First Frost (ONC 2023 Novella, MxM Paranormal)

6: Snowman

"Joakim, what happened to you?" My sister pulls me inside before I have time to reply to her question. I think the answer is quite obvious anyway. The freaking snowstorm of the century happened. And also Anton but his effects on me probably aren't visible, even though my heart aches more than my busted knee.

"You got snow everywhere!" Ida uses her hand to, quite roughly I must say, dust the snow off me.

"I fell..." I mumble, not wanting to burden her over-protective mind with the image of her baby brother almost getting hit by a careening car. I also struggle to explain how I was saved by a spontaneously formed wall of ice.

"You should even be out in the storm!" Ida chastizes me. "You're such a dumb dumb." She shakes her head at me overdramatically.

I snicker at the silly insult. Most people would go for idiot or moron but my sister needs to child-proof her name-calling.

"I was hungry," I admit sheepishly. "And I figured two blocks would be fine to walk."

"And you figured I would have food for you?" she asks, pulling off my hat and tucking my damp hair behind my ears.

"Well... do you?" I escape Ida's reaction by bending down to untie my shoes.

My sister sighs. "I was just serving the children lunch and there should be enough for one more child. So come on."

While she heads into the kitchen, I linger in the hallway to undress and inspect the injury on my knee. The jeans fabric is slightly torn and the area underneath feels tender when I push it. So I probably shouldn't do that. Some red splotches paint the fabric but the bleeding must have stopped since the color is already dried.

I surmise that I will survive. And I hope my sister won't notice the injury because she will undoubtedly insist on cleaning the wound and afterward sealing her work by putting a cartoon bandaid on it. Probably Sponge-Bob or Bamse. Neither is a very mature or sexy option.

"Uncle Jocke!" My niece Embla calls out from her seat by the breakfast bar, where she and her brother Mimer are waiting to be served lunch. My sister and her husband may have been going through a Norse mythology obsession when naming their children. "Look! I'm drawing a snowman!"

How very topical of her, because I certainly feel like one in my damp jeans and chilled hoodie with snow-tinged sleeves.

I sit down beside my exuberant young relative, who is dressed in a Frozen-themed fleece dress that looks very cozy. I kind of wish such clothing was acceptable for adult men to wear as well. I could certainly use a change of clothes.

"Good job," I compliment her artwork. If I squint I can kind of make out the different parts of the snowman: there are 3 different-sized ovals stacked on top of each other, an orange cone resembling a carrot nose, and unevenly placed dots for the eyes and mouth. I pull one of her messy braids lightly and get a glare in return. I guess she needs to put all her little kid energy into drawing and has no time for teasing from her uncle.

"Where did you come from?" she asks, suspicion in her voice as she tries to figure out the comings and goings of adults in her life. It must be quite confusing for her five-year-old mind.

"Outside," I sigh, wiping some melting snow off my forehead.

"Through the snow?" Embla asks, seemingly amazed at this feat. "Can daddy walk home through the snow then too?"

"Your daddy is a bit further away," Ida explains to her daughter. "So he can't walk her like Joakim. " My sister turns to me."Jonas is stuck in Copenhagen," she explains. "He was there on a work trip when the snowstorm hit. No planes will embark from there today."

This storm isn't just affecting Stockholm then. It seems to have all of Scandinavia in its cold grip.

"Mommy says we can't go outside to play," Embla informs me, giving me a stern look that reminds me of my sister. "So why were you outside, uncle Joakim?"

"Well I didn't know I needed to call my brother to tell him not to go outside," Ida mumbles from the stove. "Joakim is supposedly an adult and should be able to make such decisions on his own."

"I am an adult," I inform her. "And I can make decisions. They're just not always good ones." I flash a smile and Ida can't help but smile back. Embla looks confused at our adult banter. As the youngest kid in the family, I know that feeling all too well. Everyone was always talking over my head. Sometimes, they still do.

"Since you're so adult, I suppose you don't want to eat this kid's food then?" My sister puts plates filled with creamed macaroni and falu-sausage (a Swedish specialty) in front of her kids, who both shine up like candles and dig in right away.

"I love macaroni..." Mimer mumbles, his mouth already stuffed with the item of his affection. Coming from a three-year-old who is usually a picky eater, that is high praise.

Discreetly, my sister shuffles a few pieces of broccoli onto each kid's plate, probably hoping it will get lost in the mix of favored food.

I give my sister a look. She's really going to make me say it. Ida looks back, raising her eyebrows in anticipation.

"I want the kid's food," I grumble. "But you don't have to hide the broccoli on my plate. I'm at least adult enough to see through that scheme."

"So you'll eat it even if I put it on top then?" Ida counters. "I seem to recall you refusing to eat broccoli as recently as Christmas."

"Fine," I concede, despite still not having acquired a taste for broccoli. Maybe this is the day when it'll suddenly appeal to me. My mom always said I would grow to like it when I grew up.

Ida hands me a plate filled with macaroni and sausage, topped with three bouquets of broccoli. I can't help but wrinkle my nose at the sight of my green nemesis. I quickly regain my poise, not wanting my annoying sister to see my reaction. To make a point—and to get it out of the way—I shuffle the vegetables in my mouth first.

They're actually not too bad. Perhaps I am actually growing up. And they are probably good for curing my booze-induced ailments. I can almost feel the cloud over my head lifting as I chew on the stems.

The salty sausage and creamy macaroni also do wonders for my body and mind. Every chew makes me see everything clearer.

I kissed Anton. Not just once or even twice, but more than a dozen times. That should mean something. No, it must mean something. I'm just not sure whether the meaning is good or bad for our continued relationship. Perhaps it's the end of it.

I need to find him to figure out the answer. It's not optional at this point but a requirement. I NEED him. I need to know what happens now. I can't continue to float in limbo.

I shuffle the mystery of my frost-related magical actions to a secluded place in my mind. I can't deal with both that and Anton right now. One live-altering issue at the time, please.