Page 52 of Falling Like Snow

“I’m worried people aren’t going to show up,” Mom says, her breath a white puff. “Not that I’d blame them. I’m about to go lie with the reindeer in the barn just to keep warm.”

“Yeah, it’s brutal out here,” I agree. “But once we have the propane heaters spread out and people are having fun with reindeer, I’m sure no one will even notice the cold.”

“I hope you’re right. Otherwise, we’re inviting frostbite for no reason today. Plus, I’ve heard several families are here visiting specifically for the events this weekend. I don’t want them to be disappointed,” Mom says as she leads me through a small opening in the tree line.

“Oh wow,” I breathe, taking in the frozen path winding through the dense forest of mighty evergreens and towering oaks, maples, and birches. Golden strands of mid-morning sunlight burst through their leafless branches, glinting off icicles and dotting the needle-covered floor.

“I used to come here with Grandma when I was little,” she explains, pulling the hood of her winter coat over her head. “We called this the Christmas Trail. The old owners lined it with light displays—bright, colorful renditions of reindeer, Santas, snowmen—and posts with plastic-protected pages of The Night Before Christmas, so you could read it as you walked through the woods.”

“I love that.”

“I wanted to replicate it, but the posts have been taken down, and I’ve been too busy to figure out an alternative,” she says. “But I think the lights and displays will suffice.”

We set our crates on the path. “I agree,” I say, even though my mind is already churning with ideas for making the storybook trail happen. “So, what now?”

“Sterling and Cooper are coming to help at noon. Until then, we’re on our own,” she says. “The Garcias said there are ladders behind the red barn, so we’ll get those and cover what we can reach.”

“We should focus on the smaller trees and bushes first,” I suggest.

“Agreed.”

I’m following Mom toward the barn when she gives me a sidelong glance. “So, are you going to tell me about this new boy or what?”

“I plead the Fifth.”

“Oh, come on! I’m your mother. I pushed you out of me. I fed you from my boobs. I cleaned up your poop. I—”

“Oh my god, if it means you’ll stop talking, I’ll tell you!”

“Deal,” she says.

I sigh, unsure where to even start. “His name is Micah. He’s on the hockey team, and there’s not really anything to tell.”

“You got crafty and made a sweatshirt for him—don’t think I won’t notice things in the laundry—and you went to his game. You texted that you were going out with him last night, and you got home quite late…” She elbows me playfully. “Sounds like something. Have we kissed this Micah guy?”

“We have not.”

“And why not?”

“We were sort of… interrupted,” I say, my face heating.

“Oooh. Sounds like a juicy story.”

“Well, it isn’t story time,” I tell her with a close-lipped smile. “Sorry.”

She gasps. “You’re really going to leave me hanging like that? Give me just enough to pique my interest, then leave me in the dark?” She shakes her head. “Rude.”

I laugh. “Sorry, but you’re still my mom. It’s weird to talk about kissing stuff.”

“It absolutely is not weird! I’ve been where you are, you know? I’ve kissed lots of guys. Probably too many…,” she mumbles more to herself.

“See! That’s gross and weird. I don’t need to know those details!”

“I wasn’t going to give you my details. I want to hear yours,” Mom laughs. “I’m just saying I can relate. I have experience. I’m more than just your mom. I’m also a woman.”

I fake gag. “Stop talking. Please.”

We fall into a bout of laughter as we hike around the barn and each grab an end of the tallest ladder we can find.