For my boys
“It looks like a drunk elf threw up in here.”
I snorted a laugh and looked at my sister, Lauren, as we stopped just inside the sliding glass doors to the Evergreen Lodge. Lauren was not wrong. The huge, three-story lobby atrium, with its exposed wood beams and tremendous chandeliers (made of a thousand fake deer antlers), was still decorated for Christmas—and the sensory experience was an onslaught of yuletide cheer. Every one of the beams was swagged with evergreen garland and roped with white twinkle lights. The chandeliers had been draped in red-and-green-plaid ribbon, and large glass balls hung overhead. Christmas-themed pillows overflowed from every couch and chair, and there were Christmas trees of all sizes everywhere. In the corners, on the counters, acting as centerpieces for the low coffee tables. There was even a life-sized animatronic Santa next to the check-in desk, waving with one hand and holding a plate of cookies in the other, while the instrumental soundtrack to The Nutcracker played at a respectful volume from hidden surround-sound speakers.
“Why does the elf have to be drunk?” I asked.
Lauren rolled her eyes like I was so lame. Which, let’s be honest, I should be used to by now. But my cheeks went ahead and started burning anyway. Lauren pretty much always thought I was lame. I wasn’t sure why I kept trying. If there was one thing for certain on this earth, it was that my big sister and I did not share the same sense of humor. Or style. Or basic outlook on life. And still…
“No, seriously,” I said. “Couldn’t the elf just have the flu? Or E. coli?”
“Ew!” Lauren scrunched her perfect nose. “That’s so gross.”
“How is throwing up from the flu grosser than throwing up from being drunk? Barf is barf.”
“Why do you always do this?” Lauren asked.
I have no idea, I thought.
“Do what?” I said.
“Overanalyze everything. It was just an offhanded joke. God, Tess. Just chill.”
Lauren sighed the sigh of the world-weary and looked at her phone, punching in a message with her thumbs before shoving it back into the pocket of her tight jeans. The second she looked up, she shouted “Loretta!” and raised her arm straight up in the air. Her smile even seemed genuine, which was impressive, considering Lauren had spent the entire shuttle ride over from the tiny regional airport bitching about how our grandmother—who had insisted we call her Loretta from the day each of us could talk—hadn’t sent a car. Instead, we had been jammed into the back of the twelve-seat Evergreen Lodge minibus with ten other ski-obsessed Vermont vacationers, all of whom had been in far better, louder, and even singier moods than we had. “Twelve Days of Christmas” was going to be playing on repeat in my head until basically the end of time.
“Girls!” Loretta called, walking over to us in her high heels and pencil skirt. Her chic steel-gray bob gleamed under the lights, and her makeup was, as always, perfectly applied—cheekbones defined, lips outlined, eyelashes long and curled. She air-kissed first Lauren, then me—enveloping us in a cloud of her rose-scented perfume—then stepped back to look us over.
Loretta was wearing a white silk shirt, a pearl choker, and tasteful diamond earrings. She looked like a million bucks, as usual. I tugged at the frayed cuffs of my sweatshirt and wondered if any of my friends’ grandmothers made them feel frumpy and unstylish like mine did. Wasn’t it supposed to be the other way around? My other grandma—Nana, my mom’s mom—was twenty pounds heavier than Loretta, wore nothing but colorful cotton sweaters and jeans, and smelled of apple pie and Bengay. She made me feel ready for Fashion Week.
Not that I had put in maximum effort this morning. The day after the worst Christmas ever, and I was getting on a plane with my sister to enjoy a week of exile. If any day had ever screamed “comfy sweats,” it was this one.
“Oh, it’s good to see you both,” Loretta said. “How was your trip?”
“It was fine,” I told her just as Lauren said, “It was long.” This was true. We’d had to fly from Philadelphia to Boston, hang out in the airport there for over an hour, and then board the tiny plane over to the Stowe airport, where we’d gotten on the musical shuttle bus. But I’d never been one to complain.
“Well, you’re here now. Just wait until you see all the incredible events the staff has planned for this week. You girls are going to have such a fabulous time.”
Lauren looked at me out of the corner of her eye, and I had to look away to keep from laughing again. There was always a litany of “incredible events” planned at Evergreen Lodge. My dad’s family had run the place for generations, with Loretta at the helm now. The lodge was more like a compound, consisting of the main building with its huge lobby, event spaces, restaurants and coffee bar, indoor pool, fully equipped gym, and one hundred hotel-style rooms. But it didn’t end there. Several outbuildings housed a spa, a greenhouse, a boathouse, a wedding chapel, a dance hall, a couple dozen private cabins, and the Little Green Lodge at the top of the ski lifts where people could rest and get hot chocolate and snacks between runs. Plus there was a staff of hundreds, each with their own specialty, whether it be lifeguarding, line-dancing, or fireside storytelling. Loretta knew every member of the staff by name and treated them all like family. Which was to say, she smiled at them occasionally.
Evergreen Lodge reminded me of this movie called Dirty Dancing, which my mom had made both me and Lauren watch the second we turned twelve. It had been Mom’s favorite movie as a kid, and sometimes I wondered if that movie was the entire reason my mother had fallen in love with my dad. She must have walked into Evergreen Lodge the first time and envisioned Baby and Johnny doing their iconic lift in the center of the lobby and just said, That’s it! I’m in! Of course, Mom and Dad’s romance hadn’t worked out quite as well as the one depicted in the movie. My parents were currently in the midst of finalizing their divorce. Which was the entire reason Lauren and I were here. Usually we came in the summer, because my mom liked hiking better than skiing, but we’d been here a few times in February so that Lauren and I could learn to ski, which was one of my dad’s favorite things. This was the first time I had seen the place all done up for the holidays, though. Normally, I loved Christmas and would relish this cozy, merry atmosphere. With the way things were in my life right now, though, I was not in the mood.
Christmas was over, and I sort of wished the staff had already de-merried the place.
A family of four walked through the doors behind us, toting their skis and snowboards, the parents laughing and holding hands with ruddy faces and windswept hair. My heart panged. How could people be walking around all happy and carefree when everything was falling apart?
“Let’s get you two settled,” Loretta said, clasping her hands. She pivoted on her heel and led us across the lobby. “I’ve reserved one of the bigger rooms on the third floor for you. It has fantastic views of the mountains and the lake—not that I expect you’ll be spending much time in your room, what with everything going on around the resort.”