“Are you stirring?” Aunt Mary asked.
“Yes,” I said.
She eyed the boiling caramel. “Stir harder.”
When the caramel began to splatter, Aunt Mary said, “Oh, hon, you’re gonna get that all over your pretty top. Go grab an apron.”
There was a hook full of aprons in the laundry room and I grabbed one that was pink and covered with white flowers. But as soon as Aunt Mary saw me, something in her eyes made me stop.
“What?” I asked, then looked down and saw the name embroidered on the pocket. Daisy. “Oh, I’m sorry. Is this your daughter’s?”
“Yes, it is. But … you wear it,” Aunt Mary said. “She’d want you to wear it.”
When I started pulling my hair up into a ponytail Aunt Mary asked, “Did anyone ever tell you your hair looks nice away from your face?”
I swallowed hard and nodded. “My mom.”
“Do you miss her, sweetie? We can call her, or—”
“No,” I said too quickly. “I mean, that’s okay. The time difference, you know. It can wait.”
The back door slammed open as Emily yelled, “Aunt Mary!”
“Boots!” Aunt Mary said, but Emily was already pulling off her muddy boots and leaving them by the back door.
“Aunt Mary, do you have any potatoes?” she asked.
“Why?” Aunt Mary sounded skeptical, but Emily cut her eyes at me.
“You’ll see.”
* * *
“Surprise!” Emily and Susan yelled in unison when we arrived at Ethan’s house that night.
There was another sign. This one hung in the dining room, announcing Happy Þorláksmessa, Hulda!
“What is all this?” I asked.
“Well, we know it must be hard for you to be away from your family at Christmas,” Aunt Mary said. “The holidays are always hard without your family.”
Maybe I was imagining things, but it felt like the room changed as she said it. For a second, no one could meet anyone else’s gaze.
“So…” Mary went on, “we thought we’d bring a little of Iceland to you!”
“Oh. Yay!” I tried. Only then did I really look around the room.
There were shoes sitting in all the windows. Yes, shoes. Sinister looking Santas lined the center of the table, and a pile of potatoes was arranged on a serving tray like some kind of strangely festive centerpiece.
“Wow. Someone went to a lot of trouble.”
“Well, of course we did, silly. It’s Saint Thorlakur’s Day!” Ethan’s mom said. Then she grew serious. “Am I saying that correctly?”
“Yeah, Hulda,” Ethan said. “Is she saying that correctly?”
“Yes. Very good,” I told her, and Susan beamed. Ethan smiled like he was about to choke on the canary he’d just eaten.
“Sit, sit.” Aunt Mary ushered us all into chairs. “Part of the fun of hosting an exchange student is learning about their home culture. So we thought we’d have you teach us all about Christmas in Iceland!”
“Hulda is an expert on Christmas in Iceland,” Ethan said, moving away before I could kick him under the table.
“We did a little research online,” Susan said. “But we still have so many questions.”
“Yeah,” Emily said. “Like what’s the deal with all the shoes?”
“Yes, Hulda.” Ethan leaned back in his chair. “Tell us all about the shoes!”
“Oh, well…” I started slowly. “The shoes are really fascinating.”
I looked back to the windows, the shoes that sat on every ledge. “We put them in the windows, you see…”
“Oh, we do see.” Ethan nodded. “But why, Hulda? Why are the shoes in the windows?”
“Um … well … that’s because in olden times … people would forget their shoes and … people left extra shoes in windows and that way travelers could find shoes when they needed them. Because Iceland is a hard place to live without … you know … shoes. Land of Ice,” I added seriously.
“I thought Greenland was the one covered by ice,” Clint said.
“That too,” I said.
“Why does Santa look so scary?” One of the twins was eyeing the little red-clad man who sat right in front of her, staring at her like he might be an axe murderer.
“That’s a great question,” Ethan said. “Tell us, Hulda, why does Santa look so scary?”
“That’s not Santa,” Emily said. “He’s one of the Yule Lads.”
“Yule Lads!” I blurted, as if I’d come up with the answer all on my own. “That’s who that is. I guess they’re kind of like our Santa?”
“How many are there?” Clint asked.
“Nine,” I said, but Emily was already crinkling her brow.
“I thought there were twelve?” she asked.
“Well, maybe it varies in different parts of the country,” Ethan said. “Right, Hulda?”
“Right!” I agreed. “Some places there are twelve, but where I live there are nine because … the other three died because they forgot their shoes.”
Everyone at the table nodded as if that made perfect sense.
“Isn’t that exciting? We have our own traditions, you know,” Aunt Mary said. “Nothing fancy, but you can’t live in a community called Bethlehem and not have a few Christmas traditions.” She laughed. “We all meet at the church on Christmas Eve. There’s a live nativity.”
“That means real goats, and lots of small children dressed like wise men,” Ethan clarified as his aunt talked on.
“And we sing carols and read the Christmas story. And everyone gets a sack of candy.”
“That sounds nice,” I said. But something about it made me feel sick. Like I was going to contaminate them all with my presence. With my lies.
“I…” I pushed away from the table. I had to get out of there. I had to get away. “I have a headache. I’m so sorry. I just…”
“Ethan,” Clint said, “take her home.”
* * *
Outside, the cold air burned my lungs. The sky was so clear and bright—too bright for three hours after sundown. No matter how long I stayed there, I would never get used to seeing so many stars.
“You okay?” Ethan asked, but I couldn’t breathe, much less speak.