I think back to when Ronin and I met, when I felt like I was drowning and he was the life preserver that pulled me to the surface. It was our shared love of manga and games that brought us together. Countless afternoons spent sprawled out in the oversized chairs scattered throughout The Reading Nook, playingMagic the Gatheringor swapping volumes of whatever series we were reading. He invited me into his friend group, introduced me to the wonderfully immersive world of role-playing games likeDungeons and Dragons, igniting my passion for storytelling and writing. Ronin accepted me for who I was in a time when being weird or being different wasn’t always considered cool or trendy. Not like today’s world.
When Ronin and I were in high school, Ambrosia “Bree” Greco moved to Blue Fields with her family, and our duo became a trio. The rest was, as they say, history…until I had the crazy idea to leave town, full of dreams of becoming a writer for television or movies. Chasing that Hollywood career like countless people before me. Four years have gone by and I don’t have all that much to show for it besides an overly expensive apartment, a trail of shitty jobs, and a brand new ex-girlfriend.
Now, I’m hours away from the small-town certainty of seeing him, and I hate every piece of clothing I own. Trying to pack for my trip home for Christmas has turned into an evaluation of every shirt and dress I pull out. Holding up another top to the mirror, I groan in frustration and throw it aside into the quickly growing discard pile. Why do I care what I wear? I’ve never put this much thought into my wardrobe before now.
Giving up, I pull on my favorite worn-in T-shirt, an oversizedDie Hardblack tee that has the TV-edited line“Yippee Ki Yay Mister Falcon”scrawled across the front in blocky red letters. A lump forms in my throat and I press my lips together tightly, remembering the day Ronin gifted it to me on my birthday the yearbefore I left.
“So you’re finally admittingDie Hardis a Christmas movie, is that what’s happening right now?” I tease, holding up the shirt Ronin carefully wrapped in colorful wrapping paper.
“I wouldn’t go that far.” A pleased smile lifts on his mouth as he watches me pull on the new shirt over my tank top. “If you’re going to be delusional about what Christmas movies actually are, I can only embrace the crazy, not fight it.”
“Itisa Christmas movie! I will die on this hill.”
“And that’s why we all adore you, Mel.”
My heart strains as the nickname echoes through my memory. Shaking it off, I tug my black leggings back on and turn toward the mess currently all over my bed.
“Okay, Mellie, let’s narrow this down,” I whisper to myself. I need to be on the road in the next two hours if I want to make my flight, and like usual, I left packing to the last possible minute. It will be my first Christmas spent at home in the last four years. Ordinarily, I would stay in LA for the holidays, and perhaps my parents would fly down to ring in the New Year like they did last year. But now, something is pulling me back home. Maybe it’s the years I’ve been gone. Maybe it’s the thought of being together with Evan and our parents, and finally meeting Evan’s girlfriend, Catalina, who he seems pretty serious about.
Maybe it’s the thought thatRoninis thinking about me.
Whatever the cause, I bought myself a round-trip ticket to Washington, my return flight set for after the new year—and I have nothing to fucking wear.
I blow out a breath, my strawberry-blonde hair blowing away from my face, and bend down to pick up a pair of jeans from the messy floor. Brushing them off and rolling them up, I stuff them into my carry-on bag that lays sprawled open across my bed.
My phone pings from my nightstand and I pick it up, swiping to read the message from my mom checking my flight. Again. I smile as I type back my response:
Landing at 2! Can’t wait to see you
Mom is thrilled with my plans to come home, and I truly am excited to see her. It’s been too long since I’ve had one of her cozy mom-hugs and her famousBlue Fields Double Dipped Chicken. It’s my favorite thing to eat in the entire world.
I set my phone back down on my nightstand and survey the wreckage of my closet. Pulling out a few of my favorite comfy T-shirts, a couple more pairs of jeans and leggings, I toss them on top of my bag. My mother hasn’t disclosed all of her holiday plans for us, but I figure it will be smart to bring a few nicer outfits as well. Reaching into the corner of my minuscule closet, I retrieve one of my favorite dresses and lay it delicately across my bed.
I have one more outfit in mind, and soon enough a sharp, black blazer and black slacks join the dress as I root around for a couple of nicer tops to wear with the jacket. I love the duality of fashion, being able to show off my feminine side or embrace androgyny. To me, it’s one of the best parts of being queer, something I realized about myself in my teenage years.
By some Christmas miracle, I manage to finish packing on time, hitting the road toward the airport with my favorite BTS album blasting through the speakers. My stomach is still a mess of nerves, flipping between excitement and apprehension. Ready or not, Blue Fields, here I come.
“Amelia?Mellie!” My mom’s excited voice rings out across the airport lobby.
“Mom!” I squeal as we run the last few feet to meet each other. Her arms wrap around my torso and squeeze tight. I breathe in her familiar scent; perfume she’sworn since I was a child mixed with a faint sweet, powdery smell. Mom smells like home.
“Oh, honey, I’m so happy you’re here!” Mom squeezes me tight before letting go and wrapping an arm around my waist as we walk toward the exit. “Your old room is all ready for you. We had to move some things into storage last year when we converted it into a guest room, but I pulled out your favorite sheets and comforter. You know, the fluffy pink one you loved so much?”
“Thanks, Mom,” I reply, smiling to myself and leaning into her side. “So, what’s on the holiday agenda? Did you already start the Christmas cookies?”
“No, no, we were waiting for you!” She pats my arm. “The cookie exchange over at the diner is in a couple of days, so you need to choose which you’d like to bring. We can go shopping tomorrow for whatever you need.”
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 andta-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 realizationof 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 ofSurvivor. 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.
