‘It’s so good to be here,’ Madi pipes up. ‘Harper and I have more than enough time on our hands to enjoy all the Christmas festivities, after Harper finishes her script that is,’ she adds, giving me an encouraging glare. ‘We haven’t missed the Santa race, have we?’ Madi asks about my mum’s favourite holiday tradition: the Breckenridge Race of the Santas. You would think my mum has lived in Breckenridge all her life with how much she dotes on the place. She and my dad fit in seemingly as soon as they moved here, and I’ve never seen them happier. The whole town comes together to raise money for a charity each year and it is quite the spectacle to witness thousands of Santas running, jogging and walking down the main street of Breckenridge. Mum was quick to lend a helping hand and runs her own tea and cookie station for the Santas as they pass. She gets a thrill out of it and starts baking cookies in the middle of November to prepare.
‘Oh, honey, I’m afraid you missed it. You’ll have to come a little earlier next year if you want to be a part of it. Let me know and I can register you for the race or you can help me at the station,’ my mum says chirpily, already getting ahead of herself and planning next year. My stomach does a triple backflip at the thought of next year, next Christmas. What will I be doing then?
There is a gentle snow flurry falling outside now and in between the giant pine trees are little cabins that look like gingerbread houses. Honest to goodness, my eyes dart around in search of Hansel and Gretel. The multi-coloured lights that twinkle from the rooftops look like jelly tots. The dustings of snow settled on the window ledges could be icing sugar and the blow-up Santas and gingerbread men look like, well, Santa and gingerbread men, but they could almost be edible, made from cookie dough as they sparkle in the distance. I like where my mum and dad live. I had enjoyed my previous visit and understood why they wanted to move to a town that was home to less than five thousand people and had all the outdoor activities that two hippies would ever need, but this was something else.
I feel like I’m in another world as we pull up to my mum and dad’s log cabin that they call home. I almost don’t recognize it, it is covered in so many Christmas lights. There’s even a giant Santa outside wearing sunglasses and a tie-dyed T-shirt. I’m pretty sure my dad had something to do with that one.
The place could be a backdrop for a holiday movie and my mind is starting to whirl with ideas that make my newly appointed task of editing my own original script seem less daunting – which I need considering my inspiration on the plane lasted all of two pages before I resorted to watching comedy movies with Madi. The mush got too much and the only person my brain thought to derive inspiration from was Scott. Needless to say, he didn’t scream joy to the world or happily ever after. I’m hoping my mum and dad’s place will. Madi jumps out of the car behind me as I am staring open-mouthed at my parents’ Christmas grotto. She hugs me from behind.
‘I can see it now,’ she says. ‘Next Christmas on the Pegasus channel, prepare for a Very Hippie Holiday.’ Madi chuckles. She’s gesturing with her arms as though the words are in front of her. ‘I love it.,’ she adds.
‘Me too,’ I say a little breathlessly. And I really do. I admit that I’ve been terrified to spend Christmas with my parents. Normally, their off-the-beaten-path natures and positive energy is contagious and leaves me feeling beyond blessed to call them my parents, but with everything I have been going through with Scott and work, I hadn’t quite felt up to entering the land of the free spirit and ‘love is all you need’. However, standing here in front of my parents’ house, that love – their love – is suddenly making me feel a whole lot stronger and more myself than I have felt in a long time.
‘Come on, honeybee, let’s get you something warm,’ my mum shouts from the wraparound deck. Suddenly, the nerves I felt about next Christmas and looking into the future at the Christmases after that don’t seem so prominent or scary. In fact, the idea that I have no idea of what the future holds tickles me with excitement over the possibilities. I smile up at Mum and nod at the Santa Claus that’s flashing up a peace sign as I walk towards the house. I need to find some of that peace within myself and trust what the universe is offering me. I think I’ve come to just the right place.
I can hear the low hum of The Grateful Dead playing through the house as I stretch out my legs in my bed, enjoying the soft caress of the blue velvety blanket between my toes. I feel like I’ve gone back in time to when I was sixteen years old, to when it was the norm to wake up to the voices of Jim Morrison and Bob Dylan. I smile at the memories of relaxing with my dad on a Sunday, listening to his music and learning about the bands he grew up with. I miss the days where arguing with him over which Grateful Dead song was their hidden gem was my only care in the world. Ahh the voice of Jerry Garcia could soothe anyone’s soul.
Except I’m not in my teenage bedroom. I’m in a large room with wooden beams and flower garlands draped around a stunning log fireplace. There are potted tall green plants either side of the double king-size bed and black and white photographs of mountains and trees hung up on the log walls. It’s gorgeous. Through the sheer navy and gold star print curtains I can see that it is snowing and my heart flutters back to my sixteen-year-old self once more. Why Scott had insisted we stay in a hotel when we visited my parents escapes me; this room is a dream.
Maybe I could go back in time for the day, before I became an adult, before I met Scott, to when it was just me, my parents and Madi. The Grateful Dead was already playing. I could search out my dad and finish where we left off fifteen years ago in our Grateful Dead debate and spend the rest of the day frolicking in the snow. I am just about to make good on my plan when Madi bursts into my room carrying a tray of something that smells incredible, and my laptop bag. My stomach simultaneously growls in excitement and drops with dread.
‘Right, this should be enough French toast and coffee to keep you fuelled and strong. You will not leave this bedroom until that manuscript is polished and sent and then the festivities can get underway,’ Madi announces, placing the tray and my laptop bag on my bed.
I slowly start to sit up and tuck my wavy brown hair behind my ears. I feel like the princess from The Princess and the Pea in this giant bed. I want to protest but Madi moves closer. I am now sitting upright, and I see the giant stack of French toast with what can only be my mum’s diary-free whipped cream, fresh berries and agave syrup. I don’t want to say anything that will jeopardize Madi putting it in front of me.
‘Thank you,’ I say with a small smile as Madi sets the tray on the bed in front of me, trying to make sure nothing spills.
‘I know you have a lot going on, but once this script is sent, we can see what Breckenridge has to offer in terms of festive fun and make our own traditions,’ Madi says, moving away from the tray, satisfied that it isn’t going to topple over and spill its contents. I begin to pour myself a cup of coffee from the cafetière when Madi kisses me on the head. ‘Harper Hayes, work your magic and get it done,’ she adds, dropping another kiss on my forehead and turning to leave. Though I’m not technically divorced yet, Madi has recently reverted to calling me by my maiden name and it makes me feel a little more like I’m taking charge and in control.
I take a sip of coffee and smile as the smooth flavour hits my taste buds. Guilt washes over me when I take in Madi’s excitement for being here and her desire to take in as much holiday fun as we can. She didn’t exactly have a Holly Jolly Holiday last year, what with being cooped up with me and trying to mend the pieces of my broken heart. She’d never hold that against me, but I can’t put her through the same thing this year. ‘Thank you, Mads, and thank you for being here,’ I manage. Madi stops walking and turns to face me.
‘I