In this Bed of Snowflakes we Lie

by Sophia Soames

  “Sounds like a cool dad, your dad.”

  “Yeah, he’s cool. He’s happy too, has a nice girlfriend and enjoys fine wine and shit.”

  “My mum enjoys fine wine and yoga. And more fine wine. And spa treatments.”

  “Rich housewife?”

  “Nah. Surgeon. Earns a shitload of money and is constantly on the verge of a nervous breakdown. But she’s really good at what she does, and I suppose, I think she is happy. Dad though? Lives for his bonuses, and leases a new car every year. Suppose that makes him happy too. It makes them sound really shallow, but honestly, they’re not. It’s just their lives, you know?”

  “And they are good to you?”

  “They are everything I need, I suppose. I don’t think… I don’t think I would want to change anything. Not now. Perhaps I’m kind of growing up, in some fucked-up way?”

  “You still need to grow up.” Mathias laughs. “And not be a dick to your boyfriend.”

  “Not everyone likes to party,” Oskar tries, and blushes. He needs to stop fighting this corner. Because honestly, he doesn’t know if it’s worth fighting for.

  “Everyone has a right to be who they are, but for Erik, I think if you just turned up and sat behind the DJ booth with a drink and read a book, he would be smiling. It would make him happy, just the fact that you came. For him. Nobody needs to party, and yeah, we should totally respect that you don’t want to come, but level with me my man. Erik. My best friend. Your boyfriend. Totally awesome dude. We should be there for him? Am I right?”

  “You are totally right.” Oskar sighs, his brain finally admitting defeat. And in a way it makes him cringe to himself, because he has been wrong about this all along. Letting his anxieties and stubborn ideas overtake what really matters.

  “Of course, I am. See? Party of the century.”

  There are people everywhere, a mass of bodies visible though the steamed-up windows of what is usually a student canteen, and flashing lights and heady beats dominating the cold air. People hanging around in the snow that is littered with bottles and cigarette stubs, a few overflowing bins by the cheerfully decorated entrance.

  “We’re cleaning up later, and anyway. What does it matter? It’s New Year’s Eve, let’s find your boy and get him kissed, then everyone will be happy, and then you and I are having a dance. Trust me. I’m making you dance and there is nothing you can do to stop me.”

  “Okay?” Oskar laughs and Mathias pulls him in for a hug.

  “And I get to be the friend-of-the-year, again,” Mathias says loudly as Erik appears like an apparition of sorts, a strand of tinsel over his shoulder and a bottle of water in his hand.

  “You,” he says, his face cracking into a beaming smile as Oskar dives into his arms. Buries his face into the warmth of Erik, letting the scent of his aftershave and the softness of his skin calm every fraught nerve ending in Oskar’s body.

  “Sorry. Sorry I wasn’t here. Sorry I was a dick. Sorry. I should have been here to help you. I was just… Sorry. I’m here now and I am going to kiss you at midnight, and I love you.”

  “What?” Erik laughs.

  “I love you. You’re mine and I love you.”

  “I love you too. You didn’t have to come, you know that, but fuck you have just made this party a million times better. You want a drink?”

  “Water?”

  “There is beer, house wine? Some sickly-sweet cocktail thing?”

  “Water is fine,” Oskar says, and kisses Erik’s cheek.

  “Come over here for a sec,” Erik whispers, dragging Oskar along behind him, treading through the snow around the back of the building, where the ground is still untouched, glistening in colour from lights through the windows. “I love when it snows like this,” he says, his body swirling around in a circle, like he is dancing. An uncoordinated waltz of sorts where his arms are flaying and his head tips back as the snowflakes land in his hair.

  “Look.” He sticks his tongue out, catching a showy flake on the tip of his tongue as Oskar let’s out a resigned giggle.

  “You will catch a cold, wearing just a suit out here.”

  “Nah. You sound just like Mum. Come, baby, come lie with me.” He falls down in a heap of snow, laughing as his hands fly up in the air. “Fuck it’s cold!”

  “We’ll get wet.” Oskar laughs.

  “Don’t care. I just want to watch the snowflakes.”

  “You and your bloody snowflakes.” Oskar giggles as he joins Erik in the snow, his long body already stretching out, moving slowly to create what will no doubt be a perfect snow angel underneath him. There is cold and wetness creeping through Oskar’s jeans as he takes his place next to Erik, and the cold air is making his skin prickle.

  “I promise not to recite poetry to you.”

  “You can do whatever you want,” Oskar almost whispers, as he looks up at the showy flakes that are hurtling towards the ground, swirling in mesmerising patterns above him.

  “It’s the perfect night, and it’s even snowing. We’ve got these amazing fireworks organised for midnight, and I’ll… I’ll get to watch them with you.”

  “I’m sorry I didn’t come earlier.”

  “Doesn’t matter, you’re here now? Aren’t you?”

  “Yeah.”

  Oskar just lies there, watching Erik as the air is once again full of music and laughter, the voices and singing and shouts coming through the open door where people are spilling out to have a smoke and catch some fresh air. It must be stifling in there, hot and sweaty from bodies, the air thick with… he can’t even find a word for what he is trying to describe. It should scare him, the thought of being inside, being part of what is there, but as Erik’s hand finds his, tangles his freezing fingers in Oskar’s warm skin, he doesn’t think it scares him at all. After all, Erik is here. And he belongs with Erik. Erik who will come back home with him tonight and sleep tangled up in his sheets and Erik will kiss him good night. He smiles. Grins until his cheeks ache, both from the cold and the fact that Oskar realises, that fuck. Fuck yeah.

  “In this bed of snowflakes, we lie…”

  “No bloody poetry.”

  “I like poetry.”

  “Shut up.”

  “Make me.”

  So, Oskar does. He crawls on top of the most ridiculous man in the world. The boy with snowflakes in his hair and the smart suit and the sparking bowtie. The man that is everything.

  Everything.

  He kisses him in the snow, with cold wetness seeping into the fabric covering his knees and Erik laughs into his mouth, Oskar laughs back, and he thinks, perhaps. Perhaps he is happy. Perhaps this is good? More than good.

  Perhaps this is right where he needs to be. Perhaps this is where he belongs. Wherever this man may be, Oskar will be right here, next to him. Because it makes Erik happy. It makes everyone happy. Mostly though, it makes Oskar feel like he is flying.

  Oskar Høiland is happy, and he leans his head back, cranes his neck with his tongue sticking out as he catches a snowflake on his tongue

  He’s happy, and perhaps that’s all that matters.

  “Hi babe, we’re home!!”

  “Do you always have to shout?” Emilia sighs, and defiantly puts her headphones back over her head. She’s smiling though, which is a good sign. Lucas is nowhere to be found and at least Lottie is skipping happily down the hallway, jumping into Erik’s outstretched hands.

  “How’s Uncle Erik’s pretty little princess today?” He singsongs out in that childish voice that makes Oskar roll his eyes just as hard as Emilia. Oskar raises his hand and high-fives her as he wriggles past the kitchen table, trying to reach the coffee maker that probably still houses the remains of this morning’s coffee, but Oskar kind of doesn’t care. Right now, hot, wet and strong will do the trick. And anyway, working at a hospital like the Østfold-Moss, nobody really cares about good coffee. It might be a small hospital, but it’s just as understaffed and hectic as the larger hospitals Oskar encountered during his training
years.

  He’s happy there, running his paediatric nutritional clinics, despite the crap coffee. Mostly he is happy because he and Erik now live permanently in Moss, in the small newbuild apartment they own in Slalåmbakken, near the hospital, but with great access to running tracks and skiing in the winter. Oskar has taken up skiing, and he kind of laughs at himself every time he sets off up the first ridiculous hill towards the main trail along the coast. Laughs at Einar and Leila buying him his first set of skis and the memories of trying to choose his own ski boots. Ridiculous things that he can barely walk in, yet they fit him like a glove once he klicks his skis into place.

  Not that he’ll have time to ski today with a flat full of kids and dinner to prepare and he’s just about survived today’s Paediatric Eating Disorder clinic and his head is kind of mush.

  “Did Uncle Erik’s pretty princess have a good day at school?” Erik’s voice is right in his ear, as Oskar gets a kiss on his cheek and Lottie pats him on the head, her little body perched high on Erik’s shoulders as he effortlessly grabs the coffee pot and rinses it under the tap. “That’s old coffee, babe, let me make a fresh pot.”

  “Doesn’t matter.” Oskar grins, letting another gulp of the lukewarm liquid slide down his throat.

  “How was your day?” Erik asks, stopping to lift Lottie down off his shoulders, opening the fridge door and handing her a yoghurt pot without losing eye contact with Oskar, who laughs softly at the well-coordinated action, Lottie already holding a spoon in her hand.

  They may not be parents, but they are bloody good proxy ones, especially now that Holger is working full time on the North Sea Oil platforms, and Emmy is back on her ridiculous night shifts around her new promotion. They have had Emilia here in the afternoons for months, so she can study in peace and quiet between school and her evening dance classes without the need to travel all the way home, and secretly, Oskar loves the company. She’s fun to have around and the truth is he thinks she craves the company. And the fact that Erik and Oskar feed everyone and send her home with a full belly, followed by another phone call from Elise worrying about her daughter’s frankly weird eating habits.

  They’re not weird. She eats well, and Oskar is trying to get her into running with him, which falls on deaf ears. And anyway, Elise is too tired to cook in the evenings, and Ludwig has moved out and it’s really no trouble cooking for an extra person when they have to feed the other two anyway.

  Glorified babysitters. Erik will mutter, but Oskar knows full well he loves having the kids here just as much as he does himself. They have a family. It might not be their own, but their flat is full of laughter, the guest room a constant state of spare mattresses and sleeping bags and toys and books left behind.

  “Good day,” Oskar says quietly. “Nothing that we couldn’t handle.”

  “We can talk later if you need to vent,” Erik replies, his eyes questioning as he always does. He’s always worried. That hasn’t changed at all. Always checking up on Oskar, that he’s coping. Breathing. Eating. Sleeping. Not having nightmares.

  He laughs and answers, yes. Yes, he had lunch, slept solid last night and has pooped and passed water. He’s fine. He loves his work, and gets to make a difference to people’s lives.

  He’s a Paediatrician specialising in nutritional disorders and it’s exactly where he needs to be in his professional life. He might still be a nerd and a hopeless nutcase, but he loves what he does. He may have a bit of a cold brewing, but it’s nothing he can’t suppress with a cup of coffee and a hug.

  Which of course he gets, a warm hug and hot breath against his neck and lips against skin and Oskar smiles into the head of hair in his face. Places a few kisses of his own into this wonderful man’s neck.

  His man. His Erik. Because he is his. All his. Always and forever. Amen.

  “Are we actually getting fed today, or do I have to make myself a sandwich?” Emilia mutters from the table, the beat of music seeping from her headphones.

  “Bloody spoilt brat you are.” Erik laughs.

  “I made spaghetti yesterday, and anyway, Mum said I was eating here. She’s not back until late tonight anyway. They’re doing these career choices evenings again and she’s pissed off, because she has to hang around and deal with lots of questions.”

  “It’s her job, isn’t it? Answering people’s questions?”

  “Yeah, but there are leaflets, and everything is online, and people just can’t be bothered to look it up and just expect her to stand there and recite the entire coursework catalogue by heart.” Emilia shakes her head and slips her headphones back on, like she’s not even expecting an answer to that.

  “What’s the plan?” Oskar sighs, almost too dramatically, hoping that Erik has an easy way out with a pre-planned easy dinner option that he will just magically slide out of the fridge and heat up in the microwave. Just like that.

  “I got carried away with the new library brochures. They need to match the branding on the website, and the fonts were tricky as hell, so I forgot to defrost the salmon.”

  “We can have that leftover spaghetti?” Oskar tries, getting the answer from the resigned sigh from Erik.

  “You had that for lunch?”

  “It was delicious, Emilia should cook more often. I liked it.”

  “Came out of a packet.” Emilia laughs. “Just buy the pasta bake mix and I will cook it again.”

  “Any ideas for dinner?” Oskar asks. To be honest he’s too tired to think, and if he wasn’t a sensible and frugal junior doctor with a boyfriend whose start-up company wasn’t yet starting up and who still slaved away as an underpaid website designer for Moss Council? He would have said, let’s go out and have dinner. But they are sensible. And he has no doubt that Erik’s company will do brilliantly once he can devote enough time to it instead of working with cheap software and ridiculous deadlines.

  “I can see what you are thinking, and no. It’s fine, babe. I love what I do, and I can manage. It’s fun, despite the fact that I moan about it.”

  “Next year you should take some time off. Get some projects underway.”

  “Next year we should go on holiday and stop you working too much.” Erik taps his finger on Oskar’s nose. Giving him a little wink.

  “When are you going to have a baby?” Lottie says, dumping her yoghurt pot in the sink with a clunk.

  “In the recycling, Lottie, please.” Erik tries to sound stern which just makes Oskar giggle.

  “I’m trying to teach her!” he hisses, whilst Oskar explodes into another fit of inappropriate giggles.

  “You just sound so funny trying to be all stern in that Uncle Erik’s little princess voice you do.”

  “It’s not silly.” Erik sulks, tapping Lottie on the head. “And we are going to have a baby one day, but it might not be a little baby because Uncle Oskar and Uncle Erik might adopt a child, and then it might be an older child. Maybe a kid the same age as you?”

  “You could adopt some hot teenager, so I could have a cool brother to go out and party with at the weekend?” Emilia’s headphones are off again. Then back on before Oskar can even reply.

  “You already have a super-cool brother, so no thanks. I think a toddler would be nice, around three or four years old maybe? We could skip all the nappy years and go straight into the tantrums and then send them to school.” Erik looks at Oskar, like he is expecting Oskar to agree.

  “I want a baby.” Oskar pretend sulks, knowing full well that will buy him another hug and kiss and cuddle from Erik, who lifts Lottie out of the way like she is a stray chair and throws himself into Oskar’s outstretched arms.

  “I’m your baby.” Lottie laughs, clinging to Erik’s leg. “You can pretend I am your baby and I can live with you. But then I need to go home to Mummy and Daddy, because otherwise they miss me.”

  “I know, you will always be my baby,” Erik coos and swaps Oskar’s arms for Lottie, swinging her effortlessly up on his hip as he walks out of the room.

  “Dinner?” O
skar shouts. Knowing full well it’s up to him now.

  “Emi. Help.” He sighs as he plonks himself down on the chair next to her at the table.

  “Pizza?” she says, sliding her phone across the table, already open on the delivery app.

  “Chinese?” he counters, with a sigh.

  “Thai? I like noodles.”

  “Vietnamese. Healthier, and we had spaghetti yesterday.”

  “So, pizza. Change of scenery. We can order a Vegetable Supreme. Lots of broccoli and spinach and stuff. Healthy fibre.” She laughs, her voice dripping with sarcasm. They both know all the vegetables will get picked off and left on the side.

  “Kebab? Extra garlic sauce and I will throw in soft drinks,” Oskar tries.

  “Ugh,” Emi replies, letting her headphones drop onto the table. “I know what you are doing, Uncle Oskar. You are trying to bribe me into cooking. Which can be arranged for a small fee.”

  “I am not getting bribed again, that didn’t end well last time.”

  “Only because you ratted on me to Mum and she was ready to come over here and give you a spanking with her softball bat.”

  “That would have been classed as assault.” Oskar laughs. He loves when Emi gets like this, all excited and her mind spinning with some new crazy scheme, no doubt one that will land him in all sorts of trouble.

  “Ed Sheeran. Tickets. Next summer.”

  “Ed bloody Sheeran. What’s the point? The dude stands there and mimes with a stupid ukulele or something.”

  “I love Ed Sheeran. He’s cool, and he doesn’t mime, he controls his background music with a computer setup. It’s actually very clever.”

  “It’s dull, I mean why are there no musicians, and I mean, isn’t the whole point of seeing a concert, actually seeing a live band? Real musicians playing instruments?”

  “You are so old and backwards. Nobody plays instruments these days, look at Tomorrowland. It’s a music festival, and not a bloody instrument in sight.”

  “It’s a rave festival, Emi, and no, I am not paying for you to go there.”