“Pity party over, Whitney. You’ll buy a new car and a kickass pair of heels to match. Gloves up. You’ll come back swinging.”
As the Jack warms me, I survey the cabin, the sight of it bringing me unexpected solace because it’s exactly as I remember it.
It’s been far too long since we’ve all gathered here. Our Christmases usually take place in my parent’s home back in Nashville, where Serena and I still live. My brother, Brenden, left Nashville and moved his family—his life—to Charlotte a year ago to base his company out of the city where a majority of his top billing clients live.
Nestled together in the seventies built, two-story A-Frame, it’s here where we’ll congregate for the next six days. Chest tightening with nostalgia, my Grampa Joe’s voice rings clear in my head.
“Just remember when times get hard, when your problems are blinding you, that you’re on a floating planet in the middle of a vast galaxy filled with the unexplainable, and the only thing holding you to it is an invisible force you can’t see.”
“Gravity,” I whisper softly, the effect of the cabin itself a balm to the knowledge that Grammy and Gramps aren’t inside waiting to greet me. Grams and I will never again have a long convo while Gramps snoozes next to her in his matching recliner.
Budding winter has already taken a toll on the landscape, a majority of the shrubbery and surrounding grounds lifeless from the previous snows, but the charm is ever present. Outside, it looks like a large cottage, majestic in a way with a grand, steep roof and large windows. A series of wooden steps lead up to the porch to the dark, oak door. White lights adorn all corners of the roof, making it look more like a gingerbread house, no doubt due to Dad’s careful execution. From the outside, it looks very much like it could house a fairytale, but within the cabin walls are memories more precious to me than any work of fiction could ever come close to.
Aside from our family home in Tennessee, a large part of my childhood took place here in North Carolina. Brenden, Serena, and I spent many summers camping in the backyard. Those nights consisted of the four of us gazing up at the stars, held captive by Grandpa Joe’s stories.
Gramps was a wise man—warm, levelheaded, funny, laid back. From the time we were young, he did his best to drill his life’s philosophy into our heads.
And I’d forgotten it the last few months. I’ve been barricading myself behind my work as an excuse to keep my distance from my sister and my parents because—at this point in my life—I’m starting to feel a little directionless. My brother is easy to avoid because he lives a state away, but Serena lives only a half-hour away from my condo in Nashville. And she’s demanding in the sense that she must know what’s going on in every aspect of her little sister’s life.
Eyeing Serena’s monster SUV, I exhale a calming breath knowing that the minute I set foot inside, the chaos will begin. My name will become the bane of my existence, and as far as Serena is concerned, I will be considered ‘the help’ for as long as I take up residence here.
“Stop it. You love them. Now let them distract you.”
Just as I reach for the handle, the front door opens, and my mother’s hand pops out in a come-hither gesture. My heart warms knowing she was looking for me.
Chuckling, I unbuckle my seatbelt and step out just as she graces the porch, a welcoming and soul-warming smile on her face.
“Get in here, Sweet Pea.” The sound of my nickname nearly sets me off as I wearily climb the stairs before molding myself into her open arms.
“Hey, Mom.” I inhale her scent, a mix of Elizabeth Arden’s Red Door and butterscotch. Breathing in deep, I clutch her tightly to me.
“This is a damn good hug,” she murmurs, “life been kicking your ass, kid?”
“You have no idea.”
“Gravity.”
“Gravity,” I reply with a sigh, keeping her tight in my grip. “I was just thinking about Grampa Joe.”
“Even from the window, I could see the weight of the world on your shoulders. Is your car, oh honey, is it smoking?”
“Just kicked the bucket,” I mumble against the shoulder of her sweater. “I’m going to have it towed away.”
She pulls away, frowning at the sight of it. “Well, crap. Maybe your father can tinker with it.”
“No, it’s okay. I was going to buy a new one anyway. It’s past time.” She looks over to me with concern.
“I’m okay. Really. It’s been a rough month. Seeing this place and knowing they aren’t here has me a little emotional. I miss them.” I study Mom’s profile as she glances back at my car. At sixty-one, she’s still beautiful, effortlessly so. She’s never dyed her hair a day in her life, and despite that, it’s still predominately blonde. I take after her in that way, along with my eye color and petite build. We’re on the shorter side, both 5’2. Though Mom looks incredible without too much fuss, it now takes every bit of my toolbox to make me look presentable.