Sprinkle All The Way (Evergreen Lake: Under the Mistletoe)

Chapter 1

one

VIOLET

Slamming the brakes, my car skids to a stop in the snow before I manage to kill someone on my first day back in my hometown since last year.

“Violet, what happened? Are you hurt?” My sister’s concerned voice echoes through the car’s Bluetooth.

“I’m fine, but I almost hit Bernice,” I tell her, my heart still pounding as I wave at one of my hometown’s main busybodies as she walks across the street scowling at me with her gray hair poking out of an obnoxiously festive winter hat. Normally, I’m not the most confident driver. But driving through my hometown always stirs up feelings of the one that got away, no matter how long it’s been. “I thought I saw something—someone—and got distracted. Do you remember Noah?”

“Boy-next-door-who-would-sneak-into-your-room-Noah? Yeah I remember him.”

I can practically see her eyes roll through the phone. I don’t know why I’m asking her if she remembers him when I spent most of my teens talking about him. Even with our seven year age difference, Iris was always the one I would go to when I needed advice about him .

“Well I didn’t see him, I don’t think. I’m not sure what I saw. Anyway, it couldn’t have been him because he said he’s never coming back here,” I tell my sister, repeating something he always said and trying to convince myself my mind was playing tricks on me. The possibility of seeing him while driving through these familiar roads increases my anxiety by the second. The Band-Aid on my finger sticks to the inside of my glove, constantly drawing my attention back to it, and it makes me want to scream. There’s too much happening and I don’t have time to think about Noah. With the way things ended between us, I’m not sure if I would hit him if I saw him or grab him and never let him go again.

“You left too,” Iris chastises me. She’s not wrong. I went away to college like he did. But I returned for birthdays and some holidays and nothing more, instead resorting to FaceTime for our primary method of communication. Mom and Iris have been attempting to convince me to move back for years, but I was comfortable in the job and relationship I had outside of this town. Now my car is full of my belongings and I’m home for a Thanksgiving I was supposed to be spending somewhere else. “Speaking of, are you almost at Mom’s?”

“Almost. I’m driving down Main Street,” I tell her, slowing down to make sure I don’t almost hit any more cherished elderly neighbors. I can only imagine what the town gossips would say if I hit someone my first day back, let alone one of their own group.

“Okay, see you soon,” Iris says, disconnecting our call. Driving as Christmas music from the local radio station fills the car, I soak in the sights of Main Street, and waves of nostalgia wash over me like I never left.

Evergreen Lake has always been a special place. Best known for our Christmas Festival, the town doesn’t hold back when it comes to decorating or activities each year. All of the shops on Main Street have lights strung across their rooftops, creating a beautiful glow against the snow. By the time I was looking at colleges, I had grown sick of all the Christmas cheer and needed a fresh start.

Moving to San Francisco was the best I could come up with, since I still wanted to be less than a day’s drive from home in case anything happened where I was needed, but I never was. When I got there, making friends, finding a job, and eventually meeting Greg all came easily, like that was where I truly belonged. I assumed I would marry Greg and my life would fall into a perfect picture, but he had other plans.

After eight years away, time has finally pushed me back to this town—indefinitely. My mom practically cried when I called her and told her I would be coming home for Thanksgiving. She didn’t ask why I was coming home when I had told her I was spending Thanksgiving with Greg’s family last month, or why I didn’t mention him. I’m sure I’ll get interrogated within the first hour of stepping into the house.

Turning onto my parents’ street, my stomach is in knots. There’s a bit of doubt that creeps to the forefront of my mind as my tires pack the snow beneath them. What if I don’t belong here anymore? What if it was too childish for me to be here? Greg was always making comments about how tacky the town was and how many people stayed there beyond high school. But Greg isn’t here, and his opinion no longer matters to me.

Shaking the doubt off, I put the car into park and stare at the house. It’s like traveling back in time. The driveway is perfectly shoveled thanks to Dad, and Mom’s favorite blow up penguin sits in the front yard, the years of wear and tear evident on its duct taped fins. Iris’s old Subaru sits parked next to Dad’s truck, now equipped with a small stick figure family in the rear window. According to Mom, Iris’s optometry office—aptly named using our last name and becoming Emerson’ s Eyes—is doing well so I’m not sure why she still drives the old thing when she could get a new one.

Leaving most of my stuff in the car, I hop out and tell myself not to glance over at Noah’s house. I immediately fail and stare at the house next door. There’s only one car in the unshoveled driveway and the only decoration is a wreath on the door.

I recognize the car as Noah’s mom’s, and I know she’s still living there since my mom has kept me updated on all the town gossip. I’ve heard all about her fairly new boyfriend after Noah’s father passed away while we were in college, but I still hope she isn’t too lonely with Noah gone somewhere. I was happy when I heard she had a new boyfriend—Noah’s parents were never a good match, always fighting and making him feel unwanted.

Before I can linger too long on the past, I hear screaming coming from the front door.

“Aunt Vi!” my five-year-old niece screams as she comes barreling toward me.

“Ava, your shoes and coat—it’s cold,” Iris shouts from the porch, shoes and jacket in her arms.

Ava doesn’t listen to her mother’s warning, running full speed in her fuzzy red socks. I drop my purse and open my arms wide right in time for her to crash into me. I spin her and hold her tight, inhaling her cookies and Christmas scent.

“I missed you, lovebug. Aren’t you cold?” I ask her, glancing at Iris on the porch. Her eye roll says she’s mad, but her smile gives away how happy she really is.

“No. Do you want to build a snowman?” Ava asks, pointing to the snowy front yard and leaning forward so far she almost falls out of my arms. She takes after me when it comes to her clumsiness.

“How about later? I need to say hi to your mom and gram first,” I say as she flops over in my arms like a dead fish. I stumble backward to keep both of us from falling on the driveway before scooping up my discarded purse.

She hangs in my arms, her long brown hair bouncing as I walk us toward the house. Iris tosses the shoes and coat through the open door, pulling me into a tight squeeze.

Ava still plays dead in my arms but squeals as she’s crushed between me and my sister.

“It’s good to have you home,” Iris says into my ear. Pulling away, she takes her daughter into her arms. “Should we grab any boxes?”

“Not yet, I need to eat whatever I smell,” I tell her. The same smell of cookies clinging to my niece floats out the front door and up my nostrils. Pure sugar and vanilla, one of my favorite scents.

Mention of cookies brings Ava to life. “Cookie time!” she shouts, springing out of her mom’s arms and into the house. When she turns the corner toward the kitchen there’s a loud crash and I can see her feet sticking out around the corner.

“For fuck’s sake,” Iris quietly mumbles. “You okay sweetie?” she adds toward the kitchen.

Ava shouts something unintelligible before her feet are gone again. We follow her path to the kitchen, where my mom has a whole cookie factory setup.

“Violet! You’re here,” my mom shouts, throwing her oven mitt covered hands in the air.

Seeing her standing there, covered in flour like when we used to bake together, I realize how much I need my mom. I rush over to her, wrapping my arms around her and holding on like she might disappear if I let go. Water gathers at the corner of my eyes, one second from escaping as her arms hold me tight.

“Iris, get your sister a glass of water,” Mom says, my eyes shut tight to keep the tears in. I hear my sister going through the motions of opening the cabinet and the fridge. The sounds are so familiar they bring me back to being a kid wrapped in my mom’s arm crying about the boy next door. Mom moves me toward the kitchen island until my butt hits one of the stools. She breaks the hug and guides me into the seat, removing her oven mitts and cupping my face in her hands.

“Hi, Mom,” I finally say, opening my eyes to see hers are watery too.

“Hi, Vi. Drink this,” she tells me, taking the glass from Iris. “Then tell me what the hell you are doing here when you’re supposed to be with Greg.” His name comes out like it’s sour to her—she’s never told me she doesn’t like him, but I could always tell she wasn’t his biggest fan.

“Mom!” Iris shouts.

“Gram said a bad word,” Ava screams, and I realize she’s in the seat next to me already digging into the cookies.

“Ava, pretend you didn’t hear that. Have another cookie.” Mom pushes a plate toward her.

“Mom,” Iris groans. “Ava, go find your father and grandpa and tell them to get Aunt Violet’s boxes from the car, please.”

“Aye aye,” Ava says, hopping down from the stool and running away with her hands full of cookies.

“Jacob’s here?” I ask through a sip of water since I didn’t see him when I got here.

“Yeah, he’s in the other room doing his daily Duolingo with Dad.” Iris gestures toward the direction Ava disappeared to. “Now tell us the details before the cookie monster returns,” she adds, taking the seat next to me.

I expected to be interrogated when I got here, but I thought they would have given me longer to get settled. It looks like we are skipping all the small talk and jumping right into it instead. Rehashing all the details of the last horrible week of my life right now will balance out the happiness I’m experiencing being home, leaving me in a dull middle ground of numbness. But my family aren’t ones to wait for the full story, so I’m going to have to relent to a shorter version of events to appease them for now. How do I tell them my boyfriend broke up with me and asked me to move out right after my job decided they were downsizing and letting me go?

“Greg and I broke up,” I tell them.

“That bastard,” my mom says without a hint of remorse.

Followed by “I never liked him,” from Iris.

“What happened?” Mom asks.

“I don’t know. I came home one day last week and he was done. He said he wasn’t in love anymore. He had already started packing my stuff, and he informed me since my name wasn’t on the lease I needed to move out. And, I quote, ‘I wanted to do it before the holidays so you weren’t in any more photos,’” I say, with finger quotes in the air accompanied by an eye roll.

“What an asshole,” Iris grumbles.

“Mommy said a bad word,” Ava shouts from behind us.

“There’s a present hidden in the living room. If you can find it you can open it.” Iris spins and points toward the living room.

Ava’s eyes widen as she darts out of the kitchen.

“Is there really a present hidden?” I ask.

“Guess we’ll see if she finds anything,” Iris says, popping a cookie in her mouth before mumbling. “Continue.”

“That’s pretty much it, although he was getting awfully close to his coworker—Amber—so I can’t say I was surprised. At least he left for his mom’s earlier this week so I was able to pack all of my stuff in peace.” I finish my water and avoid making eye contact with them.

“I’m so sorry sweetie,” my mom says, wrapping her arms around my head and pulling me toward her.

“Wait, it gets better,” I say sarcastically. “My work also decided they were starting fresh in the new year and decided to get rid of half the project management staff.” It’s almost funny now that I’ve had a week to process it, but it still hurts.

“Well fuck,” Iris says. “Maybe you need tequila, not water.”

Mom’s grip on me tightens, her chest rumbling like she’s holding laughter in. “They don’t deserve you anyway. You can stay here as long as you like. Your room is available, and I also have some boxes for you to go through,” she tells me, rubbing my arms.

“Although it’s technically their guest room now,” Iris adds.

My parents had redone most of the rooms in the house since I’ve been gone. Everytime I came home for a holiday or birthday they would show me something new. Iris’s old room is a home gym, which she says only sees actual activity for the first two weeks of January. While mine has been converted into a guest room. Mom stored all our old things in the basement, and she keeps telling me I need to go through what I want to keep. Now all my new belongings will join the old ones as I figure out what I’m going to do.

“Can I go see it?” I ask, perking up at the excitement. Last year I wasn’t able to come home for Christmas since I spent it with Greg’s family, and I missed the big reveal.

“Of course, go get settled and come back down. The snickerdoodles are almost done,” Mom says, knowing those are my favorite cookies.

We all scatter from the kitchen. Iris goes to find Ava, while I run into Dad and Jacob carrying my boxes in and setting them in the foyer. I hug them and thank them for the help, grabbing my duffle bag full of essentials.

Climbing the stairs, the sixth step creaks like it has since third grade and the feel of the carpet under my feet hasn’t changed one bit. I step back on it to hear it again, closing my eyes as I let the sounds of home relax me before continuing.

Old pictures and art we created in school line the halls upstairs, including all of our school pictures. Iris’s are right above mine, and for the first few years we look so similar it’s hard to tell who is who. Our wide smiles and brown hair are identical, only our different eye colors give us away. Hers darker, matching her hair, while my blue ones make me look wild with how wide I have them open. As I walk down the line of pictures you can tell when we each went through our awkward phases, braces and glasses making an appearance for both of us. Of course, we’ve both gotten LASIK thanks to Iris’s eye doctor perks. Focusing on mine, I can pinpoint the year Noah moved in next door—it’s the year my smile finally reached the corner of my eyes and made them wrinkle.

I notice how much has changed since I’ve been gone when I open the door to my room. The walls are now a light blue with pictures of snowy mountains. The furniture is all the same, but painted white. My trundle twin bed remains in the corner of the room next to the window, adorned with a navy comforter that looks like it’s filled with feathers.

I drop my bag and fall on the bed, needing to test out this new comforter. My landing is just as I imagined, soft and squishy. I can hear the sound of Iris and Ava running around, soft instrumental music filling the house, and the kitchen timer goes off. The weight of life is lighter here, and my confidence that everything is going to be okay slowly increases. I’ll figure out where I belong soon.

Running my hand over the soft comforter, my fingers brush over something small and hard to the touch, a stark contrast to the warmth of the comforter. Grabbing it, I realize it’s a tube of red lipstick, which must have fallen out of my bag from one of the pockets. I remember being excited about the color, but Greg said it was too bright. He told me I looked like a hooker, and he would be uncomfortable if I wore it. I’m not sure why I ignored that red flag.

Standing, I move to the mirror on the wall. The lipstick is practically brand new as I wipe it across my lips. I look fantastic, my dark hair and blue eyes perfectly compliment the red. Fuck Greg for being insecure and making me self conscious about this color.

Suddenly, the reflection of the house next door through the window catches my attention. The window across from mine is dark, and the blinds are down, but I don’t need them up to picture the twin bed against dark green walls covered in horror movie posters. For years I peered into it, seeing Noah climb out to come visit me. My heartbeat picks up at the memory of him spending countless nights in this room with me. Now the window returns nothing but darkness instead of the face I’ve missed for years, and I can’t help wondering where he is now. Probably living the life he always wanted in New York City. I bet he would like this lipstick on me.