Page 7 of Yule Know It When You See It
The following day, I’m up several minutes before my alarm goes off, showering, dressing, and out the door before sunrise. The temperature is just frigid enough to make me zip my jacket.
I make it to the corner coffee station I frequent, smiling at the owner. “Morning, Gary. Pot finished brewing yet?”
“You’re in luck, Mr. Axel. Finished about two minutes ago.” Gary grins back and flips a paper cup into his palm, filling it with the delicious hot beverage. He hands cup and lid to me, nudging his head at the cream and sugar station beside him. “You have a good day, alright?”
“I intend to,” I reply, still smiling as I open a sugar packet to add to my black coffee.
After securing the lid, I slip one hand into my pocket, using the other to sip coffee and warm my bones. I take two steps, and my phone buzzes. Glancing at my smart watch,Morblazing the screen. My mother. I sigh because I regret the conversation we’re undoubtedly about to have and swipe to answer.
“Hei, Mor.How are you?” I pause at the crosswalk, focusing on the taxi cabs crawling past in rush hour morning traffic.
“Axel, mysønn, solstice is right around the corner, and I’ve not heard a word about when you’re coming home.”
I lick my lips, immediately regretting it as almost instant chapping starts from the below-zero climate. “Mor, I told you about the new writing job,ja?”
“Ja, you did.”
A cabbie lays on their horn for five seconds straight, and wincing, I shove the phone against my jacket to not blast my poor mom’s ear out. “It starts today. How good of an impression would it be if I were to ask for vacation already, hm?”
Silence falls over the line, and I stop walking, staring up at the gray clouds for an answer, the faint smell of impending snow filtering the air. “Mor?”
“But, Axel, all of your cousins will be here. Your brothers and sister, too. I can count on one hand the number of times you’ve missedJulwith your family.”
Of course, most of the family would be there because I was the only one who no longer lived in Norway. My youngest brother lives the next farthest away from home with a two-hour drive.
“I know. I’m going to have to ask your forgiveness for this one. I promise I’ll make up for it and be there in spring. We can do all the traditional Ostara celebrations like we did when we were kids,ja?”
Please, for all the love in the universe, let her take this bargain. I can’t stand to hear my mother disappointed.
I pass a Salvation Army rep chiming a bell and pause to dig in my pocket, tossing what coins I have. It still amazes me that they make money this way for charity in America, given how few people kept physical cash on them anymore.
A puff of air fans my ear from her side. “You promise, Axie?”
A smile edges my lips. “Promise.”
“Alright. Springtime it is, then. But what will you do out there in Chicago all by yourself?”
Chuckling, I gaze up at the building numbers to gauge how far I am from the magazine office. “Idohave friends,Mor.”
“Of course, you dohånddukke. You give me a call at least that day,ja?”
Puppet. My mother calls me by a nickname I haven’t heard since I was twelve. It bubbles something in my chest.
“You know I will. Have a good evening.”
She makes kissing sounds. “Jeg elsker deg.”
“I love you too.” A familiar, warm smile plays on my lips as I hang up, but it soon drops into terror at the sight of the time.
I have precisely five minutes before I’m late when I fully intended to beearly. Squeezing past a couple walking hand-in-hand in front of me, I sprint down the sidewalk, dodging people like a damn running back in American football. When I reach the building, I’m out of breath and sport a sheen of sweat on my forehead.
Maybe Ishouldadd a bit more cardio to my workouts. Damn you, Spencer.
I enter the building after collecting my breath and casually move toward the elevator. A woman with auburn hair stands inside, but I’m close enough I can make it before the doors shut. That’s until she makes eye contact with me and furiously presses a button.
I rush forward, holding my hand out. “Would you please hold the—”
She fakes an expression like she hasn’t been pressing the close button, which resembles mock pity but borderline relief, and the doors thud shut.
