Suddenly, I’m back there. In the town I grew up in. “The smell of maple that permeated everything. Jumping into the lake after bonfires, washing off s’mores that we’d smeared over our hands and mouths. And leaf piles.” I start to laugh uncontrollably. “Stupid leaf piles. My dad would rake up leaves into a near tower, and Erica and I would launch ourselves into them. Dad would pretend that he couldn’t find us.” I hop up and take another drag from the delicious joint.
“Our house had this ridiculously outdated kitchen, but my grandmother used to come over on Sundays and make these elaborate brunches. There were”—I hiccup—“so many people there. And then she died, and those stopped. But fluffy pancakes and stuffed toast for the win, right?”
Marlena pushes herself off the couch to follow me to the kitchen, where I pour myself a gin and tonic.
“And snowmen!” I exclaim. “I used to make snowmen. Some boy who lived nearby was always nuts about the first snow because it meant that it was snowman time. He had this cute wooden box with a wintery scene painted on top. Hinges on the back. And inside was this sort of snowman-decorating kit. Buttons, felt and knitted hats and ties, stuffed cloth carrots…”
“Well, that’s insanely adorable,” Marlena says emphatically. “Snowmen erected by hot men neighbors?” Giggling takes over. “And I saiderectedandhot menin the same sentence!” Alcohol and weed become her.
“I didn’t say he was hot! He was a kid! Although he wasn’t an unattractive kid,” I admit. My reminiscing continues as I start to pace the floor. “And wait. I remember now. Besides that box, he also had a whole bag full of snowman decorations. He used to gather up a buncha kids every time it snowed, and we’d roll snowballs on other people’s lawns. He had accessories for snowmen and girl snowmen. Snow girls?”Wait. I am about to choke on my drink. “Oh my God! He had…how did he come up with this idea? He had little hats for the girl snow people. What are they called?”
“The girl snow people?”
“No, the little hats!”
“He didn’t just call them little hats?” Marlena pours herself a shot.
“What? No! Royal hats. Little royal hats,” I say.
We are both quiet in our fuzzy thoughts, but after a long silence, she screams out, “Enchanting mini hats! No, that’s not right. Fascinating tiny berets! Fascinatings! No, no, wait! I know this.” Her focused determination is admirable, given her state. “Fascinators! Fascinators!”
I jump up and down. “Yes! Ha-ha! Yes! Fascinators! We built snow lady girls and gave them fascinators!”
“Again, adorable.”
“And he would mix and match.” I sigh as my childhood seeps back into my soul. “He would mix and match the male and female accessories. ’Cause he knew it didn’t matter—”
“Who wore what,” she finishes my sentence. “Shit. He was a damn awesome kid, huh?”
“But you know what’s weird?” My drinks are hitting me hard, making me remember too much. And how much I’ve forgotten. “We never set up a snow person in front of his house. Only outside of other people’s houses. Never in front of his house. That’s weird.”
“Snow Fascinator Boy is fascinating,” she slurs.
“Yeah,” I agree. “His name is…well, I can’t remember. Something to do with Snoopy. And a piano.”
“Schroeder,” she says slowly and gives me a deep, knowing look. “Schroeder.”
“Yes! Know what else? Our house was by a lake. Like, feet from a small lake. And a creek. It was magical.”
“Why have you never told me any of this, huh?”
It doesn’t matter how drunk I am, she has a point.
“Because I couldn’t. My mom didn’t want any of us to think about my dad or our old life. So, I didn’t. But now, I am.”
“Callie? Snoopy Boy and Vermont sound very damn cool.” Marlena points a finger at me to drive home her point.
“They do. So does maple syrup.” I drop into the lounger again and welcome sleep.
