The entire city is covered in a thin layer of snow, the mountains twinkling and perfect in the distance. The layers of clothes I’m wearing under my puffer jacket still don’t feel like enough to save me from the cold, and I find myself rubbing my gloved palms together every couple minutes to keep the heat going. After living here for most of my life, I’ve become more accustomed to the cold weather, but I still get surprised every December when the temperature reaches its lowest and all I want to do is sit inside by the fire with a steaming mug of cocoa and a movie.
But the Christmas markets are too good to miss. Lights hang from the top of every stall and hut, an Alpine lodge and a tall Christmas tree at the heart of it all. There’s music playing from every speaker hidden in the trees, the sound of children laughing and running around with oversized cuddly reindeer toys, and the smell of cinnamon buns and mulled wine invading my senses. It’s flawless.
“It’s more fun to be outside,” Wren says, hooking her arm through Kennedy’s.
That just makes her sulk even more. “Really? Says who?”
“Says literally everyone else,” Wren laughs, gesturing to the swarm of people around the carousel and the toffee apple stands.
“I want to gohome,” Kennedy moans, tugging on my arm, and I just laugh, shaking her off before patting her beanie.
“We will soon. I just need to find this perfume for my mom,” I say, taking another scan of our surroundings for the fragrance stand I visit every year. The markets have been getting bigger over the last two years, new vendors coming in to show off their cool products, and there’s always something for everyone here. The only downside is that the map is too complicated, and I’ve been struggling to find my mom’s favorite perfume.
“From the market? Doesn’t she need high-end, super expensive stuff?” Kennedy asks.
“I mean, yeah, but she won’t really know the difference,” I say, shrugging as we stop at a candle stall.
“Who would’ve thought? Camilla Voss is a performative snob,” Wren giggles, shoving her nose into a Christmas-spiced candle.
“She is full of surprises,” I mumble. We continue down the row of stalls, all of the bags my friends have so graciously offered to carry for me bumping into my sides as we walk. “How have you both got all your Christmas presents already?” I ask, pulling out my phone to double-check the never-ending list.
“Because we shop months in advance like normal people,” Wren says, using one of my bags to hit me on the thigh.
“Yeah,” Kennedy agrees. “Plus, I have two friends, and my family hate me, so it’s not that difficult.”
“Your family don’t hate you, Ken,” I tell her, slinging an arm around her shoulder. She just scoffs, tucking a curl back into her beanie.
“Right. That’s why they haven’t called in six months,” she says, and I wince.
“I love Mia, but she’s being a really shitty sister right now,” Wren says, and I hum in agreement. Mia becameallof our little sister when Kennedy first moved here, and now that she’s gone back to South Carolina, it’s like she took a piece of Kennedy with her. Nothing has been the same since they left, and there’s only so much Wren and I can do to show Kennedy that we’ve got her back. That we can be her chosen family too when her real one fails to show up for her.
“Tell me about it,” Kennedy groans. “I texted her about the new season ofThe Great British Baking Showand she reacted with a thumbs-up emoji.”
I suck in a breath. “I’m sorry, Ken. That’s brutal.”
Kennedy shrugs, not saying anything else.
Wren squeals suddenly, running toward a shoe stall, where she picks up the ugliest pair of clogs I have ever seen. “Do you think Miles would like these?”
“You’re joking, but he would absolutely wear those just to piss you off,” I say, laughing.
Wren shudders at the thought, placing them back. “You’re right. I’m not going to give him the ammunition.”
After walking around the markets for another hour, we decide it’s a good time to take a break from the shopping and get a cup of hot chocolate from the lodge. The area has quietened down as the evening has gone on, so we make our way up to the aerial tram.
It’s been a tradition for years, every Christmas since Wren’s parents took me with them when we were kids. I always look forward to it, and getting to add Kennedy to the tradition is even better. There’s a stunning view of the Wasatch Mountains covered in snow, and the Christmas lights shining over the city from a distance.
It seems like we came at the perfect time since we get an entire car to ourselves. Kennedy is practically bouncing as we make our way into the car, but Wren is a little more apprehensive.
“You okay?” I ask, taking a seat on the bench across from them, taking off my gloves and shoving them into my coat pockets.
Wren nods, but her smile wobbles slightly. “We do this every year, and I still get scared.”
Kennedy’s eyes widen as she looks between the two of us. “Did you guys see that movie where three friends get on a ski lift at a resort, and it stops halfway through, and they freeze to death?”
I press my lips together so I don’t laugh, because Ihaveseen that movie and because of the way Wren’s head snaps toward Kennedy so fast I’m pretty sure she’s going to have whiplash.
“That isnothelping, Kennedy,” Wren whisper-shouts.
