Milo - Yule Traditions

“We have a problem.”

Milo was standing in the middle of the room, his eyes wide with that certain ring of apprehension. “Let me guess. You caused it,” I teased.

He threw his hands up in the air, stomping forward. I had been sitting at the kitchen table, looking over a few of the photos we had taken during Hazel’s last dinner party. Most were blurry representations due to Milo’s inability to sit still. Especially white playing games.  

“Probably.” He flung himself down onto the seat next to me, biting at the skin of his thumb as he waited for me to set aside what I was doing and attend to whatever he thought was dire. When I didn’t, he scooted the chair closer.

I didn’t look at him and instead tried to hide my smile. Milo could get manic at times, but he hated just stating what he needed. The entire process was a physical pain for him that had never dulled. “Darlin’,” he finally stated.

“Yes?”

“We. Have. A Problem.”

I shifted a few pictures to the side. “Then. Fix. It.”

“I am terrible at fixing problems!” A few of the photos went scattering at his wild hand gesture, and I gave him a pointed look. Quickly, he jumped up to gather them all again, ending up on his hands and knees as he snatched at the ones that had fallen to the floor. “I need your help,” he told me, crawling around on the ground. “Because, if I don’t have your help, I’m going to mess this up. Badly.”

When he popped up again, he hit his head on the table, hissing in pain. It was then that I decided to put him out of his misery. Sitting back in my chair, I looked at him, still sitting on the ground. The poor guy actually did look distraught.

“Is this a real problem?” I asked him.

“Yes.”

“A legitimate, you cannot take care of it on your own, you truly need help and are not just overreacting kind of problem?”

“Yes.” He tipped his head to the side. “Mostly.”

There it was. A little dent in the plan. “See, the last time you said that, we had run out of milk.”

“And it was a problem.”

“You don’t even drink milk, Milo.”

“Darlin’, please.” This time, he was on his knees, right by me. Hands coming out to rest on my thighs. “It’s real this time. Actually real. Kind of real. I mean, it’s real to me. You don’t necessarily need to help, I guess. But I want you to?”

I narrowed my eyes. Part of me thought I was about to get burned. “Alright, what is it.”

“I forgot about Yule. More specifically, I forgot about solstice.”

I cast my eyes to the side where we had a small little tree. It was strung up with dried oranges and cranberries, a few little pine cones tucked inside the boughs. “Am I missing something?” The entirety of the Night Market had been decorated. The Yule Cat had made its way through the streets. Kristus had put on her annual show of revelry and life threatening antics. Yule was well and truly here and no one had the luxury to forget, even if they wanted. I was exhausted at this point.

Milo, however, shook his head quickly, trying to rid himself of his panicked confusion. The words were all there but whatever he was trying to say sounded wrong in his head. “No. I know we haven’t forgotten about Yule. Going to Hazel’s. Getting presents. All that. I know. I forgot though… I forgot…” He looked… embarrassed. Each word a strain.

That, was more than a problem. It was a hill he was struggling to overcome.

Reaching out, I cupped his cheek, all forms of teasing now gone. “What did you forget?”

He couldn’t quite meet my eyes. “I forgot about Modraniht.”

I frowned. “I’m not familiar with that one.”

He shifted his weight to the side, fingers clenching and unclenching at my sides. “It’s about honoring your ancestors. Specifically your mother.”

I felt my heart ache The boy who had only a handful of memories of a woman he couldn’t even put a face towards. That was who was in front of me now. The only thing Milo had left of his mother was the necklace she had worn once. The one he had given to me.

“I know we said that we weren’t going to do anything today,” he stated quickly. I know that you are tired and supposed to be recouping. And you do not have to–”

I placed a finger to his lips. “What do we do?”

There was a copse of trees that bordered the graveyard and the Outlands. Tall pines grew and at this time of year, snow eternally fell. Milo and I soon found ourselves there, gathering small pine sprigs, digging up mushrooms, and collecting branches of holly. Our noses were red, cheeks crimson, and I was almost positive I couldn’t feel my hands.

A night of remembrance, he had told me. A night to honor the lineage of a family through the maternal line. To acknowledge where we came from. The ones who had nurtured life. It could be done in many ways and I had a suspicion for the ones who celebrated it annually, there were traditions passed down through generations. Milo didn’t have that but he was trying. Ever since his fae heritage came to light and he had another small piece of his mother returned to him, he had been trying to honor her far more than he ever did his father.

When Milo came up to me, he pulled me close, tucking me towards his body to share some of his warmth. The scratchiness of his coat brushed against my chin. I could feel the wetness sinking into my boots and the way the darkness settled around us even further. The wisps were out tonight, flitting among the trees and dotting them with soft blue dew. It set the forest in a ethereal glow. One that was backlit by the small lanterns him and I had set around our hunting area.

The forest was silent. The kind that banished the years sorrows for a single moment. I could hear Milo’s heart beat against my own and felt the heavy gaze of winter looking down on us. The year had been long and mostly dark, but it had been a renewal as well. One that was needed in more ways than one.

“I don’t remember you doing this before,” I whispered to him. I knew we should take our spoils and get back to the indoors where we could light a fire and cook something warm. But for the moment, I couldn’t find it in me to move from the solitude.

“I mostly have done it in secret,” he confessed.  “I remember my mother doing this. Making simmer pots. Creating little idols to hang on our door. After she was gone, I tried to once with my father.” He did not speak of what happened then. Though the pain of it flashed across his eyes with a silent crack. “Then, when I came here, got older, I… forgot.”

Forgot.

It was a word that hurt so much.

“You were just a boy.”

“I was a shitty teen who thought that It was dumb to remember family traditions,” he told me, the irritation he felt flowing through him. “I was young and naive and decided that where I came from didn’t matter. They abandoned me. They never wanted a son. Why remember something so vile? It never did me any good. So I tried to forget. Buried it all down.” I heard him swallow, his words thick with regret. “It’s only been the last few years that I’ve started it again. Mostly on my own.”

“You could have shared this with me,” I told him. “And Hazel would be sure to honor this in whatever way you’d let her.”

“I know,” he said with a small shrug. “I just didn’t know how, if that makes sense. It’s been a secret for so long that it felt silly to put any stock into it.” It was a belief. One of the only ones Milo may have had. I assumed there was a certain amount of awkwardness around being the man who believed in nothing and yet still hold this to be true. “When I do this,” he continued, “it’s like she isn’t forgotten anymore. Like my mom is somewhere, watching me. Dumb, huh?”

“It’s not dumb,” I told him quickly. “You are honoring your ancestors. Dead or alive, you are remembering them. And how else do you live if it isn’t through remembrance?”

He sighed, tucking his cold nose against my neck. Milo still hid from his emotions. Still hid from the things that were tough. But he hid within me now. “I wish I could remember her better,” he whispered.

My hand slid up his back, going to tangle in the locks of his hair.  “You said a simmer pot with all this?” He nodded. “And an idol?”

“Yeah. Like a wreath or a bundle of stuff put together. I don’t really know. It always looked cool, though.”

“Then that’s what we go do,” I told him. Taking his hand in mine, I smiled. Next year, I would be prepared. I would make sure this day was honored. This year, I would do whatever I could to put him at ease and let him know that his traditions mattered.

Picking up the basket, Milo looped it through his free arm. A few of the mushrooms fell out but he left them. Perhaps for the animals that were slowly trying to return to these woods. Perhaps as an offering. We left then, our feet making drifts through the snow as we silently talked all the way home.

And in the trees, something stirred. The wind picked up, dousing the lanterns we had left behind, the crisp smell of apples on the wind, following us home.