Page 5 of Falling Like Leaves
“I’m fine,” I answer, forcing a close-lipped smile. “How are you? It’s been forever.”
“I’m great!” She takes a step back, plastering on a grin so wide I’m surprised it doesn’t hurt her face. “We’re so excited to have you stay here, especially this time of year!”
“Oh, yes, Ellis,” Mom says, stepping beside me. “You’re in for a treat. Nowhere else does autumn quite like Bramble Falls.”
“I’ll take your word for it,” I say. I could not possibly care less about autumn in Bramble Falls. Or anything in Bramble Falls, for that matter.
Aunt Naomi pulls me into a tight hug, and the warmth of her embrace and the long-forgotten scent of her coconut shampoo dull my sharp edges just a bit. “Gosh, I’ve missed you.” She lets me go and tucks my long, dark brown hair behind my ears, her eyes traveling over me, taking in my Khaite jeans and cropped sleeveless sweatshirt. “Wow. You have really grown up since I last saw you.”
“Hasn’t she?” Mom says, beaming at me.
Aunt Naomi frowns at her. “I can’t believe you stayed gone for so long. I feel like I’ve missed so much.”
Mom’s shoulders droop. “Life happened.”
“It sure did, didn’t it?” Aunt Naomi shakes her head and gives Mom a look only a sister could decode. Then she turns back to me and smiles. “Well, you’re here now. Let’s get you squared away.”
Mom pops the trunk, and I grab one of the only two suitcases of clothes she let me bring after reminding me that Aunt Naomi’s house isn’t big enough for my expansive wardrobe.
But, apparently, it’s big enough for my sewing supplies, which she insisted on packing, despite the fact that I’ve barely touched any of them in over a year.
I don’t spare the sewing stuff a glance before lugging my suitcase up the porch steps behind Aunt Naomi and Sloane. Mom follows with her bags, and we stop inside the entryway and set our luggage on the floor.
The house is small—go figure—but well-loved. To our left, a beige slip-covered couch sits beside a blue gingham lounge chair in front of a small flat-screen television in the carpeted living room. Unevenly hung photographs and art projects in mismatched frames cover the walls, and every shelf is jam-packed with knickknacks and books. Straight ahead, I catch a glimpse of the tiny L-shaped kitchen, where potted plants bring life to the place, and the counter is filled with corny coffee mugs that read things likeYOU ARE BEAUTIFALL,SPICE, SPICE, BABY, andYOU’RE THE APPLE OF MY PIE.
It’s a far cry from our spacious, well-kept NYC apartment, but Aunt Naomi’s house has always been oddly charming and cozy.
“Why don’t we show you your rooms, and I can give you a tour later,” Aunt Naomi says. “It’s been so long since you were last here, some things might have changed.”
I scoff. This is the type of place where nothing ever changes.
Mom shoots me a glare, then nods at Aunt Naomi. “Sounds good.”
The four of us head upstairs to the guest bedroom.
“Annie,” Aunt Naomi says to my mom, “this will be your room.”
The light blue bedroom is simple, with a queen-sized bed against the wall, a desk in the corner, and a single mahogany dresser.
Mom sets her suitcase on the floor. “This is perfect, Naomi. Thank you.”
Aunt Naomi smiles and motions for me to follow her. “Ellis, I was going to set you up in Sloane’s room,” she says, “but your mom said you’d probably prefer to have a space of your own.”
Oh, thank god.
Aunt Naomi leads us down the hall and stops at a door I’ve never opened before. In fact, I have no recollection of this door at all.
“Unfortunately,” she continues, twisting the door’s wobbly knob, “we’re out of bedrooms.” She pulls the door open and begins climbing a creaky set of steps.
I reluctantly follow her. The temperature rises as we reach the landing, where rays of sunlight shine through the window, turning floating dust particles to glitter.
“Sorry, it’s kind of stuffy up here,” Aunt Naomi says, pushing open the heavy wood-framed window.
I glance around at the giant room spanning the length of the house.
It’s filled with boxes, most of them overflowing with whatappears to be the entire autumn section of a party store—plastic pumpkins, fall leaf garlands and red, yellow, and orange artificial plants, wooden fall ornaments, autumn wreaths, and knitted coasters in the shape of pumpkins and apples.
I love a hot pumpkin spice latte and a warm sweater as much as the next person, but this seems a bit overboard.
