Here it was. The start of fake Christmas. That’s what I was calling it in my head. How could it be real without my dad here? And even more than that, how could we replace him so quickly with…something else? Something so different? This was all just fake. Bright, flashing lights in a store window; aisles and aisles of cheap toys. A distracting excursion while we all tried to pretend that our family infrastructure hadn’t imploded.
I thought I had made my peace with it, I really did. But this time of year felt so raw. The snow, the lights, the Christmas music, the baking, and the holiday smells had cemented the last moments with my dad deep into my weary soul. He passed away a week after Christmas. Last year, Chloe and I had camped out at the house, knowing his time was nearing the end. Those last few days, hospice had a bed set up for him in the living room. Though the week was one of tears and sadness, I couldn’t deny that it was filled with sweet and beautiful moments as well—the four of us all together for the last time. Mom and Chloe and I would crowd around his bed, playing cards, rehashing memories, and laughing about childhood antics–jokes we’d played, the times Dad had made us laugh, or made us mad, or taught us a lesson. He tried his hardest to stay awake for our visits. Some days, he put in a better fight than others, but oftentimes his eyes would glaze over while we talked around him, looking peaceful, which is exactly how he went. One moment, Chloe was telling us about the time she snuck out of her window late at night to try out her new bike headlights in the dark, and the next, he'd given one last smile and shut his eyes for the last time. His sickness of two years finally coming to an end. And now, it was Christmas again. It was amazing the difference a year could make.
I gave myself another minute of deep breaths before finally opening my door. The crisp air filled my lungs as I hefted my suitcase and duffel bag out of the trunk. I wondered briefly if I should have thrown in a few more books. I had my comfort reads, Jane Eyre and Pride and Prejudice, and of course my Kindle, but was that enough to dilute the senses for what was surely to come? Probably not.
I climbed the sturdy steps onto the porch and gave the door a quick knock. As I had learned from one unfortunate incident, Ben enjoyed walking around in his underwear in the comfort of his own home. So now, I always knocked first, and I always waited to be let in. Ben opened the door this time—fully clothed, thank goodness. He waved me in while making an apologetic gesture toward the phone at his ear. His blonde hair was combed stylishly, and he wore tailor-made jeans with a quarter-zip sweater. Closing the door, he threw me a smile and a chin thrust without skipping a beat in his conversation, then turned and disappeared into another room.
A small living room greeted me. It included a brown couch, a chair, and a coffee table. Just past that, tucked into the corner, was a small kitchenette with a fridge, stove, and microwave and four maple cupboards surrounding it. Two small doors on the opposite side led to a bathroom and the small bedroom Ben had just occupied. Though it was about the size of a hotel room suite, the cabin had the appearance of being newly built while still maintaining a rustic charm.
It felt warm and welcoming, or that could have been the three-year-old blonde terrors who launched themselves into my arms the moment they saw me.
“Aunt Owive!!!”
Laughing, I dropped my luggage and pulled both of them into a bear hug. I relished the feel of their little arms, a death grip around my neck, and only let go to tickle their sides.
“I thought I told you two to stop getting so big.”
“I tawer than sissy,” Ivy stated proudly while Holly began rummaging through my duffel bag.
“You made it!” I glanced up to see my older sister walk out from the bathroom. Standing up, I reached out to greet her with a hug. Though she was four years older, we were at eye level at five foot six. Where my hair was dark brown with auburn highlights like my dad's, hers was light brown like my mom's. We both had Mom’s pert nose and a light sprinkling of freckles across our faces, however. Though still thin, Chloe’s body had rounded and softened the past few years, due in part to becoming a mother, and it looked good on her.
“Yeah, how are you? When did you get here?” I asked, bending over to redirect Holly’s attention to a toy to stop her dragging out all the makeup from my toiletry bag.
“A couple of hours ago.”
“So, I don’t know how we’re all going to sleep.” Chloe motioned toward the small bedroom. “When I heard you’d be in here with us, I figured we’d just put the girls on the floor in our room, but there is literally no room on the sides of the bed. It’s so tiny in there. I’ll have to put the girls on the floor out here in the living room, but that doesn’t give you much privacy.” She pointed at the couch. “I think it does pull out into a bed, though, so that’s something.”
I looked at the brown couch. It was newer and honestly didn’t look too bad. Perhaps technology had found a way to rid the pull-out couch from the uncomfortable bar running across your back? I guess I’d be finding out.
“This looks great. Don’t worry about it,” I assured her.
“Ben asked about renting another cabin for you, but the lady said they were all booked up.”
“Yeah, I did, too.” I smiled at her. “It’s really not a big deal. I’m just sorry I’m intruding on you guys.”
She shot me a look. “Hey. We love having you. I just want you to be comfortable. The twins still don’t sleep great, so I’m worried they’ll have a scream fest and keep you up half the night. You could always sleep in Mom and Russ’s cabin if it’s too much for you.”
Nope.
“I promise, I’m fine,” I said, ignoring her worried look as I moved my bags behind the couch, where they’d hopefully be less of a temptation to two curious three-year-olds. “Are Mom and Russ back from cross-country skiing yet?”
Chloe plopped down on the couch, emptying a tub of magnetic blocks she must have brought with her onto the floor. As if by magic, the sound had the twins racing over and they were distracted with the blocks in no time. “I haven’t seen them yet. We got here after they’d already left.”
I sat down next to her. “Is it weird she’s skiing with him? I’ve never heard of Mom doing anything like that before.”
Chloe shrugged. “Russ has her playing on a club volleyball team with him back home, too.”
I tried to picture my mom playing sports. Or cross-country skiing. Growing up, my family’s wild Friday nights consisted of Monopoly or a movie night.
“I haven’t seen your boyfriend yet.”
I shot her a look. “Huh?”
Chloe gave me a wicked smile. “Glenn Foster.”
“You’re the worst.”
“He might be your boyfriend again after this trip if you don’t start spilling about Miles.”
I’d had two hours alone in a car to prepare, so I was ready for her this time. “Listen. I don’t want to get worked up over the tiny details yet because it’s so new. It will just get in my head.”