A little joke ficlet - "This Again?" Mikkel established his pattern early in life.
The cows were stirring in the front paddock, crowding along the fence line. Freja Madsen glanced up from washing the dishes to look out the kitchen window, then did a double-take. "Oh, for the love of...," she puffed, and threw the dishcloth into the sink, without regard for the resulting splash of dishwater onto the floor. Wiping her hands on her trousers, she stomped out to the front porch of the farmhouse before carefully composing herself to stand calmly at the top of the stairs.
The two trudging up the carriage way exchanged a look. Freja's carefully neutral expression didn't fool either of them for a moment.
"Well hello, you two," she called out as they advanced, "is harvest over already?" She crossed her arms.
"Hello, mama." Stopping at the bottom of the stairs, Michael smiled up at his mother, who had lost the battle to keep from scowling. He swept the knit cap from his head and gestured expansively toward the cows milling at the fence behind them. "Gosh, it's lovely to see you, and the girls of course. Is that your famous soup I smell?" Arms held out, he came up the stairs to his mother.
Freja snorted at Michael and stepped aside to avoid his embrace. "No, I'm pretty sure that's your own bullshit you smell." She turned to the other young man advancing up the stairs. "Mikkel."
He stopped advancing. "Mama." He met her stare briefly before his eyes flicked away.
Freja opened her mouth, but closed it again and shook her head with an eyeroll. "Come on up, boys," she sighed, waving toward the front door. "I'm sure the others will be back in soon."
She followed them inside as they shucked off their boots in the mud room and laid their duffel bags down next to the huge wooden table where the family gathered for their meals. Once they were seated with a mug of chamomile tea apiece, Freja faced her sons again. For identical twins, they looked very different; Michael with his tousled hair and easy charm, and Mikkel with his stolid calm. Mikkel looked unshaven, or maybe he was growing out some sideburns. She cleared her throat. "This again? And Michael too, this time? It's getting to be a bit of a pattern." Michael fidgeted with his mug and screwed his mouth to one side. Mikkel showed no reaction. Freja began to pace alongside the table as she continued, "you say you can't
stand it, you want to
leave, you go get a job, and come
back here every single time- "
Mikkel interrupted her. "Not every single time." She stopped mid-pace. "I've had five jobs this time."
Michael chimed in, "Six."
"No, five," Mikkel counted on his fingers, "Jens, then the pumpkin farm, then that silo, then-"
"You've been fired from six jobs. I'm counting Ole firing me as one of yours."
"How do you figure that? You weren't even there."
Freja mouthed the word 'fired' as she stared at Mikkel. Michael waved his mug at Mikkel, "Yeah, but he said my face reminded him too much of you."
Mikkel sighed, "It's not my fault every person on this island is an idiot."
Freja snorted. "I see. Good thing you're going to be dealing with cows, then." She turned on her heel and walked back to the sink. "Madsens," she muttered under her breath.
