He filled the reservoir, capped it, and let the hood slam shut. His normally dark green Honda Civic was caked white with salt. It was only mid-December, but Boston had already received fifteen inches of snow this winter.

He knew the rest of his fluids were fine, and it was too cold to check them for formality's sake. Still, he had been pretty sure his washer fluid was low, and only a fool would drive from Boston to Baltimore without making sure he had enough washer fluid to keep the road visible through the windshield.

He heard footsteps crunching in the snow behind him and turned to see his brother Dave, bundled up against the cold. "I think I'm just about set," he told Dave.

Dave nodded through his layers. "Did you tell Catherine you're coming?" he asked.

"No," Marty answered, shaking his head. "And I'm not sure she'd talk to me even if I called her."

Dave frowned behind his scarf. "What if she doesn't take you in?"

Marty rolled his eyes. "Thanks, Davey, I'm so glad you got up to see me off."

"Sorry, Marty, I didn't mean ..." Dave lowered his gaze and asked, barely audible, "But what if she doesn't?"

Marty sighed. "Then I'll ..." He paused, not really sure what he'd do. He realized his gloves were still off and quickly put them back on. With the question still hanging, he shrugged. "I'll stay at a hotel tonight and let her sleep on things. Then maybe I can convince her to go to lunch with me, or for a cup of coffee or something."

His eyes still focused on the ground, Dave tried again. "If not?"

"Dammit, Dave, I don't know!" Marty hissed, whispering because of the hour. "I'll drive back here, I guess, and see you tomorrow night." Marty got in the driver's seat, started the car and turned on the heat.

"Oh, I've got your duffel bag," Dave said, handing it to Marty through the open car door.

"Thanks," Marty said, tossing the bag lengthwise across the passenger seat. "I've actually got one more thing to grab from inside."

He climbed out of the car and scraped the ice off his windshield while Dave watched in silence. Marty then went into the house, coming out a minute later with some books and the little three-foot-tall Christmas tree he had bought at Lambert's the day before. He opened the passenger side door and put the tree on the floor, between the seat and the dash, weighting the stand with the books so it wouldn't tip along the way.

"I think that's everything," Marty said. "Thanks, Dave, for getting up to see me off. Seriously." There was a hint of the light to come in the eastern sky.

They hugged goodbye, and Dave asked, "You got directions?"

"Yeah," Marty answered.

"Mapquest?" Dave asked.

"No, Triple A."

"Even better."

Marty opened the driver side door and sat down. He looked up at Dave, and they nodded to one another. "Do you know what you're going to say to her?" Dave asked him.

Marty shook his head. After all, what could he say to her? That he'd been living with Dave and his fiancée for the past four months, sleeping on their pullout couch? That he'd learned how to play with cats?

"Drive safe," Dave finally said.

"Will do." Marty put the car in gear and drove towards the expressway.

He had hated that cat when he first moved in with Dave and Gina. He remembered waking up in the middle of the night to feel it kneading its claws into his blankets or sitting on his chest, purring like a damn coffee percolator, mocking the morning ritual that was still hours away. They were roommates, he and the cat.

Eventually, though, he got used to it, and now he even found the little guy endearing. Yesterday morning, he had awoken to find soaking wet Christmas ornaments scattered all over the floor. They had put up the Christmas tree that day, and that night, the cat was kind enough to take down all the ornaments he could reach and wash them in his water dish. "Which is kind of cute, if you think about it," Marty said aloud to himself as he merged onto the highway. He was actually going to miss the stupid cat!

*

*

*

"Baltimore, Maryland," Marty said aloud. He squinted his eyes against the bright salt-stained road of the New Jersey Turnpike as it rushed underneath his wheels. He was over halfway there now, and the closer he got, the more nervous he got.

He had been down to see her half a dozen times since she'd moved, but he'd flown. He looked over at the directions sticking out from behind his duffel bag on the seat next to him. Usually it took a couple days to get a "TripTik" travel plan from Triple A, but he had already had this one. She had sent it to him months ago, when she had still wanted him to come.

He pulled it out to look at her address: 2020 South Eutaw Street, Baltimore, MD 21201. If all went well, he would be calling Baltimore home from now on. Apple core. Baltimore. Who's your friend?

His mind wandered back to an old Donald Duck cartoon he and Dave had seen when they were kids. Chip and Dale have this apple core, which they show to Donald and say, "Apple core." Playing along, Donald says, "Baltimore." The chipmunks ask, "Who's your friend?" and Donald, being Donald, answers "Me!" — then splat! — the apple core is all over Donald's face. Marty didn't remember too much about the cartoon except that whoever you say your friend is gets the apple core thrown at him. Donald keeps answering their question with "me," and the chipmunks throw the apple core at him every time, with Donald, of course, getting madder and more defiant each time.

Marty smiled. He and Dave had got in a lot of trouble after watching it. They must have thrown apple cores at every kid in the neighborhood. Finally, their mother had stopped buying apples altogether.

Yes, he was finally moving. He just hoped it wasn't too late. He had been so excited for her when she told him about the promotion and the transfer to the Baltimore office. Most of the accounts Catherine worked on were federal agencies, so moving closer to DC made a lot of sense. Plus, having grown up in nearby Frederick, she had a lot of family still living in the greater Baltimore area. She had never directly said so, but he could tell she missed her family.

They had talked about it: she would go, and he would follow her when he could. He hadn't committed to a specific timeline, but he was committed to her. They'd been together a little over two years at the time. He hadn't bought a ring yet, but he was saving up, and she knew what he was saving for.

Marty was shaken from his highway hypnosis by the realization that he was about to leave New Jersey. He pulled out the directions and saw that I-295 was going to take him over the bay and into Delaware. One state away. How would she react when she opened the door to find him standing there, Christmas tree in hand? Would she even understand the significance of the tree, or had the bitterness of the past year replaced her memories of all that had been so good about their relationship? All that had been good about their love ...

They used to live in the same apartment building. That was how they'd met. Shortly after Catherine moved in, Marty learned that she was a big Orioles fan. As a Red Sox fan, he considered it his duty to give her a hard time about it every time he saw her. One Sunday, around Christmastime, he had gone over to borrow a plunger because he and his roommate had somehow broken theirs. He smiled at the thought: very romantic. She had a Christmas tree up in her apartment, all decked-out, with presents underneath and everything, and he mentioned how he wished he could put up a tree in his own apartment.

"Why can't you?" she asked him.

"No one'll be around," he answered. "My roommate goes down to New York to spend Christmas with his family, and I always go to my parents' house. My brother and I go over on Christmas Eve and spend the night because he refuses to open any presents until Christmas Morning."

She smiled. "I like your brother's style." Then her smile disappeared. "What about all the days between now and Christmas Eve?" she asked. "No, you're getting a tree," she decided with authority. "At least a little one. After you fix your ... toilet problem, you and I are going out to get a little tree for your apartment."

And that's what they did. They went to Lambert's to look at the little trees. As they were picking one out, he said that they all looked like Charlie Brown trees, and he got the look: her two green eyes playfully glaring at him. "Well, we need to get the lights, still," was all she said. They picked up a strand of colored indoor lights, the little ones, and took everything back to his apartment. She let him borrow some of the ornaments from her tree, and they spent the afternoon decorating it.

The next day, he saw a Red Sox ornament while he was at the drug store, so he bought it and put it on the tree. He immediately called her, of course, to tell her about it. "If I had an extra Orioles ornament," she said, after she had seen it, "you know it would already be over here. And it would be higher up than that stupid Red Sox one."

She stopped by a few times that week to check on the tree, and each time she brought Christmas music with her because, other than the tree, his apartment was "severely lacking in Christmas spirit." The following week, she came over to watch How the Grinch Stole Christmas with him.

Then he stuffed all the food up the chimney with glee, the TV narrator said. "And now," grinned the Grinch, "I will stuff up the tree!"

"Our tree's way better than that one," Marty said as he and Catherine watched.

"Our tree?" she asked, turning to face him.

"Sure." He shrugged. "I wouldn't have it if it weren't for you."

And in the soft glow of the Christmas lights, they kissed for the first time. On TV, little Cindy-Lou Who, who was not more than two, asked the Grinch, "Santy Claus, why? Why are you taking our Christmas tree? Why?" But neither Marty nor Catherine heard her.

*

*

*

Delaware hadn't lasted for very long, and all of a sudden Marty was in Maryland. The last time he'd been in this state, she had been bugging him about her cat. She was living alone down here, and she had bought a cat to keep her company. She'd named him "Boog," after Boog Powell, the former Orioles firstbaseman. "Why won't you play with Boog?" she nagged. "He's your cat, too. Or he will be if you ever move down here."

"It's 'cause he's a dirty Orioles fan," Marty joked.

"I'm not kidding," she said.

"He seems like a very nice cat; I just don't know how to play with cats," Marty explained. "I generally get along well with dogs, but you can't play with Boog the way you play with a dog." Boog was weaving careful figure eights around his ankles, and Marty had no idea how to respond. Are you supposed to pet cats? "I've got to figure how to play with him," Marty said with a shrug. "It'll just take some time."

"That's what you say about everything," she shot back.

He was staying with her for the Fourth of July holiday, and he and Boog were hanging out in front of the air conditioner to keep cool. She was sitting on the bed.

"You know," he said, after a pause, "my lease expires at the end of August."

"Good," she said. "So you'll be moving in September First."

"Well, maybe. If I can find a place with a month-to-month lease, I'd like to stay in Boston a little longer. There's a project at work that looks like it's going to last into the fall, and I'd kind of like to finish it up before I go."

She tossed the jobs section of The Sun in his direction. "There are three circled in there that you could definitely do."

"OK, but —"

"At least put in your resume," she said, cutting him off. She emphasized 'least', 'in', and the first syllable of 'resume', giving the statement a kind of sing-song quality.

"I will," he said. "I appreciate your looking for jobs for me, and I am going to start applying down here. Plus, if I get an interview, that will give me a good excuse to come see you during the middle of the week," he said, giving her a wink, hoping that would lighten her mood a little. It didn't, and this glare was much colder than the one he'd received back at Lambert's two and a half years ago.

"Look, I'm leaving everything behind," he pleaded. "My home, my family, my friends, my job ... can't you cut me a little slack? Once I'm down here, I'll be here with you forever, but I just need a little more time."

"How do you think it makes me feel," she asked, starting to cry, "hearing you talk about looking for another place to live, and it's four hundred miles away from me? You say you're leaving your home, but I had thought you were coming to your home. Do you think I feel like I'm at home when I go to visit my parents? That's just the house I grew up in. I'm at home when we're lying in bed together, holding each other, listening to the rain beat against the window. And I thought you felt the same way."

Driving down the highway, Marty tried to shake the memory from his head. "Spirit, show me no more," he said aloud, trying to laugh. He passed a sign that said Baltimore was 20 miles away. God, he hoped he could make his home here with her. Here in Baltimore.

Apple core, a voice in his mind said.

"Baltimore," he answered aloud.

Who's your friend?

He pictured himself knocking on her door, the Christmas tree on the ground in front of him. She opens the door and sees him standing there, sees the tree. Her green eyes are frozen; her mouth hangs open in shock. Then she blinks, and her moist eyes shine. The corners of her mouth try to smile, but they hesitate, quivering. He tells her he loves her, that he can't live without her, and she takes him in her arms, wrapping them around him. He hugs her back, and the little tree is pressed between them.

He pictured the two of them sitting together at Camden Yards the following spring. The Red Sox are in town, and he's wearing his Sox cap, she her Orioles one. They find out later that they were on TV. The camera had found them, and the commentator had said, "Well, one of them is going home happy, and one of them isn't." His broadcast partner had chuckled and said, "I bet there are some lively discussions in that household."