Antes De Diciembre Novels & Stories

By October fifteenth everyone is recovered. By October sixteenth we've pushed the date to the first Saturday in December. "December," Maya says on the phone. "In Montana." "December in Montana," I confirm. "There will be snow." "There will be snow," I agree. "That's either romantic or insane." "I've been told those aren't mutually exclusive." A pause. "Who told you that?" "You did. In 2019. About the time you dated a man who kept ferrets." "The ferrets were a separate issue," Maya says. "Fine. December. I'm ordering a coat."

I said. She drank her tea. I drank my coffee. The Monday morning. The December light. The arrested individuals. The reduced monitoring. The recovered waiting list. The northwest quadrant this afternoon. The Carver Academy Wednesday. December fourteenth twelve days away. The embroidered square on the bedside table. The pocket waiting. All of it. In December. The month of culmination. The correct amount. --- **That Afternoon** The northwest quadrant. Noah with the survey notebook. The extended range. Section three complete.

January had a specific quality that was different from December. December was the end of the year's looking-back — the accounting, the settling of what had been into the record. The journal had accumulated its annual weight, the construction had paused for the holidays, Thomas had taken his two weeks between Christmas and the second Monday, and the house had held the particular quiet of a year completing itself. December asked for nothing except the acknowledgment of what had been. It was comfortable in its demands — not undemanding, exactly, but asking for a kind of attention that came naturally at the end of things.

Evan Wolversen ran through the Packhouse of the Black River Pack. Life was settling down after all the fighting and, of course, his birthday. Now there was a lot of excitement buzzing about as everyone started getting ready for Yule’s first day. He’d been learning all about Yuletide; it’s crazy long celebrations. Who would have thought of Christmas celebrated from December twenty-first to the New Year? It was one party that lasted the whole time. His pup grouping was getting together to finish making yule presents for everyone. It seemed to like a lot of work. But everyone got a present every day of Yule. Little things like cards, ornaments, food, and toys.

He poured a mug full, grabbed a granola bar and headed outside. Cold air hit his lungs; he pulled his coat tighter around his neck. His boots crunched on the frozen ground, and the scent of manure reached his nose. He and Carter had planned the holiday celebration for all the ranch hands. They'd chosen December twenty-second this year, right before the big rush.

Gideon's pov November went in a breeze. And it is now December. December sometimes can be the busiest month of the season. Games upon games and Christmas events, Team meetings and some interviews. I turned off my camera on my laptop, cursing under my breath as the team online meetings kept prolonging. Jaxon and our coach kept repeating the events and games we have this month like it's some mantra. We literally just got back from practice and we are a game tomorrow evening and it is a f**king away game.

"Is Ms. Bernard prepared to participate in this year's Meinaer Race?" Charlotte was taken aback for a moment, surprised that Dangelo actually knew about it. "I haven't made up my mind yet," she replied. "No rush, after all, it only starts in December." "Um." She responded with a sound, lowered her head and glanced at her phone. It was almost ten o'clock. Why didn't Mr. Romero send her a message? Today is Valentine's Day, after all! Isn't it appropriate to say "Happy Valentine's Day"?

Many of the company's projects were halted halfway, incurring severe losses. She told me all this while preparing a pot of soup for me, her expression calm and nonchalant. Still, I knew she was telling me this on purpose. I also blocked my parents. At Christmas, I officially acknowledged Mr. and Mrs. Wentworth as my godparents. The cab driver had been right. There were bound to be many obstacles, disappointments, and moments of despair in life, but good things would always come in time.

Annabelle's POV Two days. That was all we had left before dispatch. Two days before the canvases would leave the Dome and scatter themselves across continents, homes, museums, private collections, and quiet rooms where people would stand alone and feel something they could not name. It was already the last week of January. The kind that reminds you how quickly time moves when you are no longer waiting, but building. January used to be my longest month of the year but this year's January seems to be the shortest.

"Now go home. Don't cause trouble for me here." At seven that evening, I reserved the window seat at the upscale restaurant where we had gone on our first date. I ordered a table full of dishes Victoria had once loved most. Soft violin music filled the restaurant. Outside the window, the city lights and traffic glittered through the night. I sat there quietly, watching the red countdown in midair that only I could see, watching it keep slipping away. [Death countdown: 41 hours, 30 minutes, 12 seconds.] Seconds and minutes passed.