Two
Winter
When my rental car crests the hill of the long drive, the home I grew up in becomes visible.
The large lodge-style cabin is illuminated with bright, colorful Christmas lights.
I can’t say I’m surprised to see the house already decked out at the start of November.
The decor and the lights almost make it look like one of the gingerbread houses my family will decorate together when Christmas gets closer.
My family runs a Christmas tree farm, which might be ironic, given that our last name is Evergreen.
My mother always says that it was fate that my great-grandfather, several times removed, moved to the mountain town of Yule, Colorado, and happened to buy a property that was already operating as a Christmas tree farm.
My father’s family has continued to run the farm through the generations.
After high school, I left our small town and moved to New York City.
My father hopes my brothers will continue the family tradition since I’ve been unwilling to do so.
The tires crunch over the gravel as I get closer to the house, the noise alerting my family to my approach.
Once my car is parked, I throw open the door and collide with my brother Douglas in a tight hug.
“Dougie, you’ve gotten so big since the last time I saw you!
” I exclaim as I hold him at arm’s length, surveying my youngest brother.
It’s been almost a year since my family came to visit me in NYC, and at fifteen, he’s now taller than I am.
Not that it’s a big accomplishment since I’m only five foot two, but it’s still weird seeing that the little stinker is so grown.
When he releases me, I see my other brother Cypress standing nearby.
“Hey, Win,” he says to me.
He doesn’t move to hug me, probably thinking he’s too cool for that now that he’s twenty-one and a college senior. But since there’s no escaping my love, I tackle him at full speed, just as we used to do when we were kids.
An unmanly shriek comes from him when I run into him, and we fall to the snow-covered ground.
“I’ve missed you, Cy!” I tell him as I nuzzle into his shoulder to wipe the cold, wet snow from my face.
“Okay, okay. I missed you, too. Now let me up,” he tells me in exasperation.
With Dougie’s help, I climb off Cypress and hold out my hand to him to pull him to his feet. He extends his hand and grips it tightly. When I start to pull him up, he yanks back and hurls me face-first in the snow before darting off to the house.
“Oh, he’s going to be in so much trouble,” Douglas mutters as he takes in my now snow-covered body.
“You’re so right,” I grit out as I stomp after Cypress.
I have the full intention of getting payback as I enter the house, but before I can locate him, my sweet mother intercepts me.
“Winter! You made it safe.” She gives my body a once-over, taking in my messy appearance. “What happened?”
Dougie answers before I can. “Cypress.” That’s as much of an answer as my mother needs to understand that some sibling shenanigans have taken place.
She passes my suitcase to Douglas to take to my old room. “Go get dry clothes on and I’ll bring up a hot chocolate to warm you up.”
There’s no arguing with my mother, so I follow her instructions and go upstairs to my childhood room. I unzip my suitcase and grab a pair of black leggings and a loose sweater to throw on, since I plan to stay at home this evening.
“Here,” she says, handing me the hot chocolate. “Dinner will be in a few minutes. Don’t dilly-dally.”
“Thanks, Ma. I’ll be down in a minute. I’m just going to blow-dry my hair real quick.” I smile at her over my shoulder as she shuts the door.
Between the comfy clothes and my hair that’s now dry, I feel much better.
Snagging the hot chocolate, I sip it as I head downstairs to join my family.
The drink is topped with whipped cream and crunched-up candy cane.
It’s a special recipe that my family makes to sell at the events we host at the Christmas tree farm.
It’s been a long time since I last had this tasty treat.
As I round the corner to the dining room, I use my tongue to scoop up some of the toppings.
I lick up the cream that got on my chin before looking up.
I expect to see my family gathered around the dining table—which they are—but my childhood nemesis sitting in a chair at the table as well gives me pause.
In my shock, my hand loosens and the mug slips, falling to the floor. Pieces of the ceramic go flying as it shatters.
The noise startles everyone from their conversations. Poor Mom jumps in fright. But I can’t hear anyone’s reactions over the ringing in my ears.
Unexpectedly, he’s the one who acts. He comes over with a few cloth napkins from the table and collects the shards before mopping up the mess.
My eyes narrow as I stare at him. He acts like it’s just any other day. But I’m stuck in a weird stupor. What is he doing here?
From his squatted position, he turns his head to look up at me. With a smirk on his face, he says, “Hello, Winter.”
His voice saying my name jars me from my thoughts, and the only response I can come up with is, “Saint.”