Forever Wild (Wild 2.50)

Jonah’s looming presence fills the foyer, chilled air curling around him. “Hey, babe.” He leans in to kiss me chastely, his icy-blue eyes twinkling with something—excitement? nervousness?—before shifting out of the way to reveal two people who look like they’ve traveled thousands of miles and eleven time zones to get here. His throat bobs with a hard swallow. “Mom, this is—”

“Calla.” My name is a heavy sigh on Astrid’s voice. Her shoulders sag, as if she’s been waiting for this moment forever and is relieved it’s finally here. She reaches out with cool hands to grasp mine, squeezing them tightly for a brief moment. “It’s so good to meet you.”

“It is,” I agree with a widening smile, the lilt in her accent a familiar sound after a dozen phone calls in preparation for this visit.

I’ve only seen a few pictures of Astrid, one being the framed photograph from Jonah’s house in Bangor that now resides on a bookshelf in the corner. In that one, taken when Jonah was a scrawny little boy in Anchorage, Astrid resembled a fashion model—tall and thin, with long, white-blonde hair. Another picture from Jonah’s high school graduation showed her as a slightly older version of the Norwegian stunner in the cherry-red bikini.

Now, at fifty-nine, the years are claiming their marks on this regal-looking woman. She still holds herself with statuesque grace, but with a healthy layer of meat and muscle on her bones. Crow’s-feet and frown lines that my mother aggressively keeps at bay with regular Botox injections crinkle Astrid’s skin with ease. I doubt a needle has ever touched that glowing skin. And her once-long hair has been cropped short but stylish, the platinum color surely the product of a salon.

“This is Björn.” She gestures at the white-haired man of the same height beside her. Standing side by side, the decade in age difference between them is glaring.

“I’m sure you’ve heard many wonderful things about me.” Björn’s cerulean eyes cut to his stepson, and even with the accent, there’s no mistaking the dig. But when his gaze shifts back to me, I see nothing but polite weariness. “It’s so nice to meet the woman who managed to tame Astrid’s son.” He offers me his hand and I take it, earning myself a firm handshake.

“I don’t know how well he’s been tamed, but …” I force my smile wider. “It’s so nice to meet you both. Come in and get warm. I have a lasagna in the oven.” I nod toward the table, set for four, a bottle of red already cracked and breathing.

“We’ve already eaten.” Björn’s head is shaking. “I just want my bed.”

Astrid shoots him with a brief but sharp look, with blue eyes that match Jonah’s. “Thank you, Calla. We ate in Seattle while we were waiting for the next plane. We wanted to stop in and say hello, but we’re both quite tired. Especially this old man.”

“Of course. No worries.”

“I’m gonna take them over to the cabin.” Jonah reaches for the keys to the old beat-up pickup—I still think of it as Phil’s. “You mind giving me a ride back?”

“At your service.” I collect the keys from his hand and a kiss from his lips, and trail Astrid and Björn out the door.

“They were supposed to be here this week to route the internet so you’d have Wi-Fi, but they rescheduled until early January. Texts still come, sporadically. They’re just … spotty.” At best. During bad weather, it’s basically a dead zone.

“We’ll survive.” Astrid inhales deeply, her eyes searching the cabin’s wooden interior with interest. “Smells like freshly cut wood.”

I laugh, my own gaze taking in the small space, finished with compact Scandinavian-style furnishings and a blend of punchy Navajo blankets and rugs to add color. I even tucked a small Christmas tree into the corner and strung tiny white lights around the windows to help with the holiday atmosphere. “Yeah, it’s about as fresh as it can get. Roy finished the trim last weekend.”

“And we were still moving shit in here up until yesterday. Calla worked her butt off to get it ready in time. You should have everything you need.” Jonah stomps the snow off his boots and then lugs two large suitcases, one in each hand. He hauls each onto the stands I ordered—that took two months to arrive—grunting under the weight. “Jesus, what’d you bring with you?”

“It’s Christmas. I wasn’t going to arrive empty-handed,” Astrid says matter-of-factly.

“You remember that we have stores here, right?”

She reaches up to rest her palm against her son’s cheek. “But not Norwegian stores, vennen.”

I don’t know what she called him, but it seems to strike a chord because Jonah’s stern expression softens. He ropes his arms around his mother’s shoulders, pulling her into his chest.

She responds instantly, curling her arms around his waist. “I forgot how big you are. Karl and Ivar are tiny by comparison.”

Those names I recognize as Björn’s sons, whom Jonah cares for about as much as he does Björn, though I’ve never received a solid reason why his annoyance extends that far. Sometimes I wonder if his dislike for his stepbrothers is rooted in jealousy. Jonah grew up an only child; he’s not used to sharing his mom. Worse, Karl and Ivar and their families live within a ten-minute drive of Astrid and Björn. They eat dinner together once a week and spend their holidays together.

“I missed you,” he murmurs.

“That’s because you haven’t seen me in—how long has it been again? Three years?”

He grins sheepishly. “Four.”

“Ah. Four years since you’ve seen your own mother. I’m surprise

d you even found me at the airport.” Her tone is soft, playful, her eyes twinkling as she chides her only son.

Yet, I can’t help but wonder if her words are laced with a hint of bitterness. Astrid may have two stepsons and five step-grandchildren to keep her occupied, but Jonah is her only biological child. Since leaving Las Vegas for Alaska when he was twenty-one, he has only seen his mother three times—once, to witness her marry a man he doesn’t care for. Three times in eleven years, and apparently the two trips to Oslo were riddled with bickering and shouting matches. The last time, he finished off his stay in a hotel.

The four-year gap since his last visit isn’t entirely his fault, though. Jonah was supposed to fly to Norway for Christmas last year, but he canceled after learning of my father’s terminal illness. Then again, my dad passed in September. Plenty of time to rebook, but Jonah chose to stay close for Agnes and Mabel’s sake, even before he made the surprise trip to Toronto to lure me back to the wild.