Chapter 1 #2
The cookie exchange party is famous in our town.
The idea is that you bake a couple dozen cookies to bring, along with your cookie recipe to share, and then everyone lays out their cookies for guests to try.
At the end of the night, you fill your bin with all of your favorites and their recipe cards and ta-da, you’ve got yourself a wide variety of delicious holiday cookies to enjoy at home.
The reality of our cookie parties is that we wind up eating so many while we’re there that we don’t get to bring home nearly as many as you’d think. Most of us leave with stomach aches and a half-filled cookie tin, swearing off sweets.
“Hmm,” I muse. “Maybe this year I’ll bring those cranberry pistachio cookies we had over New Year’s. I’ve been thinking about them all year long.”
“Yes! Those sound perfect, honey.”
The cold, damp Washington air makes me shiver, and I quickly shrug on my winter coat as we continue to Mom’s car.
She pulls out her keys as we approach, and the familiar sight of her maroon sedan warms a spot in my chest I hadn’t realized had gone cold.
It’s been so long since I’ve been home, and the realization of how much I miss this place is making me tear up.
Glad I wore sunglasses, I hastily swipe at the moisture before my mother notices.
I’ll never hear the end of it if she knew I was actually crying over being back.
Even though my parents live almost an hour from the closest airport, the rainy drive home goes by quickly.
My mom and I chat, catching up on the latest news of family and friends, gossiping over celebrity drama, and hashing out our favorite moments of the latest season of Survivor.
Before I know it, we’re pulling up to the house.
The rain has stopped and the late afternoon sun peeks through the clouds; a bit of warmth welcoming me home.
The bare limbs of the tall, swooping trees lining the driveway cast shadows across my parent’s lawn as my mom parks near the garage.
The front door bangs open, and my little brother shoots out of the house before I even have a chance to open my car door. He has me yanked out of the front seat and pulled into a bear hug in seconds, swinging me around as I laugh at his enthusiasm.
I say little brother, but he’s a six-foot-four, twenty-four-year-old man who’s been taller than me since he hit high school.
“Evan! Put me down!” I swing my arms in a weak attempt at a punch, and he relents, placing me back on my feet. I step back to grab my bags out of the trunk of Mom’s car.
“I can’t wait for you to meet Cat. We’re going to Double Shot tonight and you’re coming with us.” Evan grins, his eyes lighting up. His excitement is contagious.
“I can’t wait either!” I smirk at him over my shoulder as I walk through the open front door. “She needs to get the big sis stamp of approval. Not to mention all of my embarrassing little Evan stories.”
I wink at my dad as I drop my luggage to the floor and hop over to give him a hug where he sits at the dining room table, tablet in hand. “Hey, Dad. I missed you.”
“Missed you too, sweetie,” my dad replies in his gruff voice.
He is an older clone of Evan, the two undoubtedly related with their tall frames, wavy dark brown hair, and cleft chins.
My brother’s eyes are my mom’s bright blue, whereas I have my mom’s strawberry-blonde hair and my dad's amber eyes. Thankfully, I also inherited my father’s taller frame, although my five-foot-seven doesn’t come close to the giant men in our family tree.
Still, I’m thankful for my height when I look at my tiny mother, standing barely a few inches over five feet.
She sweeps into the entryway behind us, closing the door on the cold air outside.
“Oh, how wonderful it is to have both of my babies home for Christmas this year!” Her face beams as she claps her hands excitedly. I catch Evan’s eye and smile, glad to be the source of our mother’s happiness.
My phone buzzes in my hoodie pocket, and I pull it out to check the message.
Are you here yet??? Where are you??
It seems Bree is just a teeny bit excited I’m home for the holidays.
Yes, just got in! Meet at Double Shot tn?
See you there
I put my phone back in my hoodie pouch and grab my bags, heading upstairs to my old bedroom.
As I walk in, the difference since my last visit is jarring.
Gone are my pink walls and the posters and polaroids taped to every surface.
Gone are my old dresser and desk, replaced now by a standing wardrobe and a small console table with a TV on top.
The bed itself is the same; I hadn’t taken it with me when I moved to LA.
The walls are now a pretty but muted shade of blue, the curtains in a darker navy to accentuate.
Simple art adorns the walls with a large black and white family portrait as the centerpiece above the television.
I step up to get a better look. This one was taken when we went to Redwood National Park one year.
I was twenty and Evan was still a teenager.
My smile spreads, and I reach a finger out to gently graze over the glass.
It’s been a long time since we did anything like that as a family. A really, really long time.
Taking a deep breath and exhaling slowly, I get to work unpacking my clothing and putting it away in the wardrobe. As I open it, I have the silliest sense of stepping through and into Narnia. If we’d had this as kids, Evan and I would have had a blast playing in here.
Ronin, too.
I’m lost in my thoughts as I unpack, going over a thousand different scenarios of seeing Ronin and causing my stomach to twist itself up in the process. I don’t realize it’s already time for supper until my mother calls me downstairs.
I help myself to a few pieces of my mom’s breaded and fried double-dipped chicken, and a huge scoop of macaroni salad, practically moaning at the smell of all of this home-cooked food.
LA was good for one thing: If not jobs for struggling writers, takeout and delivery food.
Thanksgiving with Bree was probably the last time I ate anything home-cooked that wasn’t ramen or mac and cheese.
The familiar family banter surrounds me, and I smile to myself. I didn’t think I would feel so emotional about it, but being home again feels really good. Something about this trip seems different. Like I’m finally back where I have belonged all along.