Winners Don't Have Bad Days (Watty 2020 Winner, Romance)

15. #Retreat, December 2017

Mike greeted his mother and her husband with a goofy smile from his overstuffed armchair. "Hi Mom, Don. Sorry I'm not getting up. I have a bit of an injury."

In matching skiing suits, white-and-turquoise, the Sutherlands looked vigorous. Fresh-faced even. Tanned, because they held onto the eighties' belief that tan was an outward expression of hale spirit.

A hairdresser improved upon the original red-golden hue of Juliana Sutherland's, néeDanioni, hair. Covering gray was an afterthought, the paint job hinted. The master did not stop there. Mike remembered his mother's hair to be frizzly, and now it was set in heavy coils that couldn't be undone by a day spent in the wind and snow.

His stepfather didn't have to worry about the elements' impact on his coiffure: Don was balder than his shoe soles.

While the happy couple divested the snow-crusted outerwear, Mike gazed from one to another, caught up in the spot the differences game, but whatever he uncovered only convinced him that after a decade of marriage, the Sutherlands completed their transformation from a married couple into fraternal twins.

Once the couple stripped the outer layers and was ready for conversation, Mike set aside his Japan, to Modernity, of which he conquered twenty more pages. He felt none the wiser for it.

"How was heliskiing?"

"It was magnificent," his mother exclaimed, pecking him on the cheek. "The resort staff set up a luncheon for us with a view of the Coastal Range. They made pancakes fresh side-table and served them with local preserves and an assortment of meats and pickles. I don't know if I have an appetite for dinner, but we'll come to keep you company, darling."

Don smiled, apparently unconcerned with his wife not asking if he had worked up an appetite. The implants he flashed at Mike looked so real, they would have made any dentist proud. He shook Mike's hand. It also felt real, his handshake applying just enough pressure to the hand, as he tugged the arm just enough to convey his friendliness.

"Mike."

"Don."

Whenever Mike saw the Sutherlands, he ended up eating a black forest cake.

It sprung into being before his mind's eyes just as Don said his name.

The chocolate shavings, each curling up in its own unique fashion, coated the thick layer of almost too sweet dark icing. Red maraschino cherries nestled in their cream nests; those were for decorative purposes only unless one was courting toothache.

With a suppressed groan, he pulled the black band on his wrist... it snapped some sense back into him. Enough to notice that in his chocolate fantasia he'd missed whatever Don had said to him.

"Ah, yes... yes, of course," he mumbled in response to it with a forced smile.

"Do you remember that little place in Osaka by the castle, dear?" Don turned to Mother.

Ah, so he was asking about my riveting book. Or if I was interested in Japanese history. Anyway, my answer was exactly what he had expected. Yay, me!

"The one with the pretty gate?"

Ah, that narrows it down... But that didn't stop Sutherlands from exchanging vague allusions about that place in Osaka Mike had never visited. Why they invited him to join them for Christmas eluded him.

Mike rolled the band off his wrist and stuffed it into his pocket. The fruity goodness bled from the moist chocolate sponge of his imaginary cake in a red wave, when one prickled it with a knife. It had a sour note, and--