From a French press that’s being kept warm in a cozy, I pour myself coffee into a spare cup.
“I have Chef Pascal duties.”
“He’s in Chamonix.”
I nod and raise my coffee mug. “Happy New Year, Aksel.”
“Same to you.” His eyes twinkle. “I’ve been told that you and mybabysister”—he stresses the baby part—“are now an official item.”
I burst out laughing. “Item?”
He shrugs. “You’re too old to be a boyfriend.”
“Am I?”
Aksel waves a hand toward Mont Blanc. “Whatever!Fine. You’re boyfriend-girlfriend.”
“That sounds weird.”
“See!”
The snowman’s head suddenly falls off and is kicked around like a soccer ball by Thomas and then Anika.
“Vicious,” I remark.
“You have no idea.”
I look at Aksel earnestly. “You like being a father.” It’s not a question.
“Love it all, man. The wife. The kids. It’s…the best. Ican lose my job. The money. But as long as I have them…it’s all good.”
It’s not hyperbole. He means it.
“I never wanted kids,” I muse aloud. “But….”
“But?” he prompts when I don’t go on.
“I want them”—I pause dramatically—“with yourbabysister.”
“Asshole!”
I laugh. “I want itallwith her.”
Aksel nods. “The bruise is fading.”
“I let you take that shot. Not gonna let you do it again.”
“Thomas, you punched the snowman’s head and crushed it!” Anika cries out. “Let’s make another one, and do it again.”
Aksel sighs. “Bloodthirsty.”
“I want kids. Two. Will I…am I too old for that?”
Aksel groans. “Not again! Seriously, you’ve got to get over this age shit. You’re forty-five, not eighty.”
“I just worry that I’ll be a grandad-dad.”
“Has Ember even said she’ll date your sorry ass?”
