Forever Wild (Wild 2.50)

Below us, the coffee grinder whirrs. This time, it keeps going.

The sun has crested the horizon and is pouring through our bay window, casting our house in a warm morning glow, when I reach the landing—well over an hour later than I intended when I first woke up.

“… I always recommend ranunculus and peonies. They’re timeless.”

“Hmm. Yes, you are right. Those are lovely.”

Mom and Astrid are sitting side by side at the kitchen counter, surrounded by a medley of scattered wedding magazines. They’re both dressed for the day, Astrid in a crisp white button-down top and jeans, my mother in a stylish cranberry-colored cable-knit sweater and black leggings. While I wouldn’t call them opposites, Astrid has a much more simplistic style.

“Oh, good morning, honey! Hope you slept well,” Mom offers, sharing a secretive, amused look with Astrid from above the rim of her latest reading glasses—she updates her frames each spring—before refocusing on her magazine.

My cheeks flush. At least they seem to be getting along. “Looks like it’s going to be a nice day.”

“Indeed it does!” Simon echoes, pausing momentarily in his task at the stove to flash me a smile. “Give me a sec and I’ll whip you up a latte.”

I frown. “You sure you can manage it?” I can’t remember the last time I saw Simon cook anything beyond instant mashed potatoes. Yet, every burner is occupied with a pan or pot, the smell of bacon permeating the air. He’s even donned one of my Christmas aprons over his standard sweater-vest-and-slacks outfit.

“Of course! Low and slow is the ticket.” Simon gives the hash browns a swirl with a wooden spoon before shaking off his oven mitts.

“Since you’ve moved out, Simon has rediscovered his passion for cooking,” my mom informs me through a sip of her frothy beverage, adding dryly, “He’s also on his third cup of coffee this morning.”

“Third,” I echo, my eyebrows arching. His limit has always been one, and Simon’s nothing if not a creature of habit. “That explains a lot.”

“I’ll have another. Astrid,” Björn calls from his spot in the recliner, his attention riveted on the novel in his meaty grasp. He squints against the blinding sun while holding out his ceramic mug, as if expecting her to retrieve it.

Astrid doesn’t hesitate, shifting to leave her stool.

But I’m already on my feet and closer. “I’ve got it.” I veer toward the idle man in my living room.

Björn looks up from his page and appears momentarily startled to see me. “Oh. Okay. Black, please.”

“Hmm-hmm.” I saunter toward the coffee pot.

“What’s wrong, your legs don’t work, Björn?” Jonah casually throws out on his way down the stairs, fresh from his shower. There’s no bite to his tone, but I give him a warning look, anyway.

“Yeah, yeah,” he murmurs, smoothing an affectionate hand across the small of my back as he passes me, heading for Astrid. He leans down to drop a quick kiss on her forehead. “Better night of sleep, Mom?”

She beams as she peers up at him. “Yes. The twin beds are nice. I don’t have to deal with his tossing and turning.”

“And how about you two?” He looks between Simon and my mother, his eyebrows raised in question.

“Like a baby on Ambien,” my mother muses, holding up her magazine to show me a chic barn decked out in white lights and floral arrangements. “What do you think about this venue, Calla? It’s a vineyard in the County. That’s an up-and-coming wine region in Ontario,” she adds for Jonah’s and Astrid’s benefit, her green eyes flittering between them. “They only allow a few weddings a year, but I know the owners. I’ll bet if I contacted them, they would be more than happy to accommodate you two.”

“We haven’t decided where we’re getting married yet,” I remind her as calmly as I can. I was hoping to at least have my coffee in hand before she started in on this. “And the County is two hours outside of Toronto. Everyone would have to travel there.”

“Well, yes, I’m aware, but it’s much easier than your family and friends flying to Alaska, honey.” She’s using that coaxing tone, the one she pulls out when she’s trying to convince me to see that she’s right.

Simon clears his throat.

“Of course, there’s Jonah’s family to think of, too,” she rushes to add, looking to Astrid. “How much family do you have in Norway?”

“Oh, well …” Astrid slides off her black-rimmed reading glasses. “There is my one brother, Arne, and his wife and daughters, and my other brother, Oddvar. He has three children and four grandchildren. No, five grandchildren now. And there’s my one surviving uncle on my mother’s side …”

She rhymes off names as I top Björn’s mug with fresh black coffee and then hold out the pot, offering to fill Jonah’s mug for him.

“Great. A bunch of strangers at our wedding,” Jonah murmurs under his breath, loud enough for only me to hear.

“They’re not all strangers. You know Björn’s kids,” I tease, waiting for his scowl.