Snowed in for Christmas

Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Benjamin

THE STORM BLOWS IN THAT evening. I stand at the large glass doors at the back of the house, watching as sheets of flurries obscure the hills outside the window. When I arrived this afternoon, I could see to the ski slopes. Now, I can hardly make out the end of the yard through the swirl of flakes the sky dumps on us.

“This looks really bad,” I say.

“Relax, Benjamin,” my father says on the other end of the phone. “It’s going to be fine.”

“Is it snowing in Denver? How heavy is it? Is the pass still open?”

“Slow down,” Dad says. “We’re keeping an eye on it. It’s not bad over here.”

“Well, it’s bad here and you were supposed to have left home by now.”

“We got a little delayed.”

A little delayed. It’s two hours past when Dad and Charlotte should have been on the road. Now, they can’t leave. Neither of them own a vehicle that can plow through the blizzard inundating the pass.

Which is exactly what I warned them would happen.

“Benjamin, calm down,” Dad says. “We’re playing it safe because it’s dark out, but we’ll check things out in the morning and head over as soon as we can. It’ll be fine in the morning. You said you got groceries, right?”

“Yeah, but…”

But Jett definitely didn’t. The only food we have is what I supplied. I’m sure Jett didn’t prepare at all for this trip, simply waltzed in and counted on things working out for him. That’s how he lives his entire life. He skates by counting on the universe clicking into place for him, not a care in the world, not a thought for anyone around him. I’ve watched his reckless actions interfere with other students’ attempts to study. A party on a Tuesday night is no issue if you don’t give a damn about waking up the rest of the dorm.

Thoughtless, inconsiderate idiot.

And now I’m stuck with him for the night.

I don’t realize I sigh into the phone until Dad speaks again.

“Listen, turn up the heat, put on a movie and we’ll see you tomorrow,” Dad says. “We’ll head over first thing in the morning, I promise.”

“I don’t even want to be here,” I say. “What if we’re stuck? What if the pass closes?”

“There will be a way around. If we have to go through a different pass, we’ll do it, even if it takes hours longer. It’s going to be okay.”

I hear an agitated voice behind my father, perhaps Charlotte. She sounds even less happy than I do.

“I know,” Dad says, voice tight. He must be speaking to Charlotte but … it doesn’t sound very happy. Whatever. Not my problem. I have a blizzard to survive.

“Fine,” I sigh into the phone.

I don’t actually believe things are fine, but I let myself buy it for moment. I wish my dad goodnight and get off the phone.

Outside, white blankets the yard. It lines the evergreens, weighing down their branches. Even if the storm is worse here, if it’s hitting Loveland Pass at all, I seriously doubt Dad is getting through. And I’m not counting on the other passes faring much better. They’ll shut down the roads if the snow makes them unsafe, and with nearly a foot of the shit dropping already, those winding mountain passes are certainly going to be unsafe.

I stuff my phone in my pocket and turn away from the glass doors and windows. Putting the snow to my back does little to ease my worries, however. I drag myself to the kitchen and flick on the light, but even as I pull ingredients out of the refrigerator, my mind is calculating how much snow is likely to fall and how long it could block up the passes. A day? A week? Longer? I shudder to imagine myself stuck here with Jett for days or weeks. Surely it won’t come to that.

Please, God, don’t let it come to that.

The convenience store I pilfered this afternoon didn’t have a great selection, so I end up laying out a packet of instant noodles and whatever vegetables seem remotely edible. There is a bell pepper without too many blemishes and an onion that seems safe. They aren’t much, but they’ll add something to the pre-packaged noodles and flavor packet, at least.

I’m boiling water when footsteps creak down the stairs. My shoulders go stiff, but I don’t turn away from the stove, staring into the bubbling pot instead of turning to regard Jett. A stool scrapes the linoleum as he pulls it out and apparently seats himself at the kitchen island.

“Making dinner? How sweet,” he says.

“It isn’t for you,” I drawl.

“Oh, come on, don’t be a dick. What else am I going to eat?”

“Whatever you brought with you to eat.”

Jett scoffs. “As much as I’d love for whiskey to be a viable meal, sadly it is not.”

I whip around at last. “You brought booze but not food?”

Jett shrugs. “Yeah? So?”

“So what possible use is booze if you have nothing to eat?”

“Um, okay, first of all, I didn’t think I’d be stuck here with you . Second, I figured Mom would bring food or we’d go out or something.”

I groan and rub my forehead. Did not a single person but me even glance at the weather reports before driving into the fucking mountains ?

“So long story short, I have nothing to eat,” Jett says. “Unless my dear future step-brother cuts me in on … whatever that is.”

He waves vaguely at the stove. I turn back toward it, but the water is still heating up, so all I can do is stare down at the bubbles forming in the bottom of the pot.

“We are not step-brothers and may never be,” I grumble. “Our parents are just dating. There’s no relation. At all.” Even I know it’s a pedantic complaint, but I’ll take whatever distance I can get from this man.

“Details,” Jett says. “We both know it’s a done deal.”

I can’t disagree, and that is what hurts the most. Despite everything, Dad is probably going to marry Charlotte eventually and bind my life to Jett’s. The only silver lining is that I probably have time to graduate before he proposes, and that means I can move to a different state, a different country perhaps, and start my own life far, far away from Jett, whatever our familial relation eventually becomes.

Distracted by my thoughts, I must have missed Jett standing up. Suddenly, his arm is around my shoulders. I flinch from the touch, then flinch even harder from how close his voice is to my ear when he speaks.

“Come on, Benny,” he whines. “Share your noodles or whatever this is. I’ll pay you back. Probably.”

I should have a retort, but my brain is whirling from his proximity. He’s never touched me before, not for any reason, and suddenly he’s so close his chest is pressing against my arm. And it’s solid … far more solid than I might have guessed. Was he telling the truth about his bulk coming from more than Cheetos? Wait, no, who cares? That doesn’t matter. All that matters is that this annoying mooch is going to steal my dinner, a dinner I both paid for and prepared.

I go to shove him off, but he holds fast. Again, I meet with the surprising revelation of his solidity, and my brain jumps to the obvious conclusion without my bidding. The kitchen turns stifling, and I dare not look at anything but the pot before me.

“Fine,” I grit out.

“Wait, really?” he says.

“Yes. Fine. Whatever. Just get off me.”

This time, I manage to move him when I set my hands on his (ridiculously firm) chest and push. He stumbles away a couple steps, giving me space to breathe, a function I am performing with far too much vigor. I turn away, stomping to the cupboard and retrieving a second packet of instant noodles. At least they’re plentiful, so cooking two instead of one won’t deplete our stores in any significant way if we’re stuck here.

A shiver runs up my spine at the thought that this could be the first night of many that play out this way. I try to push the thought aside as I return to the stove.

“Instant noodles?” Jett says, leaning over my shoulder to view the packet. He gets far too close to me to read the packaging.

“Do you have a problem with that?” I say through gritted teeth.

“Only that it sort of sucks. This is really all you’ve got?”

At last, a comforting swell of rage washes away whatever suffused my brain when I touched his chest.

“You’re really going to complain about food that I bought and that I’m preparing? Food you aren’t entitled to, by the way?” I snap.

Jett rolls his eyes and strolls away. “Whatever. I’m ordering a pizza.”

I let out a breath. Great. One more package of instant noodles added back to the emergency supplies. Except mere minutes later, Jett issues a wail of despair and comes running back into the kitchen.

“They’re all closed,” he says.

“What are you on about now?”

“Every single restaurant in town,” Jett says. “They’re all closed. What the hell?”

I wave at the large doors and windows in the living room. “Yes, well, that should not come as a surprise.”

“Can’t they plow the streets or something?”

“Not the moment the snow starts falling. I imagine everyone here saw the storm coming and closed up early so they could get home before the roads turned bad.”

The fact that the locals shut things down well before the snow even accumulated twists my stomach into knots. It’s a bad portent that the people living and working here didn’t bother waiting until morning to close the town. This is definitely going to get worse.

“So … about those instant noodles,” Jett says.

I sigh, resigned. “Yes, fine, just stop bothering me while I cook.”

Jett skips up to me, swiftly pecking me on the cheek before I have time to react. I’m still blinking and recovering from my shock as he bounds off into the living room. “You’re the best, future step-bro,” he calls over his shoulder as he goes.

I remain motionless at the stove, watching the water boil, feeling the heat lingering on my cheek from where his lips touched me. This night produced way more physical contact with Jett than I’ve ever experienced before, and it’s sending me into a tailspin. Maybe if I was more … practiced it wouldn’t be so confusing. Yeah, that must be it. Between being a virgin and stressing out over the snowstorm, I’m in no fit state to deal with a sudden deluge of physicality. In the end, though, it’s just Jett being Jett. He doesn’t mean any of it. His proclivities are no secret on campus. Girls, guys, everyone ends up in that dorm room of his, sometimes multiple at a time, and the sounds that echo down the halls leave little doubt about what’s happening.

My face heats at the memory. The water begins to boil, and I dump in the noodles, trying to concern myself with stirring and not with whatever Jett gets up to in his dorm room. It shouldn’t be my problem if people agree to sleep with the most annoying person I’ve ever met. He’s probably just as selfish in bed as he is in every other aspect of his life.

In fact, he is, at this very moment, blasting something loud and annoying on the television, something that grates on my nerves as I spend my time and my money making sure we don’t starve during this damn snowstorm. If only any of them had listened to me, maybe I wouldn’t be stuck in a cabin with Jett. Maybe my Christmas holiday wouldn’t be such a disastrous nightmare.

I glance out the back windows as the noodles cook and watch the snow fall like a thick, white blanket. It already sits piled up against the glass, but perhaps it’ll stop soon. Perhaps by morning things won’t look so bleak. Perhaps I’m not trapped here like I fear…