It couldn't have been more than fifteen degrees outside, after half a day of sleet and half a day of snow. But Paige found her mother sitting on a cleared patch on the front step, wearing only a sweater and holding a mug of hot tea. "Paige," she said in a voice as warm as half a dozen blankets and freshly baked cookies, scooting over and patting the concrete. Paige sat down. She had pulled on her coat, but her ears and nose and fingertips were still exposed, and in less than a minute they ached and were somehow numb at the same time.
"Mom, it's freezing." Paige was always cold, even when it wasn't really that cold. Her mother, though, never seemed affected. One of Paige's earliest memories was sledding down a hill, bundled up until she was basically a sphere. She remembered her mother watching and laughing, her coat unbuttoned, her head uncovered, her breath steaming in the air like a fairy cloud.
"Yes," her mother agreed, putting her mug in Paige's hands, then wrapping an arm around her waist. "It reminds me of home."