“Melody, this is unacceptable. Call me back immediately.”
I snap.
“Unacceptable?” I yell to the snowman. “I’ll tell you what’s unacceptable.”
“Calling someone on vacation is unacceptable,” I yell. “Expecting me to work 24/7 is unacceptable,” I yell louder. “Making me feel guilty for taking time off that I EARNED is unacceptable,” I scream.
By the time I finish the snowman’s body, my gloves are soaked through, and my nose is running from the cold, but I feel better. Clearer. The snowman stands proudly, if a bit lopsided, waiting for its head.
I pack a perfect sphere for the head, lifting it carefully above the snow body. Just as I’m about to position it, my foot slips and the snowman’s head goes flying.
I tumble backward, landing hard on my backside in the snow, and to add insult to injury, the rest of the snowman chooses that moment to collapse right on top of me.
I then do the only reasonable thing I can think of—I flop completely into the snow and scream.
“ARRRRGGGHHH!”
The sound echoes across the empty landscape, startling a few birds from a nearby tree. Oxford takes several prudent steps backward.
I lie there, spread-eagle in the snow, letting the cold seep through my coat. It’s oddly comforting, like the world is giving me a very chilly hug.
“You know what, Oxford? I’m done being the obedient, good little omega.”
I sit up, snow clinging to my hair.
“First, we’re going to walk to town. I’m getting scones and asking Bea if she needs more help because I want to, not because I have to. Then we’re going to visit Perfect Pines, and I’m going to spend some time with those delicious-smelling males without feeling guilty about it.”
Oxford makes a soft humming noise.
“What? Don’t judge me.” I push myself to my feet, brushing snow from my pants. “And then we’re coming back here, and I’m building a gingerbread house that will make Architectural Digestion weep with envy.”
I march toward the cabin, Oxford following at a dignified pace. As I reach the steps, I turn to look at the destroyed snowman, the scattered piles of snow that represent my failed attempt at winter cheer.
“I’ll try again tomorrow,” I tell it. That’s the new Melody way. If it falls apart, you build it again, bigger and better.
Oxford makes another one of those humming sounds, this one sounding suspiciously like agreement.
Inside, I change into dry clothes, pulling on my warmest sweater and a pair of thick leggings. I wrap a fresh scarf around my neck, not as nice as the one I gave Oxford, but it’ll do, and grab my purse.
After a quick breakfast, we’re ready to go.
“Ready for an adventure, Oxford?” I ask, holding the door open.
He stares at me for a long moment, then walks to the closet, nudging it with his nose.
“What? What do you want?”
He nudges it again, more insistently.
I open the closet door, bewildered. “I don’t understand what—”
Oxford reaches in with his teeth and delicately extracts the scarf from the hanger. He drops it at my feet, then looks up at me expectantly.
“Oh. You want your scarf.” I laugh, bending to pick it up. “Of course you do. Can’t be seen in public without your accessories, right?”
I arrange the scarf around his neck, making sure it’s not too tight. He holds perfectly still during the process, then gives a little shake when I’m done, as if settling the fabric just so.
“Perfect,” I tell him. “Very dashing. Now we’re ready.”