Forever Wild(4)

I smile. “Pack enough warm clothes! This big storm rolling in over Christmas is supposed to be bad.” I never paid much attention to the weather. Living in Alaska? I don’t roll out of bed without checking the weather online.

“Bigger than last year?”

I recall the nightmare of being stranded in Anchorage, ready to spend my Christmas holiday with strangers and a vast collection of stuffed wildlife. “As long as it comes after you arrive, I don’t care if we get ten feet.”

“Well, you know your mother. Clothing has never been an issue for us. She made me haul out a third suitcase. Of course, some of that space is reserved for her bridal magazine collection.”

I groan. While I’m anxious to see my mom again, I’m dreading the pressure to set a wedding date. For a woman who spent so much effort warning me against the perils of falling in love with a bush pilot who lives across the continent, she has certainly changed her tune.

“I know. Just try to remember that you’re her only daughter. All she wants is for you to have the day of your dreams, and for her to be able to help you plan it.”

“Yeah. In Toronto.” She’s been relentless, sending website links of possible reception venues and photographers almost daily.

“She has a lot of connections here, being in the floristry. Connections she doesn’t have in Alaska.”

“But having it in Alaska might make more sense for us.”

“Then that is what you tell her, and she’ll accept it.” He adds after a beat, “Eventually.”

I hear Jonah’s booming voice. “I should go. Love you.” I end the call with Simon and rush to jam another log in the dwindling fire.

“… small fortune to heat, but we’re actually using it a lot more in the winter than I thought we would.”

They must be talking about the hot tub—a focal point on the cozy screened-in porch and a place Jonah and I have grown accustomed to enjoying sans bathing suits, something we won’t be doing for the next two weeks.

Dusting my hands off on my jeans, I venture to the entrance, tamping down the nerves that come with meeting your future mother-in-law in person for the first time.

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 Bj?rn.” 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.” Bj?rn’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.” Bj?rn’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 Bj?rn out the door.