outdoors. I was never indoors as a kid. We were often out in the wilderness or enjoying the parks as a family and I loved every minute of it. Sometime during University it became less of a priority.
My dad’s greying hair is longer these days. He is sporting a five o’clock shadow and the softest red and black flannel parka I have ever felt. He instantly warms me with his hug. ‘Hi, kid, it’s good to see you,’ he says, and I can’t tell if it’s the cold that’s causing his eyes to water or he has real tears in his eyes. Whatever it is, I hug him tighter, feeling that pent-up stress in my shoulders relax once more. I don’t have time to open up and tell him I’ve missed him as Madi is pulling at my jacket and tugging me into the car.
‘Hot chocolate and a cosy fireplace are calling my name,’ she says from inside the car.
I sigh and pull away from my dad’s bear hug. ‘I love you, Dad,’ I manage and hope that in those four words he knows that I have missed him and thought about him every day in my two-year absence.
‘I love you too, kiddo. Now come on, let’s get you home.’ He kisses my forehead and makes his way around the car to the driver’s seat as I dive into the back seat next to Madi. I shiver as the warmth of the car hits me.
I hadn’t realized how much I needed my parents, how much their presence comforts me. Or more honestly, I did realize it but have been pushing my needs and wants to the wayside, worried that needing parents was not what adults did. Scott has been coping without his; I wanted to be able to handle it too. But with all the madness of the past year, the anxiety over trying to be an adult is the least of my worries. My eyelids grow heavy as an overwhelming feeling of exhaustion washes over me, mixed with the feeling of being completely content and safe in the company of those in the car. I place my head back against the headrest and stare out the window as the car begins to move.
The last time I was here, sometime late February two years ago, Scott had been with me, watching movies by the fireplace and enjoying candlelit dinners under the stars like something right out of a rom-com. It had, in fact, ended up in one of my rom-coms. The snowy setting, the cuddling to keep each other warm – it had all been perfect.
I can hear his laughter in my head, thinking back to that day when I was jumping up and down on the spot pleading for his help to unzip my snowsuit, so I could use the bathroom. I had been sledding all morning with my parents and by the time we got down the slopes and back to our cabin I was desperate. He had found it hilarious, my face a panic-stricken picture, but he said I looked cute in my frazzled state, teasing me for what had felt like forever before he kissed me softly on the lips and helped me get out of my suit. When I got back from the bathroom feeling relieved and a lot less moody, he had made us hot chocolate and got the fire going in our room.
What am I doing veering down memory lane? I scold myself as I wipe the sniffles from my nose with my woolly sleeve. That person is gone now. I’m here with Madi and my parents and I want to enjoy every minute of this Christmas to make up for the last one; the one that he left in tatters. I’ve been a mere shell of myself for twelve whole months.
Outside of the car the pine trees whizz by in a blur. The sky is a beautiful clear piercing blue and I am momentarily mesmerized by its calmness. I can’t miss this. I won’t let life simply pass me by or have Scott take up any more of my brain.
I feel Madi grab my hand and squeeze it tight. We always spend Christmas together. Even after Scott and I got married, Madi was always a fixture on Christmas Day along with the mince pies with brandy sauce and the pantomime on the telly. I haven’t had a Christmas without Madi since we were ten. It suited her parents for us to have her; it saved them the hassle of an excitable child harping on about Santa Claus.
Madi’s parents attempted the parent thing but I don’t believe they quite got what they were after. If they could have flicked through a child catalogue, they would have gone for something simple: quiet, elegant, girly, a yes-girl who did whatever they asked and never ever put a foot out of line and never had her neat tied-up-with-a-bow hair out of place. What they got was a bold, adventurous, colourful, cheeky and curious child they had no clue what to do with.
‘It’s so good to be here,’ Madi pipes up. ‘Harper and I have more than enough time on our hands to enjoy all the Christmas festivities, after Harper finishes her script that is,’ she adds, giving me an encouraging glare. ‘We haven’t missed the Santa race, have we?’ Madi asks about my mum’s favourite holiday tradition: the Breckenridge Race of the Santas. You would think my mum has lived in Breckenridge all her life with how much she dotes on the place. She and my dad fit in seemingly as soon as they moved here, and I’ve never seen them happier. The whole town comes together to raise money for a charity each year and it is quite the spectacle to witness thousands of Santas running, jogging and walking down the main street of Breckenridge. Mum was quick to lend a helping hand and runs her own tea and cookie station for the Santas as they pass. She gets a thrill out of it and starts baking cookies in the middle of November to prepare.
‘Oh, honey, I’m afraid you missed it. You’ll have to come a little earlier next year if you want to be a part of it. Let me know and I can register you for the race or you can help me at the station,’ my mum says chirpily, already getting ahead of herself and planning next year. My stomach does a triple backflip at the thought of next year, next Christmas. What will I be doing then?
There is a gentle snow flurry falling outside now and in between the giant pine trees are little cabins that look like gingerbread houses. Honest to goodness, my eyes dart around in search of Hansel and Gretel. The multi-coloured lights that twinkle from the rooftops look like jelly tots. The dustings of snow settled on the window ledges could be icing sugar and the blow-up Santas and gingerbread men look like, well, Santa and gingerbread men, but they could almost be edible, made from cookie dough as they sparkle in the distance. I like where my mum and dad live. I had enjoyed my previous visit and understood why they wanted to move to a town that was home to less than five thousand people and had all the outdoor activities that two hippies would ever need, but this was something else.
I feel like I’m in another world as we pull up to my mum and dad’s log cabin that they call home. I almost don’t recognize it, it is covered in so many Christmas lights. There’s even a giant Santa outside wearing sunglasses and a tie-dyed T-shirt. I’m pretty sure my dad had something to do with that one.
The place could be a backdrop for a holiday movie and my mind is starting to whirl with ideas that make my newly appointed task of editing my own original script seem less daunting – which I need considering my inspiration on the plane lasted all of two pages before I resorted to watching comedy movies with Madi. The mush got too much and the only person my brain thought to derive inspiration from was Scott. Needless to say, he didn’t scream joy to the world or happily ever after. I’m hoping my mum and dad’s place will. Madi jumps out of the car behind me as I am staring open-mouthed at my parents’ Christmas grotto. She hugs me from behind.
‘I can see it now,’ she says. ‘Next Christmas on the Pegasus channel, prepare for a Very Hippie Holiday.’ Madi chuckles. She’s gesturing with her arms as though the words are in front of her. ‘I love it.,’ she adds.
‘Me too,’ I say a little breathlessly. And I really do. I admit that I’ve been terrified to spend Christmas with my parents. Normally, their off-the-beaten-path natures and positive energy is contagious and leaves me feeling beyond blessed to call them my parents, but with everything I have been going through with Scott and work, I hadn’t quite felt up to entering the land of the free spirit and ‘love is all you need’. However, standing here in front of my parents’ house, that love – their love – is suddenly making me feel a whole lot stronger and more myself than I have felt in a long time.
‘Come on, honeybee, let’s get you something warm,’ my mum shouts
