Page 21 of Miss Humbug
“You said you wrote a business plan.”
“And I’ve sat on it. Sometimes I wonder why I’m even trying to save the tree farm.”
“What do you mean? It’s the family business. Obviously, you want to save it.”
Only he didn’t look so sure. Or maybe the pressure to save it weighed on him. Or maybe he was tired from running around town solving holiday-themed riddles.
“I imagine there’s some truth to what they said, hard as it was to hear. That you’ll bounce back. You have a degree from a good school. Work experience. So much time spent learning to, what did you say? Network? That has to count for something.”
I wanted to agree. A quick refresh of my resume meant I’d be ready to hit the job sites. Most people my age didn’t stay at companies for more than a couple years. Totally normal. But something had felt off for a while now. When I lost the job, thatoffsense grew from a feeling to a nearly audible voice. A familiar voice I’d long ago buried, shouting to be heard again.
Now with Anna moving forward in a new direction, I needed to get my act together. Win a house and parcel out some acres like an old timey land baron.
Beside me, Ethan looked out at the growing crowd, seemingly at peace. He didn’t ask more questions, but I suspected it wasn’t because he didn’t want to. Ethan listened. If I wasn’t ready to talk, he waited. Just like he always had.
“Even though I dreaded coming back, a part of me wanted to. Desperately.” The words came slowly, but they’d been lurking below the surface. I just hadn’t known who to say them to. “The longer I stayed in California, the easier it became to leave my past behind. No one looked at me and instantly knew my life story. I liked that. But sometimes it’s lonely. Really lonely.”
A gloved hand found mine. Gently squeezed and let go.
“I kept telling myself I was doing everything I could to get my life in order,” I said. “But this sadness, thissomething, kept tugging at me. I couldn’t tell if the feeling was missing my family and the comforts of home or weakness that I couldn’t hack it on my own.”
I usually went with weakness, then doubled-down on life-improving tactics. Being the youngest in my family still ruled many of my decisions—grow up fast, prove my worth. After everything our family had been through, I owed it to my grandparents to make something of myself. They’d never asked to raise a second generation of kids, and certainly never complained. In my mind, not disappointing them meant to succeed in the big wide world outside of our small town.
A voice boomed over a loudspeaker in the town square. “T-minus fifteen minutes until tree lighting.”
People around us cheered and clapped.
He caught my eye and laughed.
“What?”
“You. That look. You’re, like, disgusted.”
I hadn’t realized I’d been making a face until he’d noticed it.
“The tree lighting is a big deal.” Ethan tipped his head toward a group of adults and kids wearing plastic glasses with framed lenses in the shape of Christmas trees. “Tourists come here to see this.”
They sure did. “Anyway, thanks for listening to me.”
He leaned so his arm pressed against mine. “More importantly—thanks for talking to me. I know you don’t trust that kind of talk with many people.”
I smiled.That kind of talkI reserved for Anna. She knew about my parents and how I resisted being typecast by my last name alone, but the thoughts I couldn’t fully express remained murky at the bottom of my emotional seafloor. The only thing I detested more than holiday excess was the thought of being lost at sea on a flimsy raft or that floating door Rose clung to inTitanic. I didnotwant to go down to that murky seafloor.
There was always therapy, which I’d ventured into a couple times here and there as an adult. Experienced plenty of it as a kid. People would listen if you paid them. Lucky for me, I had at least one person here in town who listened for free.
Chapter 7
Ethan
I picked up Marlowe at the house the next day for our volunteer time. She slid into the passenger seat, and I swore we were sixteen again on the way to a house party.
Okay, that happened once. But I hadn’t forgotten. As kids, we’d carpooled to school events, but by high school, Marlowe spent her time with different friends. It was like she could hardly stand being around me then. A bad combo since I’d been desperate for any shred of attention from her.
“Ugh, this song.” She made a retching sound.
“I warned you the holiday station would be on.”
So much for the magic of the tree lighting last night. I thought she’d turned a corner with the whole yucking on the holidays thing.
