Page 24 of A Cozy Holiday
The walk was nice. For the first mile.
Cranberry Hollow’s colorful Victorian houses, all converted into mom-and-pop businesses that have been decorated to the nines for Christmas, made me feel like I’d been dropped into Whoville. Even the lampposts are wrapped in green garland and red lights.
Now, I’m convinced I’m summiting Everest wearing wooden tennis rackets.
My chest heaves as I sidestep the last few yards of the mountain, my bangs plastered to my forehead. When I finally reach the top, I shove my hands into the air and cheer, “YES! FUCK YES!”
The victory lasts about two seconds.
I slip.
I flail.
I scream.
Then I’m flying down the hill I worked so hard to climb, hitting a snow-covered speed bump that catapults me into the air with aFWUMPthat would make a sound-effects artist weep with pride.
I shut my eyes. Brace for impact. And slam face-first into a snowbank.
My soul exits my body.
Is it possible for your nipples to freeze off? Because at this rate, mine are going to be inverted by New Year’s Eve.
I hear laughter and small voices.
I push myself up, sputtering snow from my mouth, and hoping my laptop is okay. The twins are recording me.
“Oh my god, I’m definitely posting this!” one of Jamie’s daughters squeals.
“Wait, wait! Do the slow-mo! It makes it so much funnier!”
“We should add that sound—the one where it goesbong,bong,bong—”
Am I being punished for something?
I’ve been here for less than twenty-four hours and have almost died at least twice. I can say with some certainty that my left pinky toe is actually dead.
Jamie steps forward, offering his hand. I bypass it entirely. He’s pulled me out of the snow one too many times already. I have to maintain some semblance of dignity.
I shake myself off like a freshly bathed golden retriever, sending a tsunami of powder directly into his smug face.
His smile disappears under approximately four pounds of snow.
“Oops,” I say flatly.
The twinslose it, doubling over and gasping for air.
Jamie lets out a deep chuckle while he brushes himself off, an animated grin on his face. “Never seen someone try to ski in snowshoes.”
I run my tongue across my teeth, biting back a scream. I would very much like to shove him into a snowbank.
“What are on your feet?” One of the girls points down. She’s dressed in overalls and a giant jacket, with two braids sticking out from under her black beanie.
“Snowshoes?” I reply.
“Dad, is that what you grew up wearing?” The other girl looks toward Jamie, her cheeks rosy. “Those look so old.”
“Your aunt gave these to me,” I say, shooting a look at Jamie.
