by Freya Barker
Tagging her behind the neck, I lean over and kiss her hard, leaving my forehead resting against hers. “You’ve got to stop saying that shit in front of Flynn or my sister.” With my other hand, I guide hers against my fly so she can feel the state of my cock. “I can’t properly thank you with the kids looking on.”
“Hey, I’m twenty-five,” comes from the peanut gallery.
-
“Aren’t you in bed yet?” Tana says, when we walk in the door to find her father still sitting up in his chair.
“How am I supposed to sleep? For all I know you’ve been kidnapped and hauled off to Canada, never to be heard of again!”
“Maxim!”
I chuckle, the grumbling curmudgeon is growing on me.
“Mom, Dad, this is Leena, Matt’s sister. Their parents were trying to marry her off to a man she doesn’t much care for. Am I right?” she asks Leena, who looks shell-shocked but manages to nod. She plucks the sleeping toddler from my shoulder. “Right. They’re in Esko, and in a pretty fanatical LLC. I’m sure that’s explanation enough for now? I’ve gotta get my kid into bed. We’ve had a rough night. Leena, wanna come with? I’ll grab you some clothes—I’m sure mine will fit you—and I’ll show you your room.”
“That’s my girl,” Maxim rumbles, when she disappears up the stairs with Leena behind her.
“Mine now,” I challenge him, sitting down on the couch. I expect him to protest, but he just slowly turns to face me and raises his bushy eyebrow into his receding hairline.
“Well, you’ve got yourself a handful,” he concedes.
“Not gonna argue you on that.”
“Now, boys,” Tana’s mother mutters, as she gets up to set another place at the breakfast table.
No questions asked.
This is what family should be.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Tana
I wake up to Flynn bouncing up and down on the bed between Matt and me.
Last night, I’d changed the sheets on the bed in the spare bedroom and settled Leena in there with one of my old nightgowns and some clothes to wear. I figured she might need the space to get a hold of her life, which seems to be spinning out of control. Matt and I managed just fine, sandwiching Flynn in the double bed. A little cozy, but the prospect of waking up together on Christmas morning was worth the odd little elbow in my face or heel in my stomach.
The reality is a little less romantic, since I’m in need of at least another two solid hours of sleep, but my daughter clearly has other ideas.
“Chwismiss! Wanna see pwesents.”
“Give me a minute, Peanut.” I stretch and rub the sleep from my eyes, when there’s a soft knock on the door.
“Are you decent?” Mom’s voice sounds on the other side and I throw a quick glance over at Matt who, just like me, was smart enough to wear pj’s to bed. “I just want to get Flynnie so she can help me with the cinnamon buns.”
“Ciman buns!”
“Hey, kiss Mommy first,” I protest when my girl starts climbing over me. She giggles and blows a raspberry against my cheek.
“Now, Man.”
“Matt, baby, it’s Matt.”
“Man...t!”
Matt snickers before letting out a loud whoosh when Flynn jumps from my chest to his. He gets the same treatment. When the door opens, and Mom sticks her head inside, Flynn’s already climbing off the bed.
“Merry Christmas,” she says softly, grinning as she pulls Flynn close. “My present to you is another hour in bed.”
I watch until the door closes and then turn to Matt. He’s lying on his back, but his head is turned toward me—he’s watching me with a soft look on his face.
“What?”
“You love me.”
That was coming and there’s no reason to deny it, so I nod. “I do. I know it’s ridiculously fast, given that we’ve—”
“Stop,” he interrupts, reaching for a strand of hair and giving it a tug. “Given the dog’s years worth of crises and drama we lived through in the past eight days, I’d say it’s perfect timing. Besides, what does it matter? We’re clearly in sync, setting our own pace—since I love you too.”
Without losing his eyes, I bridge the space left by my daughter and curl myself around him. His hand lazily strokes my arm laying across his stomach. It’s a simple moment—a happy one—until the toilet flushing in the adjoining bathroom reminds me of the complexities of our situation.
“But what now? Where do we go from here? We have lives, responsibilities. Those don’t necessarily line up.” I know I’m rambling but I’m suddenly scared.
“True,” he agrees, turning to his side so our fronts are aligned. He brushes the hair out of my face. “We’re doing things a little backward, but Rome wasn’t built in a day. We have a few more days to figure things out before I have to head back. I can find Leena and me a hotel room nearby, give you and your parents some space to get a handle on the day-to-day running of the bakery.”
“I don’t want you to leave.”
He tugs me even closer. “I don’t particularly want to leave either, but your father is recovering from a pretty major heart attack, and I’m sure your parents don’t need a couple of strangers cramping their space. Not with everything going on.” My parents might have a thing or two to say about that.
Still, I hate that he makes sense. The last time I pouted was probably a good number of decades ago, but I’m pouting now.
“I see where Flynn got that particular talent,” Matt teases, grinning as he rubs a finger over my pursed lips. “Come on. It’s our first Christmas together, Leena’s very first Christmas the way normal people celebrate. Let’s not waste it.”
-
The scent of warm yeast and cinnamon greets me when I walk into the kitchen. Flynn is sitting on the counter stirring something in a bowl, sneaking a taste of what I assume is the icing, when she thinks Mom isn’t looking. Mom shoots me a wink when she sees me come in. Flynn will learn soon enough that my mother has eyes in the back of her head.
Leena is already up and evidently put to work, since Mom is instructing her how thick to cut the rolled up dough into buns.
“Merry Christmas, everyone.”
Three heads turn in my direction, but my attention is on my daughter who is smiling ear to ear, a streak of icing on her cheek.
“We gots pwesents!” She flings the whisk in the direction of the Christmas tree, splattering icing all over the kitchen.
“Peanut—careful!” I grab the gadget from her hand and plunk it in the sink. Immediately her bottom lip starts wobbling but before I can stave off the impending flow of tears, Matt’s voice sounds behind me.
“That was the best Christmas welcome I’ve ever had, little one.”
Flynn goes from almost in tears to happy giggles when he steps around me and scoops her up in his arms. That’s when I get a good look at his face, which has a large dollop of icing rolling down his cheek.
Matt
“Nonsense.”
I look up at the man at the head of the table, my fork halfway to my mouth. Tana’s father was the last person I expected to object when I casually mentioned to Leena I managed to find a place for us to stay online.
-
Christmas in the Romer house has been an experience. For one thing, the whole family stays in their pj’s until they’ve unwrapped gifts. I discover why, when apparently everyone receives some new piece of clothing they then change into. Courtesy of Betty, if my guess is right, although I have no clue how she managed to include me and Leena in that tradition. She’s been with her husband in the hospital since I met her, and no one knew until last night Leena would be here.
I thought I was the only one with any time to pick up a few things, but as it turns out, Tana’s mother spent her time sitting beside her husband’s hospital bed well, ordering stuff online and having it delivered to a neighbor.
None of the gifts were excessive, and the red hoodie she got me isn’t really my color, but I’ll
wear that sucker until it falls in threads off my body.
I got Tana’s Dad a fly tying kit, Betty a CD of a remastered, limited edition of the 1957 Elvis Christmas Album, and Flynn was over the moon with the simple plastic toboggan. Leena had been little more of a challenge, but I ended up getting her a simple cell phone with earbuds, and loaded it up with music.
I struggled most with Tana’s gift. Nothing seemed meaningful enough, but a quick phone call to Syd helped me locate a store in Duluth, where I ended up finding flannel pajama pants in a smaller size. Matching elves and candy canes. Cheesy, I know, and it had been good for a chuckle, but the shimmer in Tana’s eyes when she smiled showed me she got my message.
Tana floored me when she gave me a small album. On the first page she had written: For All The Years You Missed. On all the following pages were printed images of Flynn as a newborn, eating her first solid food, her first steps, covered in birthday cake on her first birthday, and many more snapshots chronicling the three years of her life. The final picture was one she must’ve taken in the past few days: Flynn sitting on my arm, both her hands are on my cheeks, and our foreheads touching. I had to leave the room for a minute.
Later, my sister and Tana took Flynn outside to try her new toboggan, and Betty and I started on dinner while Maxim took a nap on the couch.
-
Maxim squints as he stares me down.
“We won’t hear of it,” his wife throws her own objection on the table.
I try making my case with her, since he doesn’t look in the mood to listen. “Your husband is recovering, and with the store closed, I’m sure you’d like some time among yourselves. It’s not a big deal, only for a few nights before we start heading home.”
“All the more reason to stay where you are. We have the room here, it doesn’t make sense for you to check in to a hotel for just a few nights. You’ll stay.” She picks up her knife and fork and starts eating. Dismissed.
“You heard my wife,” Maxim confirms when I look to him, and just like her, concentrates on his food.
Tana’s soft chuckle has me turn to her. She’s clearly amused at the exchange. “Guess I’m not the only one who wants you to stay.”
“I’d like to stay,” Leena adds in a soft voice, sending me a pleading look. Maxim snorts at that, and Tana’s mom lets out a giggle.
Not wanting to be left out, Flynn weighs in too, although I doubt she understands what’s going on.
“Stay!” she chirps, banging her spoon on the table with great enthusiasm.
“Bossy lot, aren’t you?” I mutter, before shoving my fork in my mouth. I know when I’m outvoted.
The entire table dissolves in laughter as my noble plan is unanimously vetoed.
Tana
“Are you sure you don’t want to wait until Flynn wakes up?”
It’s still dark out and freezing cold.
I’ve already said a teary ‘see you soon’ to Leena, who is sitting bundled up in the front seat, waiting for Matt and me to say our goodbyes.
Mom and Dad insisted on getting up early to send them off as well. I almost lost it when Dad pulled Matt into a one-armed man-brace and thanked him—calling him, “Son.”
These past few days went too fast, and I desperately want to hold onto him a little longer.”
He cups my face in his cold hands and rubs his nose along mine.
“It’s easier like this. She doesn’t have to see me leave. If she’s still up tonight when I call you, maybe we can FaceTime.”
FaceTime—that’s all we’ll have for the next however long, until things are sorted here. Matt assured me that if it took more than a few months, he’d try to fly out for a couple of days to see us. One way or another, I’ll have to be back before April, and the start of the outdoor markets.
“I love you. I’m gonna miss you so much...”
“Me too, Sweetheart. Me too.” He slants his mouth over mine for a heart-wrenching kiss we pour everything we can’t find the words for, into. “Inside, love,” he orders. “It’s too cold out here. I’m going to call you tonight.”
I do as he says, realizing I’m making it hard for him to leave. Mom is waiting just inside the door with a warm embrace, and we end up watching his taillights disappear down the road from the front window.
“Best way to get through anything is to keep moving forward,” Mom says softly from behind me.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Tana
It’s been a long eight weeks, with only Matt’s daily phone calls to keep me going, but the end is in sight.
Dad is recovering nicely, although he’s still adjusting to being home full time. Having Flynn to look after during the day while I’ve kept the bakery going helped, as did the fly tying kit Matt gave him for Christmas. After some initial failures, he seems to have mastered the skill, and in the past week or two has produced enough flies to last him the fishing trip to Montana he and Mom are planning for the fall.
There’s been a lot of that—planning. As well as some serious heart-to-hearts about an attainable future for everyone.
There have been arguments too. Mostly between Mom and Dad, although I weighed in on occasion as well. It became clear quite quickly, once we put the word out there, that while there was plenty of interest to buy, finding someone who’d be willing to take on the responsibility of running the bakery with no vested interest would be difficult.
For Dad, the business had always been much more than just a means to an income. He saw it as his legacy, one he inherited and one he wanted to pass on. Except there was no one to pass it on to. That hit home with him when the deal for Best Bites to distribute product to two hundred and thirteen chain stores nationwide was signed, sealed, and delivered.
But I think the real breakthrough came when Mom sagely pointed out that his legacy was not defined by a brick and mortar business, but by the future his daughter and granddaughter were building.
The next day we were vetting buyers, and today I’m introducing the new owner to the staff she plans to keep on. It’s not easy to walk away from something that’s been a part of your life for as long as you can recall, but sometimes it’s necessary to create opportunities.
The guys are busy piping eclairs onto baking sheets, but look up when we walk in.
“Pete? Paul?” I draw their attention to the woman standing next to me. “I’d like you to meet Ms. Forsythe, the new owner.”
The woman steps forward and holds out her hand to Pete.
“Call me Mary...please.”
Behind us, Dad chuckles. He’s been looking forward to this moment since discovering his successor’s full name.
-
“Don’t you think you’re taking this a little too far?”
Mom is facing off with my father in the kitchen when I walk in a few days later, her fists on her hips, a sure sign she means business.
Apparently Dad, feeling the weight of responsibility lifted from his shoulders with the sale of the bakery, is looking to take his show on the road. A stack of flyers boasting the latest state-of-the-art recreational vehicles litters the counter. Flynn is sitting in her high chair, munching on Cheerios, as her eyes flit from one to the other, oblivious to my entrance.
“What’s going on?” I demand, walking over to my daughter to drop a kiss on her head before I stare my parents down.
“Your father has lost his marbles. He wants to sell the house, buy an RV, and drag me all over the continent. The man’s already made an appointment with the realtor!”
“I told you we’d stop at Graceland,” he grumbles. “Isn’t that what you’ve always wanted?”
“That’s not the point!”
Flynn and I are planning to head home in a couple of days, and the thought of leaving my parents to their now frequent bickering, without me as their referee, gives me a headache.
“Mom,” I try in a calm voice. “Explain to Dad what the point is.” I don’t need to hear the answer, I can venture a safe guess, but it’s important f
or Dad to hear.
“I’ve been married to this man for close to fifty years,” she retorts, but the tears in her eyes take the sting out of her sharp tone. “I shouldn’t have to explain that for most of those fifty years I’ve stood by his side while he lived out his dream. Working side by side with him to build that bakery into what it is today. Now that it’s gone, I’d like to have a say, for once, in what the future holds. I’d like to have a chance for a dream of my own.”
The tears are now running down her cheeks and my father looks at her as if he sees water burning. Totally clueless.
“I thought you loved the bakery,” he mutters, clearly confused.
“I did, you big oaf,” she sobs, snatching a length of paper towel off the roll to mop her face. “I loved it because it’s what you wanted.”
Dad clears his throat, not quite sure what to do with himself, and when he looks to me for help, I mouth, “Ask her.”
“Well, what is it that you want then?”
I roll my eyes at his gruff tone, but at least he’s asking. Beggars can’t be choosers.
“I want to be closer to my babies.”
Two hours later, we have the beginnings of a plan.
Matt
“I need you to go out to Micucci’s to pick up today’s produce.”
I just walked in the door when Gunnar corners me.
“Why can’t they deliver?”
“Because the truck with our order was involved in an accident. They just called. Someone will have to go handpick what we need. They won’t be able to get it out before tomorrow, and we need the stuff for the dinner crowd. Take my truck—it’s bigger—but leave your keys, just in case” He shoves a list and his keys in my hand.
“Can’t someone else go?”
Gunnar visibly grinds his teeth.
I’m sure he’s had enough of my miserable moods, which set in about two days after I got back from Minnesota, and have been steadfast since then. He’s not the only one, the rest of my Skipper family keeps a safe distance these days as well. Fuck, I can barely stand myself.