39. Michelle
Chapter 39
Michelle
O ur group grows exponentially in a short amount of time. Sara and Dad arrive back in town shortly after Tracy. Cliff helps carry Sara’s suitcases inside, and the moment they fall onto my bedroom floor, the weight in my stomach plummets like an anvil to my gut.
Sara’s officially moving in to run Bird & Breakfast.
I must have been staring at the suitcases for too long because Sara leaned her head on my shoulder.
“Sweet suitcases, right? I bought them with your graduation money.”
I couldn’t make it out to California for her graduation due to all the business around the inn. But I heard all about it over the phone, and I sent her probably more money than she needed.
“It’s a pretty suitcase set,” I agree.
It’s a nothing conversation, interrupted by Cliff, who yells from the kitchen, “Michelle, you want mustard on your sandwich, right? The entire bottle’s worth?”
I smirk, and Sara laughs with me because he knows I hate mustard. Both of them do.
Is this the life I was missing while married to Allen? Are these the fun conversations I could have had instead of quiet, polite ones with his friends?
Once Dad and Sara settle in—Dad in the only open guest room and Sara sharing the bed with me—I walk her through basic inn tasks through the afternoon and evening. Check-ins, checkouts, daily issues, like the faulty handle on the hall closet or the creaking stair near the attic. Things that feel like second nature that will no longer be part of mine.
It’s hers.
The inn is hers, like it was always meant to be.
Once the sun sets, we gather up our two-house troop and walk to the square.
The Snow and Sips Festival is in full swing when our party arrives. Bing Crosby and The Andrews Sisters croon “Jingle Bells” through speakers. Multicolored lights dip between lampposts with wreaths. Booths pop up every few feet, and their sloping red covers are coated in snow. Forest-green garland is wrapped around the gazebo roof with strings of candy canes and mistletoe dangling over every set of stairs. It smells like peppermint and chocolate and a hint of the smoke coming from the popping bonfire in the middle, where a crowd roasts marshmallows.
Emily runs ahead to find Josh near the nativity scene. Tracy trails behind Brittany as she snaps pictures of plastic reindeer. My dad walks off to find hot chocolate with Sara. Carol spots George and Lisa, stalling them from walking over. I have a feeling that was intentional.
It’s me, Cliff, and Rocket remaining under a mistletoe. The corner of Cliff’s mouth tips into a playful grin. I roll my eyes, sighing as puffs of warm air float in front of our faces. He runs the outside of his gloved pinkie against mine. It’s our little secret.
“How are you feeling?” he asks.
“I was gonna ask you the same thing.”
“I’m jolly. According to ol’ Bing anyway.”
I huff a laugh out my nose, and his grin grows wider.
“How are you really, Michelle?” I open my mouth and close it, managing a smile when he leans in to murmur, “You think so loud.”
“It’s a pretty festival,” I admit. “Copper Run’s best so far.”
His smile falls almost imperceptibly before he pulls the corner of his mouth back up.
“I bet Seattle has some great ones. A big tree or something. An ice-skating rink.”
“It does,” I say.
Rocket looks between us, his tail slowly wagging.
Shelly, you’ve never been ice skating.
I tongue my cheek as Cliff suddenly says, “Can’t wait to see it.”
My head jerks to him. It’s the first time we’ve acknowledged visits instead of calls—something real .
“Yeah?” I say on a breath.
The little crease beside his mouth deepens. “Yeah.”
Brittany jogs over and holds up her yellow disposable camera to Cliff. We jerk our hands away. Tracy, trailing behind Brittany, looks down at where our joined hands were only moments before.
“What’s up, Britt?” Cliff asks.
“I need another camera,” she says, clicking the button uselessly.
He chuckles. “Isn’t this your third one since Halloween?”
“I want another.”
Cliff peers up at the line winding through the park, leading to a golden armchair, where Santa—very obviously Lars in a costume—bounces Luke on his lap. Luke’s arms are stubbornly folded across his chest as he frowns with red cheeks. His mother snaps a photo of his scowl.
“Why don’t you tell Santa?” Cliff suggests to Brittany.
She pouts. “But he’s supposed to get me my other pictures.”
“You haven’t developed the photos yet?” I murmur to Cliff with a laugh.
He side-eyes me with a smirk.
“Well,” he says down to Brittany, “I’ll check with Santa and see if he can handle both things.”
“Promise?” Brittany asks.
“Absolutely.”
“ Promise , promise?”
“Yes, yes,” he says. “Or you can tell him first.” He playfully pats her back. “You want to go get in line?”
“I’ll take her,” Tracy interjects, sidestepping past me with a small bump of her shoulder against mine.
I jerk my head back in response. In any other situation, I’d acknowledge it. But as ours stands, I bite back my response through grinding molars.
It’s taking every ounce of control for me to force a smile for Tracy. I almost said something yesterday when she passed the broccoli dish to Emily, deliberately bypassing me in the process. I don’t like it when someone starts a cold war without my consent. I only start arguments if I plan to end them and win, and she’s gotten an unfair head start.
Brittany tugs Cliff’s hand into her mitten. “Can you come too, Daddy?”
“Oh.” Cliff looks awkwardly from me to Tracy, then back down at Brittany.
She beams up at him, and he returns it.
“Of course.”
He’ll always be weak for his daughters, even if it requires more time with his ex. That’s the kind of dad he is.
I pinch his side. “Go be a good dad.”
Cliff tosses me a playful wave as he stumbles forward, forcefully pulled by a six-year-old, and the tether between us pulls taut with the distance. Tracy follows, exhaling sharply in irritation before peering back at me.
That’s the weirdest thing of all. Tracy doesn’t like Cliff, but she doesn’t like me with him either.
The three of them walk to the line for Santa. Tracy holds out her hand for Brittany, who eagerly takes it, now gripping one hand from each parent. My stomach twists at the sight. It’s so domestic. Brittany doesn’t have three hands, so where would my puzzle piece slip in?
Emily’s pregnancy scare took me by surprise. When Sara was a teen, she was too distracted by acrylic paint and charcoal drawings to care about boys. But even without experience, helping Emily felt natural. As we lay on that bed with her between me and Cliff, solving problems … it felt like we’d been doing it for years.
Dad nudges my shoulder, startling me. He chuckles and holds out a paper cup, steaming with hot chocolate. I smile and take it.
“Thanks. Where’s Sara?”
“She’s on the hunt for pie.”
“Oh.”
It’s the first time Dad and I have been alone since Thanksgiving. He seems happy again. He’s smiling.
“Happy to be back?” I ask.
He shrugs. “Sort of.”
I give him a curious look, and he laughs.
“I love Copper Run,” he corrects. “But the inn? It was your mom’s passion. Not mine.”
I clutch my hot chocolate tighter. The steam rises to my cheeks—or maybe it’s my own heat.
“Let it be Sara’s then,” I say, looking out at the crowd, where Lisa and George each try a bite of funnel cake from the same plate. “Let yourself retire out here. Enjoy the town.”
“Yeah,” Dad says, drawing out the word and squinting at me. “I was thinking about that. What about you?”
I lift an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”
“Have you been thinking about Copper Run?”
I clear my throat. “Not sure I follow.”
“You know, you’re very similar to your mother,” he says. “You have her motivation. Tenacity. Confidence.”
I shake my head. “Sara has all that too.”
“Your sister got her spirit—that’s true. Birdie gave that to her in spades.” He gives me a weak smile. “But you like a good challenge. So did she.”
My heart sinks as I slide my—no, Mom’s—pendant across its chain. As I grip her purse on my shoulder. I finally take a sip from my paper cup, and the hot chocolate stings my tongue.
“I’d be lying if I said you girls were raised by the same mom. She was a different woman with Sara. And it wasn’t your fault. And it wasn’t fair either. But nothing in life is. I’m sorry you got the short end of the stick, Shells. But I’m proud of you. And I know she would be too.”
I tighten my fingers around the paper cup. It dents and pops back out again, sending small drops of hot chocolate over the side, singeing me through my glove.
“I was perfectly fine back then,” I murmur into my sip. “And I’m fine now too.”
“You’ve always said that.” Dad looks around the park. “But this might be the first time I believe you.” He smiles gently. “You fit in here.”
“In Copper Run?” I ask. “No, I … I like the city. I miss Seattle.”
But the words feel so defensive now, like a knee-jerk reaction.
I hesitate for a moment, open my mouth, close it, then take a sip of my hot chocolate. I find myself subconsciously searching the Santa line again, spotting Brittany dangling her feet over Santa’s lap, grinning ear to ear. Cliff stands off to the side with his arms crossed, beaming and talking to Tracy, who gives a wry smile in return.
I’ll miss these events. Maybe I could come here specifically for the holidays. September through December. But what fun events do they host in the spring or summer?
I glance down at Rocket. His tail is no longer wagging, but he takes a step closer, nudging his head against my leg. For once, I can’t decipher what he’s saying.
I find Cliff, like a magnet searching for its opposite pole. And, like Cliff always does, he somehow finds me as well, staring from the Santa line and tossing a wink my way.