Surviving the coldest day of the year

Content warning: Vulgar language, verbal abuse, violence

It's five days left until Christmas and my car didn't start in the morning. The air feels more than crispy, painfully freezing my lungs every time I take a breath. Knee-deep snow has fallen overnight. There's so much of it everywhere, it's hard to believe yesterday evening the streets were clear. It might've as well fallen all at once, tons of snow coming down in one second to shake the ground and cover everything. It was almost a funny thought, thinking about a loud "SPLAT!" noise it would make. Or maybe something more like a "THUD!". 

The whole day sky is white-grey and heavy with more snow to fall. Everyone and everything seemed to be running late as if white powder got into the gears of the machine and froze it almost dead. The bus was late, I was late, delivery was late, my customers were late and tried to rush me as if it was my fault.  

And then my phone rings. Neither late nor early, there was never the right time for it.  

I almost jump in panic, the ringtone tearing through the peace of the room. I must close my eyes for a second, feeling my heart pounding in my chest. Certain cold ran through me, not at all related to all the snow. I look at my phone and see a bomb, knowing it's my mother calling.  

I reject the call. Disarm the bomb.  

And get back to work, trying to stop my hands from shaking.  

She doesn't call again immediately, doesn't send a text either.  

When noon finally rolls around it feels late too, although Natalie arrives punctually as always, not stopped by snow, wind or the end of the world.  

"Hi there!" She greets me all cheery and just starts chatting away while putting on her apron. "So cold today, isn't it? I think it might be the coldest day of the year. The kids were already begging me to go sledging in the morning, had to tell them they have to wait after school. Do you think the snow will stay until Christmas? The vibe just wouldn't be the same without it, don't you think?"  

"Yeah," I respond, starting to count down hours and minutes until the end of my shift. But first I get to hear all about the presents Natalie got her kids and the plans she made for 'the most magical holiday in the whole year'.  

My mother calls again an hour later and half an hour after that. I reject both times barely even looking, having better things to focus on right now.  

"Somebody really wanna talk to you, huh?" Natalie notices the second time.  

"It's just... uh... It's just some spam calls," I lie to her.  

"Then just block those numbers, they'll give up eventually."  

Oh, I wish. I wish I could just block the number. I wish she would just give up eventually. I wish it was that easy. But it's not. It hasn't been for a long time.  

I get a text from my brother, asking me to stop ignoring mom, because she already called him asking if he knew what was happening. I text him back that I'm at work and can't talk to her right now. What does she even wanna talk about so badly? What could be so urgent? I already told her I'm not coming home for Christmas. I had a good excuse; I had to work and most of the staff had already claimed their leave earlier than me. Truth be told, I volunteered to work on Christmas Eve.    

I put my phone on silent and survive the last hours of my shift. Mornings are the worst, but people can be rude at any time of day. It gets almost boring.  

The sun has already set by the time I'm going home. And just as I'm cooking dinner, my mother calls again.  

I stop the reflex to reject the call again and pick up this time.  

"Hey, mom."  

"Well, hello there. Seems you had a busy day, didn't you?"  

"Yeah, it was. Pretty busy. And it's crazy cold today, so much snow fell during the night." I don't know if I was trying to distract her or myself.  

"Well, that's what you get for moving all the way to Minnesota. I still don't know where you got that idea from."  

Mainly the urge to get away from you and your criticism. Apparently with only partial success.  

"Are you sure you're not coming for Christmas?" She asks when I don't answer for a minute. 

"I already told you, I can't. I have to work."  

"But you could still flight on Christmas Eve and make it!"  

"Are you gonna pay for my plane tickets?" I let the irritation show.  

"Why should I? You wanted to move so far away to God knows where. All the relatives are gonna ask about you, and what am I supposed to say?"  

Why would people ask about me? Why does she care? Why is she making this my problem?  

"Just tell them I couldn't make it."  

"But what about your moving? What people might think?"  

I. Don't. Care.  

"And honestly," she continues "If you had to move, did it have to be so far away? What if you need help? I would have to fly for hours just to get there!"  

"I will be fine, mom. I have friends here that can help me if I need it." That's not really true, but I want to rub in her face that I don't need her.  

"Oh, and now you have friends I know nothing about! What if they're dangerous people?"  

And just like that I feel speechless. Many thoughts run through my mind, all of them filled with anger. I stare at the chicken pasta I've been cooking, trying to find words that wouldn't be vulgar or at least cause a full-blown fight.  

I find none. Not on time.  

"Hello? Are you there?"  

"Yeah, I'm here mom. I... think I have to go. My roommate is calling me. Bye."  

I don't wait for her response; I just hit the red button and practically throw the phone away from me. I put the elbows on the kitchen counter and hide my face in my hands.  

"What the fuck," I whisper to myself. Because, honestly, what the fuck.  

I moved to get away from her. From her criticizing every decision I make for myself. I wish I didn't have to. I wish she could just... be normal. Be different than she is. Supportive and kind.  

I moved because I realized I'll never get that from her. But she still finds ways to put me down. I should just cut her out, cut all ties and never talk to her again, but every time I'm close to even blocking her number, tears fill my eyes because she's my mom and no matter how awful she is, I'm trying to love her. Maybe one day the line will crossed and I'll live a life without her. But I'm not ready for that yet.  

I try to eat, although the food barely gets past the lump in my throat. I feel guilty. For moving, for being angry at her, for even thinking about going no contact. I know it's not my fault. And yet I feel guilty.  

The phone calls again and I'm ready to ignore it, but from where I'm sitting at the table I can see it's not my mom this time. Or anyone from the family. I lift myself up from the seat and make my way to the counter where I left the phone.  

"Hey, it's Natalie," she says after I pick up. Like I didn't know. The manager made me save the numbers of all the other staff.  

"Hey, what's up?" I ask after silence long enough to understand she expects me to answer.  

"Listen, I'm really sorry to have to ask you this, but could you come in again and close the café today? I just got a call from school, Mike got really sick, and I have to pick him up, his father can't leave work and no one else can come in, Terry is out of town and all..."  

I don't even realize I clench my jaw until it starts to hurt.  

"Yeah, okay," I agree so she would just stop talking. Not that I have much choice. Of course it has to be me. Me, who always does everything for other people. Me, for whom other people are always more important than myself. Me, who in my whole entire twenty-few years life have done one thing for myself and now I can't sleep out of guilt and shame. Stupid, stupid, stupid me.  

"Oh, thank you honey!" Natalie exclaims. "I'll just wait here for you to get here."  

"Sure, I can be there in half an hour. I'll have to take a bus, my car won't start in this weather."  

"It's most probably the battery. Maybe ask someone for help?"  

"Yeah, sure. I'll try." Last time I tried to ask my neighbors for help I got a lecture about my trash which apparently, I've been throwing out wrong and at the wrong hours. I go straight to the bus stop and arrive back at the café forty-five minutes later.  

"Oh, thank god you're here. I have to go, the school called me three times already. I'm so sorry once again. Good luck!" And with that, Natalie is out the door. And I'm alone for the next three hours.  

It's already dark outside and it started snowing again. It's slow, with customers coming only occasionally and at the same time it goes by pretty quickly. At least I have something to focus on rather than my mother and her words.  

Finally, feeling tiredness settle in my whole body, I turn off most of the lights and start closing. I'm cleaning the coffee machine when the door opens again.  

"Sorry, we're closing already," I say, but when I turn around the only response is a gun in my face.  

"This is a robbery," says the man with the scarf over his face. I notice his dark eyes under furrowed eyebrows. I don't even feel scared. I'm too tired for all of this.  

"No, it's not. Get out." Comes out surprisingly cold, like a demand, but really, I'm begging him. Just get out and don't make my day harder.  

He lowers the gun a little, taken by surprise. None of us says a word for a long moment.  

"What?" He just asks, not sure what to do or say. He didn't expect me to just say 'no'.  

"Can you just get out?" I ask him this time. "I'm just trying to close this place and go home, okay? It's so cold outside I wanna die already, I'm wearing three pairs of socks, and I was still trembling. Who even tries to rob a cafe, anyway? There's a bank just down the street, you know that?" I'm genuinely wondering why he doesn't make a problem somewhere where it might be worth it. The best he would get here is maybe three hundreds dollars. Obviously, banks have cameras, and we don't, but does he really think it makes it worth it? 

"You're not really from here, huh?" He asks, focusing on my complaining part. Or maybe it's my accent that gave me away. Possibly both.  

"Obviously," I bite back.  

"Just get yourself a snowsuit. Or some thermal underwear. You can try Sportsy, they're on Washington Street." He points outside, behind him. "Weren't you here this morning, also? They make you work whole, what," he turns around to see our opening hours on the door, "ten hours?"  

"Twelve, with opening and closing duties. And not really, I had to come in again today."  

"They pay you good at least?" 

I just chuckle at that. He hums in understanding.  

"Seems like we're both broke, huh?" He just hid the gun away. "You know what? This probably isn't worth it anyway. Have a good night."  

"You too," I reply out of habit and for a moment I want to jokingly say 'don't rob anyone!' but stop myself. He probably wouldn't listen to me anyway. 

He walks out the door and as soon as he gets out of my eyesight, I rush from behind the counter to lock it. My hands start to shake just now as I realize what just happened.  

Somebody pointed a gun at me. Threatened me. He could've shot me! 

And I... I just said 'no'. And he left.  

As I leave the cafe for the night, a certain feeling grows in my chest, like roots biting stubbornly into the frozen ground.  

I should probably call the police.  

I got this. Maybe, just maybe, I'm gonna be okay.  

I just can't let anyone shoot me.