Girlfriend for Christmas | CURRENTLY EDITING

chapter two

"We're home!" Mom shouts, leaving the front door open for me. We had to scare our resident opossum, Alfred, off the porch before we could come in. I'm not far behind Mom, hauling my suitcase up the precariously icy steps. The smell of cranberries and orange on the stove hits me right as the warmth of the house does, and I realize just how relieved I am to be home. After having been stuck on campus for four months all alone, just smelling that familiar Christmas house smell nearly makes me want to break down in tears.

"Hey!" comes Dad's voice from the kitchen. The air smells like cooked meat and salt. It's an hour long drive from Sioux Falls to our house, which means it's now just before seven in the evening, and all I had time for today was a bowl of Fruit Loops in the dining hall before jetting off to the airport. I am starving.

There's a chorus of footsteps from upstairs. Jeremy and Nathan barrel down the stairs, nearly toppling over each other. Irish twins and in their sophomore year of high school, they're both mid-height and stocky, way too into wrestling for their own good. They're like fun-sized Chads.

"CATELYN!" Nathan, the barely older brother, booms at the top of his lungs, shoving Jeremy away at the bottom of the steps and scooping me up into his arms. Jeremy scrambles back over to us and socks Nathan in the arm, then wraps his arms around the both of us.

I'm laughing and shouting for them to put me down when I see Timmy hesitantly at the bottom of the stairs. He's a decade younger than me, almost to the day, a disturbingly young nine to my nineteen. Nathan and Jeremy set me down.

"Get in here, bud," Nathan says, grinning back at him.

Timmy stares at me, our shared brown eyes meeting. "Hey bud," I say, "how's it going?"

His lip trembles. "Cateyyy," he whines, before bursting into tears and running in towards me. His little body slams into mine and I wrap my arms around him tight. He clutches at my sweatshirt. My still-gloved hands hold him close.

"Awww, Timothy," Mom says, looking like she's about to cry herself. "Baby."

"Alright, who's going to be nice and take your sister's suitcase upstairs?" Dad asks, rounding the stairs corner. He's still wearing oven mitts when he gives me a hug.

"Um, neither of us," Jeremy says.

"The perks of being an adult," adds Nathan. "Yippee ki-yay, Cate."

There's always this intense energy in my house. A strange buzzing of people who are really extroverted but have low social batteries, all sliding against one another like a multi-colored marble pattern—never mixing, always swirling, and occasionally clashing. And when you have a lot of big personalities in one place, when they clash, they clash. Before I moved, there was a lot of clashing. I was nervous to come back, expecting that again, but although it's in the back of my mind, this feels so different.

I missed home more than I realized.

We all tread into the kitchen-dining area, dishing ourselves up some of Grandma's homemade stew recipe, because of course we're eating the one thing we make that's not pizza or pre-packaged lasagna. I appreciate it, having something that makes it feel even more like home.

Over dinner, I catch up with my brothers and parents, until inevitably, the questions turn to what I don't feel like discussing.

"So," Jeremy says, using his forearm to wipe away the broth that has dribbled onto his stubbly chin, "got a girlfriend?"

"Nope," I say, scooping up a turnip. I haven't seen vegetables in so long, it feels strange to have them now. I never thought I would miss turnips of all things.

"Oh, but she's talking to someone," Mom says. I give her a half-shocked, half-glare of a side eye. Of course she has to tell them that. "What was her name, hun? Amy? Amanda?"