Page 42 of The Christmas Mittens
That made him chuckle, and then he placed a warm hand over mine to aid in rubbing. “We’ve not sat on the throne for that long. And to be truthful, if my being gay topples the throne, thenit was time it fell. Traditions are fine and lovely but not when they impede progress.”
“Elegant words.” I sighed and burped. “I’m just…this is all so much. What would I do with the shop?”
“Close it. What do you do when you go on vacation?”
“We don’t do that often,” I reminded him.
“Sorry, yes, you did explain that. Well, close it for a few weeks. Hang a sign in the window or, better yet, just tell Franny. She and the other Woolverines will have the news spread before the morning paper arrives on door stoops.”
I snorted just as my stomach growled. “That’s true enough.” I kneaded my tummy with his fingers threaded through mine so we massaged together. “I’m just…everything is moving so fast. I’d need to talk to Gilda, of course.”
“Yes, of course. I’m sure she would love to go, though. There is so much to see and do for a young lady in Östermon as well as in our neighboring countries.”
I resigned myself to not answering until I talked to Gilda, which took place around eight when Della came streaking out of Gilda’s room with a bleary-eyed almost-teen stumbling behind. Anders and I had already showered, necked, and made ourselves some high-protein blueberry muffins that were just cooling when Gilda emerged.
“Someone has to pee,” Gilda told us while sweeping some hair from her cheek. “Did you bring a leash?”
“Yes, it’s out by the front door. Remember, you walked her before bedtime?” Anders asked with a smile and rose from his seat, leaving his fresh cup of coffee on the placemat. “Why don’t I take her out? Your father has something to discuss with you.”
Gilda blinked sleepy blue eyes but nodded. Anders gave me a peck on the head and jogged off to take his dancing dog outside. Once the front door closed, I patted the seat on my right. Gilda dropped into it, the muzzy look now disappearing.
“Is something wrong?”
“No, no, nothing is wrong,” I hurried to assure her. “Everything is fine. Anders’ new nephew is doing well as is his sister-in-law. He’s expected to go back to Östermon to meet the newest little prince and attend the baptism.”
“I think it is so cool that Anders is a prince,” she admitted, smiling softly as I reached over to tuck some soft hair behind her ear. “I mean, wow, right?”
“Wow, yeah, that’s one word to describe things,” I said as I sat back to look at her. She was wearing her blue fish pajamas. I held off giving her the sweater. I’d give it to her when we open presents tomorrow morning. It would have paled in comparison to a live BSX2 performance, I was sure, plus I wanted to keep a little bit of our lives private. I suspected that now everyone in Grouse Falls knew who and what Anders was, our lives were about to become very different. And if we went to his homeland, things would definitely change for us in ways we probably couldn’t imagine. “I have something to run by you, and I don’t want you to say yes or no without giving it some thought, okay?”
“Sure, yeah.” She lifted a muffin from the cooling tray as the front door closed with a bang and Della arrived, tongue lolling, wearing one lone mitten on her back left foot. Anders could be heard speaking to the dog while still by the front door. What he was saying was in a flowing litany of Östermonian—if that was the correct term—which sounded a great deal like Norwegian or Swedish or perhaps Danish? Maybe some German mixed in? My ear for foreign languages was miserable.
“Hey, Della.” Gilda smiled down at the dog dancing around her chair.
“Don’t give her any human food. She had a messy poop. There are skid marks all over your snowy yard where she used the crusty snow as toilet paper,” he announced as he entered, cheekspink from the cold. “I will clean it up in a moment. Did you ask her?”
Arne and Alfred appeared in the doorway, dressed as they always were. I waved them in, but they opted to stay in the living room and be stoic.
“I was about to explain the situation that you proposed,” I explained, trying my best to keep a damper on the possible trip. I wanted Gilda to think about it calmly and rationally. Anders zipped his lips while using the counter for a butt rest, his brown eyes dancing. I looked from him to Gilda, who was now highly curious. “Anders’ brother has a new baby.”
She carefully peeled the wrapper off her muffin. “I know, you just told me.”
“Right, well, it bears repeating.” She shrugged. “Okay, well, he’s been summoned back home to meet the new baby and there’s going to be a baptism. He suggested that he thought it would be a nice vacation if we were to accompany him back to Östermon to—”
“Yes!” she barked instantly, eyes now wide with excitement.
“Hold on. There are plenty of things to consider before we go flying off to some new land for a week or two,” I said with a firmness that I assumed would keep her feet on the ground.
“Two weeks?! Oh my God, that would be so lit! Yes, yes, yes, let’s go!” She was trembling with elation. “Dad, please let’s go. It would be so awesome! They have great skiing there and lots of arts and museums. Oh! And they have old castles and villages. I could do a report on them for extra credit in history!”
“It would be an educational trip for the family,” Anders piped up. Gilda nodded so hard I worried she might dislodge her eyeballs. “I can show you around, point out the cultural highlights. Also, she can attend a royal baptism in the Cathedral of Saint Bjarke, which has been the seat of the Catholic church in our country for over two centuries.”
Her eyes went as round as dinner plates as she stared at me.
Oh man, he was not playing fair at all. Curse the man. “I’ve never closed down for two weeks. I suppose I could go in today and tomorrow to try to get the jobs that are in the queue done before we leave…”
“Oh, well, that’s the thing. We’re to leave today,” Anders softly said over the tip-tap-tap of Della doing her please feed me before I die dance. I swear, something in my head broke.
“Today?!” I croaked and got a sheepish smile in reply. “I’m not sure I can…today is…I don’t know where I put the passports and…what about Al Birlington’s rototiller?”
