every stanza, going down the poem."

Ah yes, the acrostics! From the Victorian era, I believe. Emotions were expressed in code. I read it, unamused.

"Be...mine...ori?" I ask in dismay.

"I knew, I honestly knew that is exactly how you would read it! No, not 'ori'! It's worse...it reads 'or...I...' "

"Or I...what?"

"That's the problem, it's a loose-ended threat. Be mine or I...? Could mean he or she will self-harm, will harm someone else...we aren't given that information."

"So I'll be getting another valentine soon. With instructions."

"It's likely, yes." Samantha picks up a huge box and muscles it to the back of the store. I'd offer to help her but she looks like she has it under control.

"Well, that's just weird and scary." I say to myself.

The soft, tinkling of door chimes alerts me. When I look over, I see a distraught woman with auburn hair, wearing blue jeans and scuffed up, salty booties. But she carries a Celine bag, so it's worth my time to engage with her.

"Hellooo, and welcome to Lapis," I say, cheerily. "How can I help you today?"

"I wish I knew, I don't know what would help me at this point," she says, taking off her black faux fur coat. She throws it on the counter haplessly. She picks up an advertisement and starts fanning herself with it.

"Oh dear...tell me more, is it a skin care issue? Make-up? Hair?"

"It's...everything. However, I saw "Clean-Slate" on TikTok, so can we start there?" she asks, her smile forced, as she picks up a mirror.

I hand her a few facial wipes.

"Take off all that make-up, and yes! I am going to clean-slate you and set...you...up, girlfriend!" I say with great optimism. Most of these women are so hard on themselves, as if getting older is a disease. My mother always said it's only a burden if you have poor health and empty relationships.

One hour later, I have a new, happy and glowing client, who bought a crazy-ton of products without complaining about the price. Shortly after her, my regularly scheduled women come in, mainly to try the new products. It's a funny thing; sometimes they walk out paying nothing, others can't leave the store without paying $500 at a minimum. You never can tell, so I work hard to produce content I think they will like to keep them interested. I text them when their favorite items come back in stock, even driving out to their palaces if I can.

But not in this weather! Sorry, ladies...

I become so invested in my Monday hustle, I forget about Pashnell, my 5 loves and one valentine. As I am wrapping up for the day, it occurs to me that I should post my valentine on Insta with a "Found this in my car. WTF!!!"

I wonder if the sender will give themselves away in the comments, and then I will have my answer!

I come close to asking Samantha her opinion, but I then change my mind. I don't want her in my business any more than what this job requires. When she isn't looking, I take a picture of the now-tattered heart, and I upload it onto Instagram. I get back to my work, and keep off of social media for a few hours.

But honestly, I cannot wait for the feedback! I'm strangely excited.

***

When I get home at 8:00 PM, I see that my mother has fallen asleep while sitting up. She has done this ever since I got my driver's license. I gently shake her arm, and she yells out. No matter how careful I am, I always end up scaring her. She shuffles upstairs to bed.

I heat up Cactus Chili from Heinen's. The moment I have been waiting for is nearly here! I take my phone out of my pocket, half in fear, half excited. I read. And I read. My heart picks up to a faster pace, and my stomach slowly folds in on itself.

My soup goes cold.

I received private texts from each of my five loves, declining any advancement in the relationship. Seeing that valentine made them believe I was stretched thin, which I am, but if they had any doubts before, it was so much clearer now. It feels like one big message, rather than coming from five individuals.

The comment that really sunk my battleship was from Pashnell:

"I like women. This wasn't from me."

I'm going to text him privately back, even though we have an unspoken rule that we don't communicate unless it is an emergency. The 'I like women' comment was meant as a reminder, as it was the reason why we broke up last year. It happened while we were roommates at CSU. Our parents had predicted how awful this could go, and that we would get sick of each other in about two months. Not two weeks in, he had a girlfriend that he brought around and I had to constantly leave the dorm room.

I dropped out by week nine, unable to deal. I couldn't even tolerate a roommate change. I wanted to leave the campus entirely, I was so down. I had never been so rejected so blatantly. So...openly. Without a care. A few weeks after me, he also left CSU and moved in with his new girlfriend.

His parents would not accept him back in their home. Hence, my guilt.

"Yes...you like women as long as they are supporting you. I have nothing more to give you. But Lord knows you have perfected the art of taking. From anyone with something. Done, Pash--done."

No sooner had I finished typing, there was a loud knock on the door. I look through the front window and I see that it is the Shaker police. I love our local police, so I'm happy to see what they may want.

"Good evening, we are here on behalf of your neighbor that has been receiving threatening valentines from an ex-boyfriend. She saw your Insta post today. May I come in?" asks Officer Randall.

My neighbor, Wendy, has a home similar to my parents, and also a similar Mercedes as mine. Our properties share a part of a driveway. Her ex must have confused the cars.

"Happy to help clear this up! This has been bothering me all day," I say, asking Officer Randall if he would like some tea. He graciously accepts. I point out the hidden message in the poem, and he pulls up the other pictures of my neighbor's previous valentines, none of which he can show me. But I watch his expression shift.

It took a misdirected valentine for me to get the true message:

The notion that it took my 5 loves away...they really weren't my loves. If I cared for them, I wouldn't have treated them so casually. I don't deserve any of them. But it helped me finalize things with Pashnell--like Samantha said before--it was my choice to drag things out as long as I did.

The damp, velvet valentine is creased, the lacy paper edges ripped, the only intact part is the peach-paper bearing the poem. My heart gives a little as I slide it over to the officer, and he bags it as evidence.