Chapter 23 – Analyse #2
The music swells as a new song begins, and Maya shouts, “This one’s my favorite!” before launching into another round of chaotic twirling. She nearly slips on a patch of ice but catches herself with a laugh, then pretends to bow dramatically like a ballerina at the end of a show.
“Encore!” Mateo calls, clapping above his head.
She beams and launches into a shaky curtsy before taking a sip of her cocoa that results in whipped cream sticking to her nose.
“I can’t handle how cute she is,” I say with a laugh.
“She gets it from you,” he replies, kissing my temple again.
After the music winds down and the band starts to pack up, Maya bounds over and grabs both our hands. “Can we make a snowman now? A big one? Like…huge. Gigantic. The biggest in the whole town!”
Mateo grins. “Only if we can give him a backstory.”
Maya gasps. “Yes! Yes! He needs a name. A life. A job!”
“He’s a CEO of sled technology,” I chime in. “Very busy. Very important.”
Maya’s eyes go wide. “His name is…Mr. Sledsworth,”
“Sir Mr. Sledsworth,” Mateo says solemnly. “Of the North Pole division.”
With our mission set, we move to a wide patch of open snow and get to work. Maya directs us, pointing to where the base should go and demanding, “More snow, more snow!”
Mateo rolls the first ball until it’s almost as tall as Maya herself, grunting dramatically like it weighs a thousand pounds. “I may not survive this snow boulder,” he groans.
I help her roll the middle section while Mateo adds extra snow to the base for the “maximum snow stability.” When the middle is stacked and secure, he lifts the smaller top piece on with exaggerated effort.
“Sir Mr. Sledsworth has arrived,” Maya declares, standing with her hands on her hips.
We gather sticks for arms—long, crooked branches with little twigs on the ends that Mateo arranges in dramatic jazz hands.
“For flair,” he says, stepping back to admire his work.
“He’s fabulous,” I say.
We use smooth black pebbles for eyes and a crooked little carrot for a nose. Maya takes off one of her scarves and wraps it around the snowman’s neck.
Mateo brushes snow off Mr. Sledworth’s “shoulders” then bows low. “Your Snowjesty,” he says in a deep, exaggerated voice, “we are honored by your presence.”
Maya curtsies beside him. “May your snow never melt!”
I join in, offering the most dramatic bow I can manage without falling face-first into the snow. “Long live Mr. Sledsworth.”
Just as we start to pack up—mittens soaked, cheeks flushed, and thermos lids twisting shut—a snowball comes sailing through the crisp winter air and hits Mateo square in the back. He freezes mid-motion, standing straight. Slowly, he turns around.
Maya is standing a few feet away, one mittened hand suspiciously behind her back, the other raised in mock innocence. “It wasn’t me.” she says, trying and failing to suppress her grin.
Mateo narrows his eyes. “Oh,” he says in a deep ominous voice, “it’s on.”
And just like that, all hell breaks loose.
Maya yelps and takes off running, boots crunching through the snow, her high-pitched laughter echoing through the trees. Mateo scoops up a handful of snow and begins packing it like he’s preparing for war.
“I need backup!” he yells, ducking behind a park bench like a soldier in a dramatic war film. “We’re under attack! Commander Chula, are you with me?!”
I laugh so hard I nearly drop the thermos. “I’m a civilian!” I call out, hands raised. “Leave me out of this!”
“Too late!” Mateo shouts. “She’s compromised. We can’t leave witnesses!”
Before I can even run, a snowball hits me square in the shoulder. “Hey!” I shriek, spinning around with wide eyes. “You hit me!”
Maya’s peal of laughter rings out from behind a tree. “It was Mateo!” she squeals.
Mateo gasps, scandalized. “Maya! You sold me out!”
I scramble behind a low stone wall, clutching a handful of snow. “I’m choosing violence,” I say under my breath. “You two are going down.”
The snowball fight that erupts could be written into the town’s history books.
Maya is agile and quick, darting behind trees and pelting us from every angle.
Mateo hams it up to the extreme, ducking dramatically and yelling things like, “Incoming!” and, “Cover me!” as he belly flops into the snow.
At one point, he grabs a sled and uses it as a makeshift shield, crawling behind it like he’s storming the front lines.
I try to stay out of it, I really do, but Maya’s too good at sneak attacks. She pops up behind me and drops a snowball right down the back of my jacket. I shriek like a banshee.
“That’s it!” I cry, charging after her with two hastily made snowballs in hand.
She screams and sprints toward Mateo. “Save me!”
He scoops her up mid-run, spinning her into the air like she weighs nothing. “Retreat! Retreat!” he yells, while she shrieks with delight, clinging to his neck.
I take my shot and nail him in the chest.
He stumbles backward, grinning like a fool. “Commander Chula has turned on us!” he bellows.
“Commander Chula is sick of being cold and wet!”
“You’ll pay for your treason!”
“I’m not scared of you.” I laugh, crouching low and throwing another snowball that goes wide.
He pretends to collapse into the snow, Maya toppling with him in a dramatic heap. “You got me,” he groans. “Tell my story.”
“Nooooo!” Maya cries, crawling over his chest like she’s straight out of a telenovela. “Don’t die on me!”
We’re all laughing too hard to breathe. My stomach hurts. My face aches. My gloves are soaked through and I’m pretty sure there’s snow down my pants, but I don’t care. The joy in this moment is blinding.
Mateo suddenly lunges up and tackles Maya gently into the snow, both of them giggling uncontrollably. She flops back, arms wide, making a snow angel around her own laughter. Mateo collapses beside her, out of breath, his dark curls dusted in white.
I drop down beside them, breathless and red cheeked, my hair stuck to the inside of my scarf. All three of us lie there in the snow, staring up at the sky as soft flakes begin to fall again, slow and lazy like confetti at the end of a party.
Maya wiggles closer to me, pulling one of my arms around her, then reaches for Mateo’s hand on her other side. He threads his fingers through hers without a word.
“I think I won,” Maya says after a moment.
“In your dreams,” Mateo teases.
“I definitely won,” she says with authority, a smug little grin tugging at her lips.
“You didn’t even let me keep score,” I argue. “There was no official referee.”
“There was no need,” Maya says matter-of-factly. “You were both clearly losing.”
We laugh again. The sun is starting to dip behind the trees, painting the sky in pale hues of lavender and gold. I can feel the wetness of the snow seeping through my jeans, but I still don’t want to move.
Mateo shifts onto his side, propping his head up with one hand as he watches us. “This might’ve been the best day I’ve had in years,” he says.
I meet his gaze. “Same.”
Mateo kisses Maya’s cheek, then mine. “Let’s go get cocoa,” he says, brushing snow from his sleeves.
She lifts her arms up dramatically. “I accept your offer!”
Mateo scoops her into his arms like she’s a tiny queen and spins her around again. Her laughter floats into the sky. I follow behind them, framed by the last light of the day, snowflakes catching in their hair, joy trailing behind them like a ribbon.
The sight of them makes my heart feel so full it might burst.
Back home, we peel off wet layers and dump gloves by the heater to dry. Mateo starts a fire in the living room while I warm up cider on the stove.
Maya settles on the couch with a blanket and the marshmallow heavy mug I hand her. “This was the best day ever.”
“You say that every snow day,” I tease.
“Because they keep getting better.”
Mateo comes over and sits beside me, arm wrapping around my shoulders. “We should make this a tradition. First snowstorm of the year, snow chaos and cocoa.”
I lean into him. “Deal.”
Maya yawns, fighting sleep, but it wins. She drifts off halfway through a movie, curled between us.
Mateo pulls the blanket higher over her shoulders. “She’s out.”
“Hard day ruling a snowy kingdom.”
He smiles. “She’s something else.”
“She’s everything.” I glance up at him. “So are you.”
His eyes meet mine, and there’s something so tender in them it makes my throat tighten.
“I think this,” he says softly, nodding at the fire, the sleeping child, the warm house, “is the happiest I’ve ever been.”
I reach for his hand, intertwining our fingers. “Me too.”
Outside, snow still falls softly, blanketing the world in peace. But in here, with him, with her, I’ve never felt more at home.