Noelle loves Christmas. She is named for it after all. But this year is different. After a recent break-up ruins her tropical getaway with sophisticated ex-almost-fiancé Preston, Noelle finds herself back in her hometown, stranded two weeks before C...
Aunt Holly and Uncle Hank's tree farm is a solid thirty-minute drive out of town. It somehow seemed closer growing up. My stomach rumbles at the gingerbread permeating the truck cabin. It's been hours since I ate my pepper and feta omelet for breakfast, but I refuse to give in to the cookies.
I make a mental note to ask mom and dad if they want to stop at the café on the way back. I'm still thinking about that chowder and would love to try another non-festive soup tonight.
If you aren't from here, you can't drive here. It's something Pennsylvanians say state-wide, but it's especially pertinent here. The roads bend and wind and curve inside out, and it's second nature to us. Even after all these years, I still feel my hands already gripping the wheels for a turn, preparing for the next stretch of road.
I stare out the window at the passing farmhouses and empty barns. Covered hay-bales look like great colossal snowballs littering all the fields. I don't pass a single property that doesn't have decorations in some way or another. The truck overheats and I roll the window down for some fresh mountain air. And also to escape the scrumptious smell!
I make my last subconscious left turn onto my aunt and uncle's street.
A wide wooden-plank sign is erect right on the edge of the road and outlined in bright yellow bulbs.
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The way Trodder is pronounced makes me think of Trotter. Love that for me.
The parking is packed and I have to drive five miles per hour to avoid all the haphazard walkers. I'm crawling so slowly that I may as well be walking!
I spin the truck out of the line for the parking lot and wind up the small hill to the farmhouse driveway. I slide from the truck and walk over to find a sign hanging in their front door.
Find us in the fields!
I have to laugh as I picture my Aunt Holly saying this.
I navigate my way around the house. My white snow boots look yellow next to the untouched patches of pure snow. The backyard slope empties at the edge of the parking lot. A cozy giftshop is set up right next to the rack of wreaths.
Evergreen garland snakes up the lamppost entrance to the tree fields.
I inhale the biting cold until it almost freezes my lungs. I wish I were numb to the cold like I am to the cheer.
A family of five races by me; the kids excitedly brandish candy canes at their parents, waving them around like magic wands. I count at least three couples, or people who look like they're couples. At least there aren't any proposals.
It can't be later than 1 PM, but the white Christmas lights are already glistening all over the snow. The faint smell of apples wafts from inside the gift shop. I turn in that general direction, searching for a secret spot to take my not-at-all-pathetically-staged selfie.
"Can I help you, ma'am?" Someone asks behind me.
I spin around and see the legs of a man whose face is completely obscured by an oversized and netted tree.
"Looks like your hands are full," I respond, stepping back to avoid being whacked.
The man -or boy -sets the tree down against the fence.
"Hi." A dark haired baby-faced man grins.
"Hi," I repeat, watching him evaluate me. There's something very familiar... "Oh my god- Kit!"
Stella's not so young brother hugs me.
"You're a giant! What's in the water around here? You're as tall as the trees!" I laugh.
Kit sets me back on the patch of semi-cleared dirt in front of the wreaths.
"You're not so bad yourself, Yes," Kit grins. It reaches his eyes.
"I forgot about Yes," I admit.
Growing up, Stella (in addition to my parents) always called me Noe. When I used to babysit Kit, he'd hate hearing 'No' all the time, so he started calling me Yes.
"What are you doing here? Didn't you quit Christmas?" Kit asks, accusatory.
"Word travels fast when 10 people live in town," I laugh. "But don't worry, I'm not here for a tree. Just to visit my aunt and uncle."
"Right. Gotcha."
"Stella told me you were working here, I completely forgot," I say, the grin frozen on my face.
"Yes, I'm the tree-tender," Kit says, nodding.
I can't stifle my laugh at the phrase.
"I know, I know," Kit winces, mentally in pain.
"So that's what they're calling it these days."
"I mean, I do tend trees, I guess." Kit finally shrugs. "Speaking of which, I need to get this one over to that very tiny, definitely not going to make it home with this car."
"Goodluck with that," I say, sarcastic. "I'll see you later!"
I wiggle my jaw back and forth, trying to break both the grin and the cold. My lips are already chapped so I apply a new topcoat to my mauvey lips. I dig my hand into my pocket in search of a pom-pom. My hair is a lost cause right now, but maybe a hat will add to the aesthetic.
Careful to make sure no one sees me -I duck around to the last row of wreaths. I back myself up against the nearest green wreath staked with gold-painted pinecones and adorned with a big red bow. Its white lights twinkle behind me. I fluff up my hair and wait for perfect light.
This isn't my first selfie.
I snap a few in fervor and cannot wait for Preston Wells, stupid esquire, the third to rue the day he dumped me.
