She smiles sleepily and comes to wrap her arms around me from behind.
“Mmm,” she hums, rubbing her face against my back. “I love you.”
“Do you?” I chuckle. “Or do you just want coffee?”
“Both.” She lets me go and pulls out a chair, sitting down at the breakfast table.
The coffee finishes and I pour us each a mug, carrying them to the table and sitting down.
Outside the world is covered in a thick blanket of snow. At some point in the night the plows came through and cleared the streets. Now piles of snow block most of the driveways.
Nova sniffs her coffee and takes a sip. “You always make it perfect.”
“I think you tell me that so I’ll make it every morning and you don’t have to.”
She smiles, curling her fingers around the mug. “Maybe.”
The stairs creak, and it isn’t long before Rae creeps in.
“I didn’t want to wake you guys, but—”
“We were already awake,” Nova finishes for her.
Rae nods and pours some of the coffee I made into a mug. She takes a sip and moans. “That’s good.”
“See, I told you,” Nova chirps.
“Do you think you guys will be able to get out today?”
“Ready to be rid of us already, Rae?” I place my hand over my heart. “I’m hurt. I’m really hurt.”
Rae flushes and leans her hip against the counter. “That’s not what I meant. I figure you guys don’t exactly like being trapped here.”
My phone rings and I groan. “Hold that thought.”
I hop up and jog into the family room, searching for my phone.
I finally find it wadded up in the blanket we used to cover up with.
I’m not surprised when I see that it’s my dad calling. It’s the day after Christmas, and he didn’t call yesterday so he’s probably finally remembered his flub. I’ve always found it funny how he spends the whole year ignoring me and then around the holidays I’ll receive two or three phone calls from him, usually requesting me to show up somewhere, like the stupid Thanksgiving ball thing.
“’Sup?” I answer, just to spite him.
“Honestly, Jacen, use more than one syllable to greet someone. ‘Sup isn’t even a word.”
I try not to laugh. Hearing my dad say ‘sup makes his anger totally fucking worth it.
“What can I help you with?” I ask, sitting down on the couch.
“What can I help you with?” he mimes. “We’re not in a department store. I’m your father.”
I roll my eyes to the ceiling. Nothing I do or say is good enough, I know this and I’ve long ago accepted that fact.
“Merry Christmas to you too, Dad,” I mumble.
“Christmas was yesterday,” he supplies.
“I know,” I grind out. “You didn’t call.”