I was going to break this weather curse so hard, they’d beg me to make it snow.
***
Storm clouds brewed overhead as I stepped into the tea shop. Guests occupied a few of the linen-draped tables, and the sound of clinking china melded with the flow of pleasant conversation.
The tea shop was one of my favorite places. It was a sweet haven from the bustling streets during tourist season. A spot where you could relax with a cup of tea and try some of myfather’s famous quiche. I used to settle in the corner with a book after class, escaping into a fantasy world, preferring fiction over my real life. The happy endings didn't come easy, but they never let you down.
My mother walked by carrying a three-tiered dish of finger sandwiches. She deposited it at one of the tables, then recited the list of delicacies, signaling out her favorite: Smoked salmon with cream cheese. Then she placed a small note card on the table.
“What are those?” I asked as she joined me near the door.
“Announcements for our first tea at the lodge. We’re trying to get the word out. It’s been difficult to drum up interest and we need this partnership with Leo. After everything we went through the last few years with the loan for the tea shop; I never want to experience that again. We almost lost everything.”
“I’m sorry, Mom. I didn’t know. But it can’t be difficult to find people to show up. Everyone in town loves your tea.”
My mother gently patted the nape of her neck where she had twisted her hair in a high bun. She leaned in conspiratorially and whispered, “No one wants to come because of the Graysons.”
Surprise tinged my voice. “You mean the monarchs of Cold Spell? I’m shocked they haven’t changed the town name to Grayson at this point. What do they have to do with it?”
“They’ve fallen from grace. Didn’t you read my last holiday letter? It was all in there.”
I nodded even though I hadnotread the letter. My mother’s version of a holiday letter was at least twelve pages ofhandwritten gossip. Even if you deciphered the penmanship, there was a mix of miscellaneous details—like when Donald, from down the street, started painting his front door to match the seasons—to a detailed recounting of the neighborhood watch.
Spoiler alert: It was Ms. Higgens’ dog who kept stealing the Cold Spell Gazette from my mother’s porch, not a news-obsessed bandit. Case closed.
After that, I skimmed the letters.
But now I wished I hadn’t. There was figurative spilled tea in that letter about Leo’s family, and I’d missed it!
“Refresh my memory?” I asked, as my father poked his head out of the kitchen and signaled for my mother.
“Sorry dear, I have to help your father with the crumb cake. Are you headed downtown?”
“Yeah. I stopped in to see if you guys needed anything.”
“As a matter of fact, we do. Thanksgiving is tomorrow and I haven’t had time to get everything for our meal. I’ll send you the list.” She walked away, then paused, and I hoped for a little taste of the Grayson gossip. “Oh honey, did you see the scarf I left for you by the front door? You should wear it. It was the last thing your great-grandmother knitted for you before she died.”
I wrinkled my nose.Guilt trip much?But she wasn’t finished.
“If you double wrap it and wear your hat, it will hide your hair.”
“Goodbye, Mom,” I mumbled.
I tried to ignore the dig and stepped outside to find the clouds had darkened and snow fell, coating the sidewalk. Peering into the sky, I blinked away the flakes that stuck to my lashes. I wasn’t off to a great start. It didn’t help I now had to brave the grocery store right before the holiday.
But everything was fine.
No, fantastic!
My phone jingled with my mother’s shopping list, and I brushed the giant flakes off the screen to view the items. It would be better to get the stressful errand out of the way first so I could focus on the walking in nature and aromatherapy mashup I had planned. I’d need the calming boost after—I squinted at the list—I tracked down truffle butter.
Where did one even find truffle butter? If it didn’t come in stick form or in one of those plastic tubs, I had no idea.
The snow fell faster, and I inhaled a mindful breath. Then another. It wasn’t as stressful as I’d imagined. The flakes eased up, so I straightened my shoulders and marched back to my parent’s house to grab the reusable shopping bags.
Out of protest, I did not wear my great-grandmother's scarf.
A short time later, I parked the car in one of the only available spots and hiked through the slushy lot toward the market entrance. Shoppers buzzed in and out of the sliding glass doors, loaded with bags and pushing carts brimming with holiday ingredients.
