Everything felt a little off that December. Thanksgiving had come and gone rather quietly, the few days surrounding it offering only a slight and temporary reprieve from my heavy college workload. With Mama Perez’s café in the middle of renovations, my routine meetups with Nora were haphazardly held on campus instead, lacking the cozy familiarity of our usual hangout. We spent half the time arguing about priority points of study, while the rest went to coordinating when our paths would cross next.

“Next semester, I’m only taking core classes,” I grumbled. “Why did I think I would need an elective on Cryptid Zoology? Spending 40 hours in the Pine Barrens and not even one sighting of the Jersey Devil!”

Not that I had a plan for when I found him. Did I think he was going to pose for pictures or something?

“Without cellphone service, it was torture,” Nora agreed. “You deserved a better grade on the report, all things considered.”

“The professor has no eye for art. My rendition was perfectly proportioned,” I said with a disdainful sniff.

“I kept telling you not to draw it in manga style. It was supposed to be scary, not seductive!”

“It was both,” I muttered, looking out the classroom window. The dreary weather outside mirrored my mood. Despite being mid-afternoon, the sun was nowhere to be found, hidden behind dark gray clouds that clung stubbornly to the tri-state area.

“Cold, blustery rain again…”

“Let’s take the bus home together,” Nora suggested. “No point hanging around here.”

“I can’t,” I mumbled. “I’ve got a group project to work on. We’re meeting in the library in half an hour.”

Nora grimaced as she stood up. “Well, we can coordinate our schedules better next semester, okay?”

After some quick farewells and a snack in the cafeteria, I went to the library conference room to wait for the rest of my group. Five minutes before our allotted meetup time, my phone buzzed repeatedly, the group chat lighting up with weak excuses.

Mary: Sorry! Something came up at the last minute! Can we reschedule?

Blaine: We were supposed to meet today? I don’t have an invite.

Nathan: Slide deck's not ready yet.

I stared at my phone, a dull pain forming behind my eyes. I had long since missed the bus, and the next one wouldn’t come for another hour and a half. Suppressing a groan, I texted back: Just send me what you have.

What I received back was a joke: two elementary articles on general risk management for business and a slide deck with only our presentation title and names.

Wonderful. Our report on "Quantitative Modeling for Strategic Risk Assessment in Emerging Markets" was off to a stellar start.

I let my head hit the conference table with a soft thud that did nothing for my headache.

A presentation due in four days on such a topic? Sure, if we had something resembling a coherent plan, maybe we could pull it off. Instead, I was stuck trying to translate vague buzzwords into something intelligent—alone. However, I did my best with the time I had. After putting in a decent amount of effort, my phone rang.

It was Mother.

“You’re staying late again?” she questioned as soon as I answered, already knowing the answer.

“Yes, I have this group project, and—"

“You were saddled with the bulk of the work,” she noted. “Bring it home, and I’ll help you.”

“But you’re busy with that big acquisition…” I murmured.

“The contract’s in final review. There’s nothing else to do until they sign it.”

“So, it’s in the bag?” I asked, standing up.

“Nothing’s ever set in stone,” she replied over the phone. “But I believe the owner finally realizes he’s headed for more than just bankruptcy if he doesn’t divest his platform. The laws around intellectual property will strangle him. Enough about work. It’s a little early to celebrate the Winter Solstice, but I had time to make something for the occasion. Let's eat in two hours. Don’t be late.”

Stifling a groan, I agreed before hanging up.

Oh no. She had gotten the itch to cook again!

Mother’s cooking was… edible. Perfectly fine, even—if you liked food with no detectable flavor. She was firmly against using spices, dismissing them as unnecessary distractions. Once, I had asked why she didn’t experiment with seasonings like other people did, and she just shrugged and said something cryptic about how spices had been used for centuries to ‘hide more dangerous ingredients.’ Weirded out by her answer, I had silently sworn never to bring it up again.

With a quick scramble, I bagged up my work and headed to the bus stop, not bothering with the umbrella. The cold, sideways rain seemed to cut through everything, so it was unnecessary to fumble with. I would have preferred a white, fluffy snowfall over the dreary drizzle. Still, I tempered my disappointment with the idea that had the precipitation been snow, it would have been the likes of a Nor’easter—something even less fun to travel in. A little while after finding a soggy bus seat, my phone started buzzing again.

Nora: OMG Rae! You have to come over now!

Nora: Mama went crazy for the holidays! Desserts everywhere!

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

Nora: Tres leches.

Nora: Churros.

Nora: Buñuelos.

Nora: Cheesecake!

She had me at tres leches, but there was no way I could ignore the cheesecake. Stifling a tiny tremor of guilt, I quickly calculated that I could stop by her house and spend just 23 minutes helping myself to a dessert sampler. Sure, I’d have to sprint the entire way home, but it would be worth it.

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“Maybe you should slow down a little,” Nora suggested, watching me devour another churro. “You’re going to make yourself sick.”

I shook my head vigorously, moving back to the main event. “Mother’s making dinner or something. I want something tasty in my stomach first as a buffer.”

Sure, the third cheesecake slice was just as generous as the first, but I would prevail. With a swift stab of my fork, I helped myself to a large bite before asking, “What got into Mama Perez anyway?”

Nora shook her head. “Kitchen renovations finished. She had to test it out.”

“It passes! This is so good!”

Frowning, Nora pushed away her slightly nibbled buñuelo. “Maura doesn’t usually go out of her way to make you food…”

I nodded, my mouth too full of cheesecake to respond immediately. “She said something about the Winter Solstice coming up,” I mumbled around another mouthful.

Mama wasn’t a fan of what she called ‘consumerism masquerading as a holiday.’ Our house never got the tinsel treatment: no decorations, tree, or music. Nothing was done to call attention to it or make it stand out. I had been disappointed in the past—hurt, even—but now, I was just sort of numb to it.

Still… would it really be so bad to put up some lights? Anything to distract from winter’s icy grip and the endless gray skies.

Nora was staring at me now, her brows furrowed. “You should go home.”

Would you believe she took the plate of cheesecake away from me?

“I was going to eat—”

“Go home and eat your mother’s cooking,” Nora ordered.

“Hey!” I grabbed back the plate indignantly. “I will, but let me finish that first.”

She ignored me. “She only makes you food when she’s worried about you.”

Wait. Really?

I wanted to deny it and brush it off as Nora being dramatic, but something about how she said it stopped me. Thinking back on past occasions, I realized she was probably right. Mother always had these strange excuses—deflections—like she couldn’t bring herself to talk about the real reason she did anything. However, the addition of food to these non-conversations was probably her perfect distraction. Looking back, every meal she made, every awkwardly prepared dish, had probably been her way of trying to comfort me and show care without having to say the words aloud.

And I’d been blissfully ignorant of it all.

“I gotta go!” I blurted out, standing so fast the chair screeched across the floor. “I’ll see you later!”

Nora just shook her head as I dashed out.

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“Well?” Mother asked, presenting the giant cheesecake with a flourish. “It looks like Carmen’s, but I made it myself.” She paused, clearing her throat. “With her help.”

“You were baking with Mama Perez?” I asked, eyeing the dessert suspiciously.

Hubris, thy full name is cheesecake-induced stomachache.

There was no way I could just take a polite bite or two. Mother had gone above and beyond, carving out time from her usually packed schedule to learn from an actual master.

She'd know about my other dessert dealer if I didn't eat up.

“You’ve been working hard,” Mama said quietly. “So, I thought you deserved a treat.”

“Yes,” I almost moaned. “I suppose this truly is my just desserts…”

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“Explain why you’re here again?” Olethros said with an irritated sigh. “You’re upset you overindulged on decadent food provided by those who care for you?”

“That sounds about right,” I groaned from the cold marble floor. “I deserve this.”

“But do I?” he asked with a plaintive groan. “You keep interrupting my studies with the inanest problems!”

Sluggishly, I rolled onto my side to get a better look at him. He had been looking at a magic tome of magic circles, most of them interconnected by single lines, with more than half of them scribbled out. He bookmarked his place with a sigh and snapped the volume shut as his brows furrowed in fake self-suffering.

“What are you talking about? I haven’t been here in years.”

“Tch. That’s what you think.” He dropped the book on his desk to emphasize his scorn. “You realize humans don’t remember the majority of their dreams?”

I considered sitting up but ultimately decided it was too much effort. “That’s probably for the best, isn’t it?”

He didn’t answer, opting to fold his arms and settle into his chair. “I thought it would be something important, like failing your group project you’ve been so worried about.”

Had I told him about that?

Wait. Of course he’d know about it.

He’s part of me.

“It’s due early next week,” I replied. “I’ll just… work on it this weekend. Mother offered to help, so it should be alright in the end.”

His left eye slowly peeked open. “Aren’t you going to hold the other members accountable?”

“I don’t know how…” I mumbled. “The professor said working in a group is meant to be an adult learning experience.”

In other words, he didn’t want to be a part of the drama he had intentionally unleashed.

“You shouldn’t alter your public presentation,” he murmured. “It would only hurt your academic performance.” An oily smirk formed on his lips. “I recall that you mentioned each person must turn in a final document for review. Give them an incomplete—no, an incorrect version to turn in. If they’re too lazy to work on the project, they’ll be too lazy to review your work. By the time they realize what happened, the course of study will be concluded, and you’ll be free to overindulge on sweets once again.”

“You don’t think it's too… villainous, do you?”

He blinked. “Miss Rachel, would I suggest something truly sinful?”

“Oh yes,” I said without missing a beat. “But I know I’m far from perfect.”

He held up a hand, signaling for my continued consideration. “It would teach them a lesson about shared responsibility.”

“Or at least not to mess with me,” I muttered.

For once, he grinned. “That’s a fine lesson as well. Now then, what else were you… what’s the phrase you used… bitching about?”

I stood up with a jolt. “I didn’t say I was bitching!”

“No, but you used it before to describe your silly tirades. Were you bitching about the lack of festive feeling? No snow?”

I crossed my arms. “Wintertide isn’t Wintertide without snow!”

“Wintertide…” he echoed softly, his eye snapping shut again.

Oops. That was what the story called it.

“Sorry! It just slipped! I haven’t—”

Suddenly, his office completely disappeared, save for the chair he sat in. We were now in a frosty field, blanketed by soft, untouched snow that shimmered faintly under the moonlight. Snowflakes drifted lazily from a partially cloudy night sky, twirling in the breeze before settling silently on the ground.

“Oh! How did you do that?”

“Isn’t this your dream?” he questioned.

“Yes, but—”

“Stranger things have happened in dreams,” he pointed out as he turned away. “Just be sure to keep my desk dry. I’m in the middle of important research.”

I poked at a few snowflakes, still unconvinced the change in scenery was due to my abilities. “What are you researching, anyway?”

“Don’t worry about it,” he murmured. “Let’s just enjoy the snowfall while we can, okay?”

“Alright,” I said with a smile. “Happy… um…”

He didn’t wait for me to supply the proper words for the occasion. “Happy Wintertide, Miss Rachel.” The gentle breeze carried his words in the air as snowflakes continued their slow descent. For a moment, the weight of finals, group projects, and even my overindulgence seemed distant, like someone else's worries entirely.

“Thanks,” I murmured softly before returning the well wishes. The snowfield shimmered around us in response, and everything faded into a soft, comforting white before dreamless slumber overtook me.