us out here.
“Wake up, sleepyhead. We’re home,” Mom says, shaking my shoulder.
I open my eyes and see that we’re parked in front of our single-story brick home. There’s a slight glow shining out the living room window and the porch light is on, ready to greet us.
“Who shoveled the driveway?” I ask.
“I pay Mrs. Taylor’s grandson thirty dollars to do it; he always does the sidewalk too.”
“Damn, inflation is crazy.” I shake my head, remembering when Carson and I would walk around asking neighbors if we could shovel their driveway for ten dollars. And we had to split that!
I yawn and undo my seat belt before opening the door and climbing out into the crunch of fresh snow. Mom pops the trunk and gets out the bag of clothing I packed and leads the way to the door. I look up at the Christmas lights that run along the railing of the house and smile; she still uses the big colored ones that are currently set to chase one another in a specific pattern. I used to always want them on the setting that looked like a strobe light, but my mom told me it was obnoxious for the neighbors and people driving by. I’m still partially asleep and trudging toward the door when Carson’s mom comes walking off her porch.
“Felicity, is that you?”
“It’s me, Mrs. Hamilton,” I reply, my feet coming to a stop on their journey.
“Look at you!” she says, stepping into the brightness from the outside porch light. “I haven’t seen you in years. You look so grown up,” she says, pulling me in for a tight hug.
“You look amazing, yourself, Mrs. Hamilton. How’s Jack doing?”
She releases me and waves a hand through the air as if to say, you know men. “Does Carson know you’re coming home? I just got off the phone with him a few minutes ago. He should be arriving any minute.”
I nod. “He knows.”
She smiles, nudging my shoulder. “That must be the reason for his visit.”
I want to say duh, but I don’t. I just shrug and offer up a smile.
“Well, you better go get freshened up.” She practically shoos me off.
Mom smiles and hands me the keys to the house and my bag of clothes. I let myself in while they stand around and talk. I drop her keys on the table by the door, then walk through the living room; everything still looks exactly the same. I set my bag down and walk over to the Christmas tree, bending down to plug it in. I can smell the pine needles and I smile; Mom still refuses to ever get a fake tree. I stand there for a moment, basking in the glow of the warm lights as I finger one of the ornaments. It’s shaped to look like a snowman with a frame in the center of it. The picture is me at two years old in a giant puffy snowsuit out on the front lawn. I take a moment to look at few of the other ornaments. I wish Mom had waited to decorate the tree until I got home; it was always one of my favorite traditions with her. We’d order pizza, put on Christmas Vacation, and decorate the tree. I sigh, picking up my bag again and heading down the hallway toward my old bedroom.
The door opens easily and when I step inside, I flip on the light. The room smells like fresh laundry so I guess Mom must have washed the bedding. The cream-colored carpet looks soft and clean, but I guess that’s what happens when a room is no longer used on a daily basis anymore. The pink walls are still covered in my posters and pictures I hung years ago. Above my bed is a poster of Mario Lopez. He’s shirtless and flexing while looking directly at the camera. I remember Carson hating that poster when he came to visit from college; the memory makes me laugh.
Carson just stopped by and it’s the first time he’s been here since leaving for college five months ago. I lead him to my room so we can just sit and hang out. I open my bedroom door and he follows me in, but he stops dead in his tracks when his eyes land on the poster above my bed.
“What the fuck is that?” he asks, starting at it, completely frozen.
I look at the poster with a smile. “Uh, Mario Lopez, duh. Don’t mind him. He’s just working