Page 45 of Mistletoe & Magic
I already know the answer. I can’t stop myself. Not when I’m feeling like this. Like I finally belong somewhere. Not when the sight of snow falling outside this window feels like the start of something I’ve wanted for longer than I’ll ever admit.
The tea cools in my hands. The snow keeps falling. And I sit there in the quiet, letting myself hope, even if I probably shouldn’t. Because people we love leave us and sometimes die. Just like we’re watching this play out with Pete. It’s like losing my dad all over again. A few years ago, my dad and Tate’s dad went out on a commercial fishing run and never came back. Not only was their boat never recovered, but neither were they. And that shattered my mom and my sisters. And Tate. I watched how he lost his dad, and then his mother faded away.
People we love leave or die. And that hurts worse than being lonely. Sometimes I wonder if I’m just meant to be alone. But when I look at Remy and Junie, I know that isn’t true. I just don’t know if I can risk my heart shattering again.
“It’s a snow day!” Junie’s shriek down the hall outside my door yanks me out of sleep before the sun even shines through the curtains.
The next thing I know, my door bursts open, and Lola launches herself onto the bed. Forty pounds of excited cattle dog lands square on my stomach, and then there’s a cold, wet tongue dragging across my face.
“Ugh, Lola!” I laugh, trying to fend her off. “I get it, I get it. Your new, tiny human is excited. Message received.”
Junie bounces right up behind her, curls wild and cheeks already flushed with the thrill of no school. She’s still in herpajamas, feet thumping against the floor as she scrambles up beside me.
“Look!” she says, tugging at the curtain. She yanks it open, and sure enough, the whole world outside is blanketed in white. Snow covers the fields, the porch, the fences, glittering under the pale gray morning sky.
“It’s beautiful,” I whisper, sitting up, Lola wedged happily between us.
Junie turns to me with wide eyes. “What can we check off of our list today?”
“What were you thinking?” I ask, brushing her curls back.
“We need snow angels, a snow fort, and a snowball fight. All today.”
“All today?” I pretend to gasp. “That’s a lot of snow business to handle. Think we can handle all of that?”
She giggles and nods, and Lola barks like she’s in on the plan, too.
I finally swing my legs out of bed, tugging the blanket around my shoulders. The smell of coffee hits me as soon as we make it into the kitchen. A note sits propped against the pot, scrawled in Remy’s messy handwriting:
Out clearing snow. Stay warm. Coffee’s ready.
When I went to bed he was out clearing, and I get up and he’s already gone. I wonder if he’s avoiding me. But then he goes and leaves me little notes and coffee. Hmmm.
I pour a mug, wrapping both hands around it, the warmth soaking through my fingers. Junie climbs onto a chair, chattering about the snow fort and how big it should be, Lola circling the table like she’s already mapping out where the battle lines will fall in the great snowball fight of the year.
Through the window I catch sight of Remy’s side-by-sidemoving across the field by the barn, a trail cut through the drifts with a snowplow attached to it.
Something pulls tight in my chest. He thinks of everything, even down to the full coffee pot waiting here for me. And as Junie leans against my arm, already planning the day, I realize this little family feels more like home than anything has in years.
I sip my coffee and smile. “All right, Junebug. Snow angels, a fort, and a snowball fight. Let’s do it.”
Junie squeals, Lola barks again, and for a moment the whole kitchen feels lit from the inside out.
I hold up a hand. “But first, we do breakfast. I’m going to make oatmeal, then we’ll bundle up and go on our adventure.”
“I’ll help,” she says, dragging out the pan from the cabinet and setting it on the counter. We work together and get the oatmeal going, and she drags out all of her snow gear from the closet. Lola runs outside to do her business, and I see her run to the field where Remy is. He stops, gets out and reaches down to pet her and scratch her ears, then gets back into the side-by-side. She runs around the field and then she comes back. She loves it here. I don’t even know if I can take her from Junie at this point. They have made such a close bond.
After I get her to eat a little, we bundle up and go outside. I borrow some of Remy’s snow gear that is way too big for me, but I make it work.
The snow is deeper than I expected, already past my boots as Junie and I flop down side by side to make angels. She kicks her legs and sweeps her arms, giggling so hard she can’t keep the lines straight. Lola darts around us, barking, her paws sinking into the drifts.
When we stand, Junie declares our angels perfect, even though mine looks lopsided. She points to the side yard. “That’s where the fort goes.”
We build walls of packed snow, piling them high until ourgloves are soaked and our cheeks are numb. Junie pops her head over the top of the fort. “This is the best day ever.”
“It really is,” I say as I pack in more snow. I love seeing the joy and wonder through her eyes and being present for all of this. It’s really a true joy to have this holiday season with her.
That’s when the rumble of the side-by-side cuts through the quiet. Remy pulls up, climbs out, brushing snow off his coat.
