Page 10 of A Cozy Kind of Christmas
SEVEN
MEG
A few days later, Meg found herself on a plane to her hometown of Portland, Oregon. The December liquid sunshine drenched the Rose City in glorious gray gloom. It felt like walking through a memory—wet, gloomy, and comforting. She had to admit that while she missed things about the hipster city of her youth—the bookstores, brewpubs on every corner, food carts, coffee culture, and innate weirdness of it all—and the people, of course, at least some of them—this wasn’t home anymore.
Seeing the world had expanded her viewpoint so much. Chasing stories over the globe, trekking through deserts and high mountain tops, made Portland feel like a well-worn, well-loved raincoat that she’d outgrown. She couldn’t imagine herself ever living here again. Visiting—yes. Staying for good—doubtful.
She was the last person off the plane, thanks to cramming as many clothes as possible into her carry-on suitcase that she had packed within an inch of its life. A helpful stranger had managed to stuff her bag into the last available overhead bin—row 44, naturally—saving her from needing to bag extra fees, but now she had to defy physics in an attempt to wrangle it free. She heaved and yanked it with a distinctly un-journalistic slew of profanity.
Was she feeling a bit more edgy at the mere thought of being in the same state as Matt?
Yeah. Probably.
And her luggage was taking the brunt of her anxiety.
Not fair, Meg. Don’t blame the bag.
Once she accomplished the task of prying it free from the bin, she headed for the gate, her nerves kicking into high gear and her palms turning sweaty. She had told Mom and Gam that she could easily take an Uber from the airport, but they had insisted on coming to pick her up. Honestly, she was glad. Her stomach was already tangled in a mess of knots as she rolled her suitcase through the crowded airport. It was a lot—Matt, his party, and her assignment that came with the added pressure of potentially saving Johanna’s job, not to mention her own.
No biggie.
Nothing to worry about.
Nothing to see here.
She wasn’t sure which was making her the most anxious. Probably a combination. First, there was the thought of seeing Matt after their breakup that wasn’t exactly a breakup. Then, there was the pressure of delivering a heartwarming holiday story about snocross. How she was going to blend heartwarming and snocross was a mystery at best.
And what about her job and her future?
She could already anticipate the onslaught of questions sure to come from Mom. She didn’t have answers for any of them. This was new territory. Since starting at ESPN, she’d had a singular focus. Now, she was floundering.
She hadn’t felt this untethered since she’d discovered the truth about her father—that he had faked his death.
She’d done all the things—therapy, journaling, tears, meditation, acupuncture, and endless healing sessions withGam. It had ultimately been time. That and long, hard discussions with Pops about the choices he’d made.
The irony of the situation was that her relationship with Mom had evolved since his betrayal. Mom and Pops had formally split after he re-emerged from hiding. Things had been rocky with them long before everything hit the fan anyway. His decision to go deep undercover had left Mom with no other choice. It had also sent them into new territory. Meg had idolized Pops growing up. He had been her hero in every story, which, in fairness to Mom, hadn’t left much room for her. His death drove a deeper wedge between them. Ironically, it was his resurrection—not his loss—that ultimately forged a new way forward for her and Mom.
If she was being honest with herself, the fallout from Pops had played a significant role in her decisions with Matt. It was like she needed to make a clean break—to start over again without any of the baggage of her formative years.
But was Matt baggage?
She sighed and scanned the crowd, spotting Mom and Gam waiting near an artisanal kombucha booth. How perfectly Portland, she thought as her heart soared, and she waved and ran to greet them. She broke out into a jog, focusing on the two women who had shaped her and somehow still believed in her. She hoped she wouldn’t disappoint them.
Mom stood out in her usual polished perfection amongst the sea of muted gray and black puffy coats and rain jackets. She wore tailored cream slacks, a pair of pumps, and a silky sweater with a matching scarf. The sharpness in her cheeks had softened with the years, or maybe it had taken this long for Meg to recognize the warmth in her eyes.
Gam was the embodiment of pure joy: a flowing purple tunic, a bright teal skirt, and enough dangling jewelry to supply her own shop.
“Mary Margaret Reed!” Mom waved in return as Meg approached. “You look gorgeous, honey. I love this longer hair on you.” She kissed each of Meg’s cheeks and then stepped back to appraise her. “Don’t you love it, Mom?” she asked Gam.
Gam’s eyes sparkled as she shot Meg a knowing wink. “I do.” Gam pressed her lips together in a wide smile. “You’re all grown-up and glowing.”
Mom finally let go so Gam could sweep Meg into a tight hug. Her petite frame felt even more tiny as Meg wrapped her arms around her. She was pushing eighty now—not that you would know it by looking at her. With her naturally tanned skin and age-defying smile, she could easily pass for a young seventy. Gam always said that meditation and her connection to her spiritual guides keep her young. She called her daily dose of Zen “Mother Nature’s facelift.”
As they pulled apart, a little lump swelled in Meg’s throat. She hadn’t realized how much she missed them.
Them.
There was nothing quite like the embrace from the women who came before her. It felt good to sink into, knowing that no matter where she landed in the world, Mom and Gam were always home.
