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I dip my chin. “Yeah. It’s the only place big enough to host the whole family.”
Taking a turn off the main road that leads up the side of the mountain slope feels surreal. I’ve driven on this road thousands of times. Every house is familiar; every crack in the pavement is etched into my memory. Small changes ping my eyes, like a new paint color on an old house, or a “For Sale” sign staked into a front yard.
The farther we drive through the winding streets, the more space appears between the houses. Pine trees shoot up from the ground between the estates, interspersed with the skeletons of their deciduous brothers. Soon, this place will be a winter wonderland. It’ll be blanketed in perfect, flawless white, and the air will be crisp and pure.
But the memories remain beneath it all.
We turn onto the long, winding driveway leading to my adolescent home. Mia inhales sharply when we make the final turn and see the house nestled in amongst the trees. The black shingles on the roof and the planks of siding are weathered, letting the whole place melt into its surroundings as much as a mansion can. Cheerful yellow light spills from the many windows, with strings of fairy lights illuminating the massive second-story porch that opens out from the big kitchen and dining areas.
I park the car on the garage level below, off to the side beside one of the support posts for the porch. Bailey stirs in the back seat, and Mia climbs out of the car to help her daughter. It takes me a moment to gather myself, to gird my proverbial loins before entering the building that houses so many memories—not many of them good.
I still feel like an outsider. Always have.
Grabbing two bags out of the trunk, I lead Mia and Bailey up the steps to the front door. There’s a stepped front garden that’s been stripped bare for winter, mulch and bare trees waiting to be covered with snow. With every step I ascend, my heartbeat speeds up.
“This place is huge,” Bailey whispers. “Is this just one house?”
“Yes,” Mia answers back in the same hushed tone. “Look up there. You can just see the top of the mountain.”
“There’s snow on it!”
“The snow probably never melts, even in the middle of summer.”
“Really?” Bailey’s voice is louder now, more confident.
I smile and glance back at them. “Really,” I confirm. “Sometimes, in the summer, the sunset hits the snow and turns it all kinds of colors like pink and purple. Most years there’d be snow on the ground everywhere by now, but it’s been a warm fall.”
“Whoa.” Bailey glances at the shadow of the mountain, eyes wide.
We make it to the front door, and I deposit our small suitcases beside me so I can ring the doorbell. It’s one of those grandiose, multi-tonal chimes that seems to come from different areas of the house at once. I’ve always hated it.
The tall, oversized timber door has a window of cut glass in the center. A distorted image of a dark-haired woman approaches, and tension seizes me until a hand appears on my forearm—Mia’s. She smiles at me and sends me a sly wink, then turns to the opening door.
My sister-in-law Caitlyn appears in the opening, giving us a broad, false smile. “Des!” She steps onto the welcome mat to hug me while I stand stiff as a board. She turns to Mia and gives her an assessing stare. “And you’re his date. You know, Des has never brought a date to Thanksgiving. Well, not since high school.” She smiles, but it’s a little cold. “Everyone isverycurious about you.”
Mia gulps.
“Caitlyn, this is Mia. Mia, Caitlyn. And the scruffy little munchkin is Bailey.”
“Hey!” Bailey protests, planting her hands on her hips in the exact same way Mia does.
I laugh, the tension in my muscles dissolving. Caitlyn gives me a strange, startled look, then ushers us inside. My aunt Wendy comes gliding down the wide hallway, arms spread. She greets us in a flutter of blue silk, diamond earrings dangling from her ears. Next is her husband, my uncle Eric. His white hair is combed back, his belly protruding slightly past his belt buckle. He’s wearing his usual golf shirt and tan slacks.
My other aunt and uncle, Henrietta and Reggie, come next, followed by second cousins (or is it first cousins once removed?), family friends, and strays that have found their way to this place for the holiday. Hugs, kisses, and greetings are exchanged. I hear my grandmother’s voice from the living room as she yells at my grandfather that we’ve arrived. Mia looks beautiful and flushed and overwhelmed. Bailey is quieter than usual, clinging to her mother’s side.
Then the children come to investigate. A veritable stampede of nieces and nephews come tearing down the hallway, staring at Bailey curiously.
My nephew, Mav (short for Maverick, because my cousin Lyle is a bigTop Gunfan and his wife Olivia apparently gave him naming), approaches Bailey. “You don’t dress like a girl,” he accuses.
Bailey frowns. “I’m a girl, and I dress like me. So that means I dress like a girl.”
Everyone—adults and children alike—seems to pause and consider her words. Mav is the first one to react. He nods. “That’s true. You want to play video games?”
Bailey glances at her mother, who smiles. “Go ahead, Bailey.”
“Let me show you to your room,” Wendy says with a smile. “Lyle, help with the bags!”
“I’ve got it,” Caitlyn says, grabbing the carry-on suitcase from Mia’s hand. She smiles. “We put you two in the craft room.” She means my old bedroom, but Wendy didn’t waste any time converting it to her craft room after I moved out.
