The Christmas Olympics

Snow Angels

Today it snowed.

I glowered at the window, huddled in a blanket, feet stuffed into slippers. My hopes that the competitions would be canceled today were dashed when Miles came into the living room, dressed in boots and a heavy coat.

"Are we seriously going out there in that?" I asked.

"'In that'," Miles repeated, mocking me. "You act like it's a blizzard."

I rounded on him, affronted. "It might as well be!"

Miles laughed. "Get dressed or I'm leaving without you."

I climbed into Miles' passenger seat, begrudgingly. Miles assured me the snow would make the competitions more fun, adding an extra layer of competition, but I told him when it snowed, we belonged indoors, cozy under a blanket, nestled by a roaring fire; we were not, I emphasized, meant to be outside.

Miles reached into his back seat and threw one his heavier coasts on my lap. I pulled it over my already ridiculous amount of clothing—I wasn't even sure how I was supposed to properly bend my arms and hoped all of the throwing competitions were behind us.

When we arrived at the town square, covered in soft blanket of white snow, I didn't move from the car.

"There's no way I'm going outside."

"Stop being a baby."

"You know how cold I get!"

"Have fun in the freezing car then."

I lasted about thirty seconds in the car before it got too cold and scrambled after Miles. He was standing by a small table that provided free hot chocolate for all the competitors. He handed me one, like he knew I'd be following, and offered me a smug smile.

"Shut up," I muttered, but gratefully wrapped my gloved hands around the paper cup and pressed it to my cheeks.

The snow crunched behind me.

"I always thought you were scowling because of me, but I think it's just your face," Arden said, appearing at my side. I made a face. Arden laughed. "Just when I thought you couldn't scowl more, somehow you manage to surprise me."

"I am not scowling," I protested.

"You totally were," Miles said.

"Whatever."

"People must like you for your sunny disposition," Arden said. I flipped her off.

Arden flashed me her signature, what I came to realize was specifically a "Morgan Look"—an expression reserved solely for me—in which her right eyebrow pulled up higher on her brow and the left side of her mouth curved up. That look always felt like she knew something I didn't, or perhaps she was teasing me a bit.

"Cold?" she asked.

My nose felt like an icicle on my face and I was sure it was as red as Rudolph's. My body trembled with shivers and it was all I could do to keep my teeth from chattering. "What do you think?"

"You're scowling at the weather?"

"I'll scowl at whomever or whatever I want. Plus, I am not scowling, it's just my face."

"Your face is in a perpetual frown then. I'd warn you your face might get stuck like that but . . ."

"Ha ha, very funny." I hunched my shoulders and vigorously rubbed my arms. Arden leaned against me, warming my left side. "Thanks."

"I charge by the hour."

"I'll write you a check."

"Miles," Arden said, nodding toward me. "Join us."