1. Welcome Back #2
A scent on the wind carries the smell of Michigan’s Lake Superior, just a short drive away.
While the trees and landscape might look different than when I left, the two-level condo before me remains unchanged.
The exterior is a sleek array of glass and steel, with floor-to-ceiling windows sparkling in the sun.
The wraparound balcony—boasting a fire pit, outdoor seating, and a small hot tub—has been given a fresh coat of dark paint since the end of spring semester, but other than that, it feels mostly the same.
I exhale sharply, knowing I need to pull myself together, and quickly, before my three roommates—who also happen to be my cousins—pull into the drive.
I’m not entirely unhappy to see the place that has become a home for the past four years.
After all, it’s my last year at Delleth.
Part of it is joyful. Bittersweet. It’s like I’ve blinked, and a considerable portion of my life has flashed before me. But I would be lying to myself if I didn’t admit that this campus holds memories I both want to keep and run away from.
It’s a constant battle of emotions.
But I made a promise that regardless of what I’m feeling, I would make the most of my senior year.
That I wouldn’t mope around and stay in as I did last year.
It’s my final chance to see my cousins every day.
My last opportunity to enjoy life before the real world starts, and I find a job working as an athletic trainer.
And now, with the end so near, I wish I hadn’t taken last year for granted.
You were grieving, I think, trying to give myself some grace as an uncomfortable feeling twists my insides.
Thankfully, not even I can fight the happiness I feel when I hear the cut of engines from behind me.
My younger cousins climb out of their cars, each running toward me.
First, of course, is June Vaughn. I have to cover my mouth, knowing if she sees me giggling at her absurd entrance, she’ll get mad.
But you’d think we had a crew filming this, by the way she dramatically flips her long chestnut hair over her shoulder.
She closes the door of her brand new SUV, carefully, because she’d never want to break a nail.
My eyes narrow in; she must have finally convinced her dad she needed that new car.
But, you know, God forbid she be seen in anything from last year. That’d be totally out-of-date. And that mentality isn’t just applied to vehicles; it’s extended to clothes, bags, vacations, and boys.
If June Vaughn wants it, she gets it.
She’s a junior this year, along with our mutual cousin, Reese.
Reese Vaughn is the golden good girl. Not just because of her shimmering locks or her breathtaking beauty.
She’s the full package. Not one flaw about her.
She’s smart, athletic, downright stubborn when she wants to be, quick-witted with jokes, occasionally brazen, an English major, and someone who spends their free time studying at the library. Reese doesn’t even party. Not anymore.
Though, considering what happened, I suppose I can’t blame her.
Where June is all fashion and flash, Reese wears the same worn-down sneakers and oversized sweaters almost every day. Today, though, she’s sporting an oversized Detroit Hockey crewneck. As I said, my family bleeds red.
We pull each other in a tight hug, a tangle of perfume and long hair.
But I’d never complain.
Then, as if on cue, I hear the last of us moan, “Uh, you guys always forget about me!”
And that would be Rory Vaughn, the sassy and bright younger sister of Reese. She’s a sophomore this year, two years younger than me, and only a year younger than Reese and June.
She’s the wild card.
Rory, after all, sees the world in color. Which is probably why she’s always in bright, mismatched clothes and is a talented artist. Growing up in our shadows has made Rory want to shine brighter. Which is why, if she thinks it, she says it.
Sassy sunshine, that is the best way to describe her.
Our fathers are brothers, having shared this exact condo while they attended Delleth.
Our grandparents own a successful ski resort about thirty minutes from here.
Thankfully, their success has given them the means to keep the condo in the family, having since renovated it before I started here as a freshman.
This place is like a second home to us. It’s been a part of all our childhoods, our fathers each taking the time to meet back here once a year, reliving what they like to call the good ol’ days.
I remember how I used to laugh, rolling my eyes at them, but now, with my time here dwindling, I know exactly how they feel.
Some of my best and worst days were weathered under this roof.
Just as I squeeze my arms around them a little tighter, trying to savor the moment, June screeches, “Oh, we are so back, bitches!” It’s loud enough that each of us has to pull from the embrace to plug our ears.
That’s our June. The loudmouth, both literally and figuratively. But that’s one of the many reasons why we love her.
When it’s safe for our eardrums, we look at one another and throw our heads back in laughter. I take a few fast breaths and soak in the sight before we start unloading the cars.
Since I’m the oldest, I call the upstairs bedroom home, which includes an enormous closet and bathroom.
The biggest perk? The quiet it offers.
Which is great for times like this—when June and Rory decide to break the peace by screeching at each other from the main level below me.
“Stop moving my clothes around, Rory!”
The four of us get along well. We practically consider ourselves sisters.
In fact, sometimes we tell people that, rather than confuse them by attempting to explain how we are all first cousins.
There is just one exception: June and Rory bicker like an old married couple.
They act like they can’t stand one another, but really, I think they both just find joy in annoying the other.
It’s been that way since we were children. I complain about it a lot, but really, I know I will miss their constant arguing one day.
My smile fades as I put away the last of the items I brought home for summer break.
Once, I cherished being up here.
But things change—people change.
And this year…I wish I were downstairs with them.
Tears bead in my eyes from thinking that over. I do my best to wipe them away when I hear footsteps thudding up the wooden stairs outside my bedroom. When I look up, I find Reese leaning against the door, her lips quivering.
And damn if I don’t start crying all over again.
“God help me,” she whimpers, wiping at her face. “June and Rory are already fighting. And then that got me thinking…” a tear drops down her cheek. “Who will I run to next year when I want to complain about them?”
We both chuckle, a choked sound through our cries as we sit at my bedside.
I pull her in for a quick sideways hug.
“You’ll be fine,” I mumble, patting her shoulder, knowing my words will do little to comfort her, “You’ll always be able to call me and complain.”
“You’re going to regret saying that.” Reese laughs, her long ponytail swinging behind her as she stands. The redness in her eyes disappears as she hovers near my door. “I’m happy to have you back,” she whispers.
I know she doesn’t mean it literally. Because I was here last year, at least in a physical sense. Mentally, though, I felt worlds away.
Reese’s words of wisdom echo through me. She’s the brilliant one of us, always coming up with these poetic sayings that don’t make sense, but yet do. If you know what I mean.
‘You are allowed to be distant, not to be yourself. You’ll find your way back. It’s like winter here, cold and frozen, but eventually everything defrosts. Then, in the spring, the flowers bloom and grow regardless. The sun is coming. Trust me.’
Reese smiles, as if she, too, can hear her past words echo through my head.
“Hey,” I call as she begins to head down the stairs, likely determined to break up the fight still battling below.
As she turns, her hair sways as she looks back. I wish someone, other than just us cousins, saw Reese’s beauty. Maybe one day someone will. Maybe someday the girl who loves rain will find her sunshine.
“Take it from someone who knows,” I say, tilting my head to study her. “Time here goes too quickly. Live a little this year.” I encourage her.
Reese nods. “This year is going to be different.” Her vow is like a spell, enchanting me as I watch her disappear back downstairs.
I hope her words do, in fact, hold magic.