Page 41 of The Bright Side of Christmas
Wren?
And it seems my grumpy neighbor isalsogoing to be on me about it. I don’t respond, knowing he will probably have just as many opinions about my lack of storm preparedness as my brothers. Honestly, I was having a pretty peaceful day.
Wren.
Is your phone charged? Or did it die?
I shake my head at his overprotectiveness, noting that I have an eighty-five percent charge, a small miracle since I never remember to keep my phone charged overnight.
My phone is charged. I don’t have a generator, but I don’t want to hear you giving me a hard time about it. I already have two older brothers and a dad; I don’t need more.
He doesn’t respond right away, something I’m grateful for, before I start looking around my dark house. I glare at the empty fireplace I’ve never actually used before, knowing that I’ll have to go into the shed and get some of the wood there to start a fire.
Or I could wait. Sometimes, the power comes back on relatively quickly.
Wren, you’re going to freeze. I have a generator—just come over here.
I groan at his seeming ability to hear all of my thoughts and second-guessings.
But I am a strong, powerful,capablewoman. I don’t need a man and his stupid gas-powered machine to keep me warm. I can do it all by myself.
I’m going to start a fire. It will be fine. Leave me alone.
A text bubble pops up, and I can already see his argument impending, so I add on before he can respond.
I can take care of myself.
Then I throw my phone onto the couch and start bundling up. As much as I’d like to think things will just fix themselves, I also know I should get a fire going before the houseactuallygets cold. I slide a hat over my head, pull on my jacket and a pair of boots, and resolve to throw my soon-to-be-wet pajamas in the wash and put on warm, dry clothes when I’m done. Then I trudge outside in my pink puffy jacket and my pajama pants with little polar bears wearing tutus that Hallie got me for Christmas last year.
Unfortunately, since I never actually checked the wood storage delivered directly to my storage, I didn’t have nice, neat little logs perfect for starting a fire. Instead, I had large chunks that I’m pretty sure would be too big for my fireplace. That was when I remembered that each fall, without her having to ask, my dad or one of my brothers would come to my grandmother’s house and chop wood for her to make sure she had what sheneeded for the winter, since she loved having a fire in her fireplace when she was home.
It seems they didn’t realize I would need the same assistance, or I suppose I should have checked earlier.
When I walked into the woodshed, I found it empty of anything other than some sticks and things to use as tinder, so I gathered up a pile of that and set it aside before I went over to where Jesse and Madden had stacked up the cured wood for me. The rounds are small enough for me to lift, though I won’t deny they wind me with their size and weight. Now I’m staring at the full rounds of wood, the stump I cleared of snow that is quickly piling up again, and the axe in my hands.
I’ve watched my dad and brothers do this for as long as I can remember. I roll my shoulders back, slide my cutesy pink gloves back on, and set the log in place to thwack it a few times until it’s in manageable pieces. I mean, how hard could it really be?
After the third time of hitting the log I’m trying to split and getting nowhere, I realize the answer isvery hard. Just a few hits in and everything already hurts, and I haven’t even split a single piece of wood. I groan into the snowy sky as the axe gets stuck, and I have to try once again to pry it free.
“You need to go higher,” a familiar voice calls. My back stiffens, and I try not to let it show, but my eyes close, and I pray to anyone who will listen that I imagined the words.
Maybe it’s just a cold-induced dream, maybe it’s?—
“You aren’t getting enough force to actually do the job.”
It’s Adam.
I know that, but when I turn to look at the back porch of his house, I see him in a sweater and jeans, watching me with an amused smirk. He’s leaning on the railing he must have cleared off, and there’s a fine layer of white snow on his hair, so I imagine he’s been standing there for some time. His smile goes soft after he takes me in. I can only imagine what he sees: me inmy puffy jacket, pajama bottoms tucked into soft boots, my nose cold and probably dripping.
Why can’t the world give me asingle freaking break?
“You don’t have to do that, Wren. Just come to my place. I won’t even bother you; you can sit in the living room, and I’ll stay upstairs.”
“I’m fine, but thank you for the offer,” I say stiffly, then turn back around to face my new enemy. Wiggling the axe until it is free of the log, I bring it up high and drop it harder, the metal splitting the wood right down the middle. I jump and clap excitedly and then look over my shoulder at Adam. He’s watching me intently, but there’s playfulness in his eyes.
“Now you just gotta do that a dozen more times,” he says, ruining my high. I glare at him before turning back around, and he sighs audibly. “You’re going to freeze out here, Wren. Just come in where I have heat. You can charge your phone and eat a hot meal.”
A warm home and a hot meal soundso nice, especially since I didn’t bother to wear weatherproof boots outside, instead slipping on ones that are already soaked, but I’m stubborn, so I shake my head.
