I do a silent count offourMissisipis. They don’t part. My heart warms and pulses so rapidly it’s as if it’s trying to escape my chest and launch itself towards the two women I love most.
“She needed that hug,” I say quietly, pushing my hip against my dad, who’s about the same height as me.Closer to the ground means easier work,he always says.
“So did your ma. She’s made a fuss for you girls. No complaints, yah? She never did forgive the Paul’s for putting their daughter out.”
I reach for the third of our suitcases, and my father pats my hand. “Let me.”
“It’s Evan’s bag… let me.”
“Ah, gotcha. Chivalry.” His nose twitches and his peppered moustache bounces.
“Exactly.” I bite down my smile, shutting the trunk and following after him.
“Hi, remember me?” I ask, dropping Evan’s suitcase down and attempting to get my mother’s attention with outstretched arms.
“Oh, this is nice! I’ve never gotten to make you jealous without a sibling and all.” She pats Evan’s cheek before wrapping me up in a far-too-tight squeeze. “Missed you, darling.”
My mother is perfectly plump. Therefore, her hugs are like heaven. I reactively shut my eyes tight, expecting a long embrace, but once we relax and sway side-to-side, I open my eyes to see Evan watching us. Her wet, teary eyes filled with affection. Then, they quickly turn to horror.
“Shit! We left Bagel!” She takes off running down the porch steps.
Chapter Twenty
Evan
The Spencer family has more traditions than I can count.
Shortly after we arrived, we put our things upstairs, forced Bagel out of his carrier, and got straight to the Christmas conventions. Which apparently starts with welcome-home gifts on our bed. Matching pyjamas for us both, a Christmas mug each, a bottle of wine, toiletries, and some snacks. Maggie said she was excited to get the chance to buy more presents as we both watched Clara tear into a pack of chocolate snowmen from the doorway.
Seeing Clara in her childhood bedroom that we spent so much time in is beyond surreal. Because what once felt like a forbidden, silent wanting is now so vibrant, bright, and reciprocal. It’smyClara sitting on her old bed, biting a cookie-snowman’s head off. It’smyClara’s mom patting my back and watching her with a matching fondness to my own.
I’ve been informed the first item on today’s agenda is to get a Christmas tree. And honestly, I’m nervous. While I know my mother is a firm believer in getting her tree the day after American Thanksgiving, I’m acutely aware that every time we go into town there’s a chance I will run into one or both of my parents.
And the image of that, the thought of the disdain and disappointment on their faces, creates a dread so thick that it lives in my throat like a wedge.
I play with the food on my plate as conversation happens around me. I’m half listening, half in a fog—my thoughts holding on to the house I grew up in only a twenty-three minute walk from here, considered a neighbour by this town's metric.
“So we will finish up lunch then get going?” Maggie asks, clearing her own dish and walking it over to the sink.
The Spencer home hasn’t changed at all since we were kids. Most of the walls are panelled, vinyl wood. A plate rack around the entire trim of the dining and living room combo serves as a home for many dusty knick-knacks. The same floral, green furniture and one big leather recliner that Daryl fell asleep in often. The kitchen hasn’t been changed since the house was built in the seventies. Old enough that the style is coming back into fashion.
“Sounds good to me. I’ll get the truck warmed up.” Daryl rubs his hands together before propelling himself off his dining chair with a grunt.
“Dad, don’t.” Clara waves for him to sit, mumbling over a mouth full of food.
“What?” He looks down at his daughter at the end of the table.
She gulps down a hefty bite of grilled cheese. “Don’t start the car this early, it’s bad for the environment.”
“And it’s bad formyenvironment if your ma’ gets cold.” He flicks her nose gently, a great big grin on his face, and she swats at him.
“You okay?” Clara asks me, near whispering.
“Yeah.” I force a smile, watching Daryl fix his coat and step outside.
“You sure you want to go?” she asks, her eyes narrowing on me.
“Yeah.”
