But with Duncan, it hadn’t been anything like that. There’d been a connection alright, and we’d both gotten what we’d wanted. Barely a word had to be said, however. What had happened between us had been instantaneous, the kind of connection I’d always fantasized about but worried might never happen for me.
And it went beyond sex. We’d connected emotionally too. I’d only known the guy for a short time, but already I felt like he’d been a part of my life for years.
My mind went back and forth, playing it all out in my head as I drove closer and closer to Denver. Mom and Dad’s house –the house I grew up in— was just outside of town in a suburb called Cherry Creek. I couldn’t wait to get there. I’d been alone so much since I’d moved that a little family time sounded like total heaven.
After what felt like a long drive, I arrived. The little ranch home where I’d spent my childhood was decorated with all sorts of Christmas stuff that my parents had accumulated over the years. Mom was huge on Christmas, which was always a humorous point of contention between her and my dad.
I parked and got out, the sky darkening, a light haze of orange above from the setting sun. The two bristlecone pine trees in front that had been there since I was a kid were festooned with colorful lights, and a dark green wreath was on the front door.
As I opened my car door and took out my bag, a voice called out to me. “Don’t you even think about picking that up,” a familiar man’s voice spoke.
Mom let out a happy squeal as she hurried to me, throwing her arms around me and hugging me tight. Few hugged like Mom, and as per usual, my eyes nearly bugged out of my head from the enthusiasm.
“Good to see you too, Mom,” I said, hugging her back.
She let go right as Dad reached us. “Hey, Princess,” he said, giving me a much more restrained greeting of a hug and a kiss on the cheek before smoothly taking the bag from my hand.
Between my two parents, I definitely took after my Mom more – at least when it came to looks. She was medium height with soft curves and a bright, pretty face with shoulder-length blonde hair neatly framing her sharp features. Dad was tall and broad-shouldered, with handsome, ruddy features. He managed a sporting goods store called The Great Outdoors in Denver, and with his big hands and strong build and outfit of jeans and flannel, he sure looked the part. He wasn’t as outwardly sunny as Mom, but he possessed a more low-key warmth that was always appreciated.
“Come on,” Dad said, bag in hand as he started back to the house. “No sense in freezing our butts off when we’ve got a perfectly good fire inside.”
Mom squealed again and gave me another hug before we headed down the winding sidewalk that led to the house. Dad opened the front door, and the wave of nostalgia hit me hard as soon as I stepped over the threshold.
The living room, as it’d always been, was snug and cozy. Wall-to-wall carpeting was on the floor, a healthy fire roared in the brick fireplace, and pictures of Mom and Dad and my sister, Bethany, and me were packed onto the mantle. And, of course, a giant Christmas tree, covered in decorations, was on the side of the room, the point scraping against the ceiling.
“It’s so freaking good to be home!” I exclaimed, strolling in, kicking off my boots, and plopping down on the overstuffed leather couch where I’d spent many an afternoon reading books when I was a kid.
“And it’s so freaking good to have you here,” Mom said as she sat down next to me and squeezed my foot. “I keep telling you, baby, if you want to move back here, just say the word…”
Dad set the bag on the floor before slipping out of his shearling coat and hanging it up, then coming over and taking our coats. “Laura,” he said, that Dad-knows-best tone in his voice. “She’s a grown adult. I think she’s got bigger things on her mind than moving back home with Mom and Dad.”
“I know, I know,” Mom said. “But you have to admit it’d be nice to have her back. Especially with everything that happened with—”
I waved my hands through the air. “Okay, Okay,” I said loudly, closing my eyes and shaking my head. “One rule before we get started – no mentioning you-know-who.”
“Sorry, sorry,” Mom said. “I know you don’t want to talk about him.”
“And I’m happy to keep his name out of here,” Dad agreed, a mild sharpness to his words. “Any dumbass who breaks my daughter’s heart doesn’t deserve to have his name mentioned.”
“Then let’s leave it at that,” I said. “I’m here to relax and see my family, not to think about all that…other stuff.” I plopped down on the couch.
Mom smiled, giving my leg a pat as she got up. “We just put on some coffee. You still like yours with lots of cream, right?”
“Coffee sounds amazing,” I said. “And yeah – lots of cream, please.”
Mom hopped up and headed into the kitchen, Dad sitting down in his wing-back chair, the spot where I’d seen him a million times growing up, reading his paper and sipping his coffee.
“And how’s the job hunt going?” he asked. “Sorry – I know you want to relax, but it’s kind of my dad job to know about this stuff.”
I nodded, conceding the point. “It’s going. Not many teacher gigs in White Pines, so I’m starting to think about other options.”
“Really?” he asked, intrigued. “What kinds of other options?”
“Do you think I’d be good at journalism?”
Dad looked away, cocking his head to the side as he considered the idea. “Well, when you were a kid you were always asking questions,” he said. “I know it’s a kid thing to ask why all the time, but you took it to another level. And you were such a little sponge for information.”
Mom came in with three big mugs of coffee, passing them out before taking a seat.
“Did you say you were thinking of getting into journalism?” she asked, her eyebrows raised in interest. She turned to Dad. “Did you tell her about how when she was a kid we couldn’t tell her anything about people we knew because she’d always ask them about it?” She laughed prettily. “Remember that time when I mentioned the Wilsons were having some difficulties with their marriage, and the very next time we were out in public and ran into some friends our little reporter here asked the Richardsons for some additional information?”
Dad let out his usual big belly laugh, and I felt my cheeks reddened. “Oh yeah!” he said. “Well, it worked out for the best. Once the Wilsons got word their marriage was the talk of the town, they sorted themselves out nice and quick.”
“I wasn’t like that,” I said, sticking up for myself. “You’re making me sound like a gossip.”
“You’re just inquisitive is all,” Mom said, placing her hand on my leg. “And I think that means you’d be a great journalist.”
“Well, it wouldn’t be that sort of stuff, exactly,” I said.
“Whatever it is,” Dad assured. “I’m sure you’ll be great at it.”
“But did you really need to go all the way to White Pines?” Mom asked, concern in her voice.
“Mom, I really don’t want to have this conversation again.”