Page 3 of Eat My Moon Dust
I let out a little sigh, humming along with the holiday music echoing around the bakery and called my dad. He picked up the video call as quick as lightning, his nostrils taking up the entire bottom half of my phone screen.
“Heya,wâpos,how’s my girl?” he asked, getting the anglealmostright. I dried my hands and set my phone on the shelf of glasses and mugs so he could see the displays while I pulled out the day’s leftovers.
“Good! Busy day, in a good way,” I said, setting a half-empty tray of butter tarts on the counter.
“You’re packing all those up for me, right?”
I wagged my finger at the screen. “Notallof them… but duh, of course.”
“Who’s getting the other half then?” he asked coyly.
I hefted out another tray, this one laden with neat rows of gingerbread boys and girls. They hadn’t been as popular as I’d expected, but that was fine. More for us.
“Pff,sorry to disappoint, Dad, but I’ve been a bit busy, y’know?”
“No boyfriend then?”
“Nope!”
“Damn. Why don’t you ever give me what I want for Christmas? You’d make a terrible Santa.”
I stuck my tongue out at him as I prepped my mom’s old Christmas tin with as many baked goods as possible. No one minded if the butter tarts were a little smooshed, right?
“I go on dates,” I hedged.
Two. I’d been on two since moving to Kingston. And my daddefinitelydidn’t need to know they were basically dinner and a booty call. Ever since Sam moved into the little studio apartment next to mine above the bakery, I hadn’t had anyone over at all. Sam was wonderful, but he’d also snitch on me so fast, my dad would show up the next day in a cheesy button-down and his sherpa work jacket, asking to meet the poor guy.
“My daughter, the non-stick muffin pan,” Dad lamented with an exaggerated sigh.
Nowthatmade me laugh. I tried to hold it in, but a lowhurhurlike Goofy’s giggle bubbled out of me anyway. What a terrible joke. A terrible, perfect joke.
“So what time you thinkin’ you’ll get here tomorrow?”
I shrugged, sliding a little fold-out display table out from beside the register. “That eager to see your muffin pan of a daughter, huh?”
“Just wondering if I should cut the tree beforehand. There’s a storm coming in. Sun might go down a bit after three if the clouds are thick enough,” he pondered.
I glanced out at the streets. The sidewalks glistened with freezing sludge from the mist of rain we’d had in the late afternoon, and now, just after six in the evening, the holiday lights twinkled in their full glory against a pitch-black sky. A couple walking by held umbrellas under their elbows, frowning at the closed sign hanging over my door.
“Oh,” I said under my breath, a bit disappointed. I loved dragging the top of the tree back to the house, shaking it out, and thawing my numb legs in front of a log fire. But I hadn’t had time to look at the forecast, and my dad would know best. So I gave him a smile. “Sure, go ahead. We probably won’t be there until almost sundown anyway. Just go with someone, okay?”
“Martin needs to do the same, so we’ll buddy up,” he agreed. “Make sure to check the forecast before you leave though. Snow’s coming in fast tonight. Could get nasty.”
I promised, blew him a big kiss, and ended the call, hummingSanta Baby.Then I took my leftover cookies and mulled cider out onto the street to hand off to passersby until the incoming snowstorm chased all the couples away.
After all, making the season bright was one of my favorite things to do.
??
At three in the morning, I found myself wide awake with no recollection of why my eyes were wide open, staring into the corner of my bedroom. I blinked a few times, working the delicious sleep from my body one breath at a time, still nestled deep in my warm flannel sheets. The twinkle lights in the trees caught on the spiderweb of new frost on my windows, sparkling against a draft of fresh snow clinging to the windowsill. I lifted my head enough to listen.
Had I heard a snowplow?
There was no distant rumble of diesel engines, so I plopped my head back down with a huff.
Now that I was awake though, the new snow made me nervous. It was still falling in big, fluffy flakes at the same pace as hours ago when I stomped my boots on the front mat and shook the condensation out of my scarf and toque, waving good night to the boutique employee closing up across the street. We were used to snowstorms, but the big blizzards didn’t usually roll in until January, after the holiday crush. I squinted into the blue light of my phone screen as I looked up the road closures heading north, worried that we might have to postpone leaving in the morning until the snow stopped. Otherwise, what was usually an eight hour drive could turn into twelve.
“Help!” a man’s muffled voice reached up through the building.
