“Maybe you should only work on the snowman painting since it’s mostly just a big white surface,” Marcus suggests, and I wish I had a snowball in my hands. I would make sure I didn’t miss. Instead, I just stick out my tongue.
“I do the organizing around here. I can’t be expected to be good at everything,” I retort instead.
“Apparently not,” Marcus teases.
* * *
“How’s it coming?” Yoshi asks a while later, sauntering over to check on our work.
“Pretty well,” I say, lifting my arms and stretching. I happen to glance up and see Lark and Kyle on the other side of the gym. I can’t believe I didn’t see them come in. Or did they not see me?
“Lark and Kyle have been here this whole time?” I say in surprise.
“Yup,” Yoshi says. “They actually helped me create a giant cardboard snowman so we can use our whole photo booth setup with a pretend snowman. Maayan totally okayed it, just in case you’re worried. If people can’t build their own snowmen, at least they can still take silly pictures with a pretend one.”
“Nice,” Marcus says.
I nod, my eyes fixed on Lark and Kyle. It’s not possible that Lark doesn’t see me. Is she really ignoring me? Hoping I wouldn’t notice her?
“Be right back,” Marcus says, getting up and flashing us his paint-stained palms. “Need to wash my hands.”
He takes off, leaving me alone with Yoshi. Normally, that would make me happy, but I’m too distracted by Lark.
“So I have an update,” Yoshi says. “I didn’t want to tell you until I was sure I could get them, but I thought we could create a little village at the carnival. I’ve talked with a bunch of families about donating those big outdoor plastic houses. We could put them all in one area, and maybe create a border around them with tables or benches or something so that the kids can play inside them.” His eyes meet mine. “I know it’s not on the original list of the carnival activities, but I saw it online and it seemed really cute—”
“I think it’s a neat idea,” I interrupt. “But what’s the connection to snow?”
He shrugs. “I was thinking since it might wind up snowing, it’ll look like a mini version of a ski village. And if it doesn’t snow, we can stick some Christmas lights and big snowflakes on the houses.”
“It sounds cute.” I can see the appeal of the area, and if parents can watch their own kids while they play in an enclosed space, it could be great.
“But wait.” I am running through Yoshi’s words, and I can’t believe I was so freaked out about Lark ignoring me that I didn’t hear what he’d said. “What do you mean it might wind up snowing?”
Yoshi bites his bottom lip, worrying it between his teeth. “I thought you knew. Earlier it looked like we could get snow on the Monday after the festival. But now it looks like the snow that was supposed to hit farther south is actually going to come up here. Something about wind patterns and cold air and warm air. I tried to get my dad to explain it to me, but I couldn’t really understand—”
“Wait. What? It might snow on the festival?” I cry.
What does it mean if we get snow? Does it change the plan? We’re now doing all this work to make the fake snow for the Snow Carnival …
“It’s looking more likely. But they don’t know for sure,” Yoshi replies. “Predicting snow is one of the hardest aspects of weather forecasting. It seems easy, right? Water falling from the clouds. But if water freezes on its way down at a certain level, it will make giant snowflakes, which will result in …”
I know Yoshi’s still talking, but I can’t hear his words anymore. It could snow after all. Is this good or is this bad?
“I need to tell Lark,” I interrupt, getting to my feet. “She needs to tell her mom. We need to figure out—”
“Lark knows,” Yoshi says. “That’s why I thought you knew.”
“I didn’t,” I snap. Why didn’t Lark tell me? Why didn’t she text me about it right away? Did she think I knew already?
“When did you find out?” I demand, and Yoshi shrinks back.
“Last night, when I got home from your dad’s house,” he says quietly.
“So Lark knows and Soleil knows, and that means tons of people probably know. But at the same time, you don’t actually know whether it will or won’t snow.”
“It looks like—” Yoshi starts, but I start backing away.
“Your dad is the weatherman. How is it that this is coming as a surprise to us? Shouldn’t he have known something like this was coming?” I ask.
“It doesn’t work like that,” Yoshi says, his eyes narrowing. “I told you—”
“I even said the other day that he should just pretend we’re getting snow, and you told me that he wouldn’t do that!”
“Because he wouldn’t. He reports on what he sees, not what we want him to see.” Yoshi frowns at me. Yesterday things finally felt like they were going in the right direction, and now everything is upended.
“Whatever.” I know that I should calm down, but tears threaten to fill my eyes. “I need to go.”
* * *
Except, I don’t go. I walk over to where Lark and Kyle are arranging the cardboard snowman.
“Hey, guys.” I don’t even pretend to smile. “Lark, can I talk with you for a minute?”
She follows me to the side of the cafeteria where there are fewer people who might overhear us.
“What’s up?” she asks.
“I hear it might snow?” My voice is hushed.
“Yup. I figured you knew since you check the weather apps every hour.”
I groan. Ever since I stopped being worried that the festival would be canceled, I stopped checking the weather apps. “I didn’t know.”
“Oh.” Lark glances at the ground. “Sorry.”
Okay, so at least she wasn’t purposefully keeping it from me.
“If it might snow, why are we working on all this fake snow stuff?” I ask, waving my hand around.
I can’t tell if Lark’s rolling her eyes, because she’s still staring at the ground. “I don’t think they know if the snow is coming for sure. They can’t tell yet if it will be freezing rain or good packing snow or just a thin layer.”
I remember Yoshi’s comment about the different types of snow and how rain freezing at different points changes things. Why can’t computers just tell us this stuff?
I sigh. “Is there any chance you want to get out of here and come hang out at the inn with me?” I ask Lark. “Thierry is making chili …”
Lark glances around the cafeteria. “I don’t think I should leave right now. I have to finish helping Kyle with the snowman.”
“Please? We haven’t talked in a while, and I really need your help figuring some stuff out.”
Lark’s eyes flick to my face and then go back down to the floor. “I want to stay here for a while longer. Can we just talk another time?”
“Another time? Lark, we haven’t talked in forever!”
“No, Mia,” she snaps. “These days, you talk all the time. Usually either about the festival and how important it is that it happens, or about Yoshi. Well, news flash: The festival is not just about you, and either tell Yoshi how you feel or don’t.”
I take two steps back, shocked at the words coming out of my best friend’s mouth.
“I’m s-sorry,” I stammer.
Lark rolls her shoulders forward and puts her hands over her face. “No. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said it like that.” She pauses and drops her hands. “Maybe I just need a little break from all of it, okay?”
I’m trying to process her words, but I don’t know what to say. “You mean, like a break from me?” I ask, my throat tightening.
Lark doesn’t answer, and that’s answer enough.
Finally, I turn around, grab my coat from where I left it on a chair, and walk out of school. I don’t run, because I’m half hoping that Lark will stop me, but she doesn’t. So I walk out into the cold afternoon, my mind b
lank.
I make my way home in a daze. Thank goodness I don’t live far, because I don’t actually remember crossing streets or walking past the various landmarks between school and the inn.
Lark and I might not be best friends anymore. I’ve probably ruined everything with Yoshi. It may or may not snow this weekend, and I don’t know what that means for the festival. And for some odd reason, Marcus and I are back to being friends.
Everything is upside down.
I reach the back entrance of the inn and start to open the door. But then I spot Mom and Thierry sitting together on stools at the kitchen counter. I pause, watching them from outside for a moment. Mom’s wearing a dark red silk blouse paired with black slacks and a pair of low black heels. It doesn’t matter that she and Thierry are probably just having a cup of tea alone. Mom’s the only person I know who wears yoga pants only at yoga.
Unlike Shannon, who would wear yoga pants to church if she was the churchgoing type. Kind of like me.
Thierry, of course, is wearing his chef’s whites, though his toque is on the counter beside him.
Why are they even sitting here like this? Usually, in the days before the festival, they’re frantically running around, Mom dealing with guests out front and Thierry planning menus with his staff and whipping up treats. Usually, it’s madness. Right now it’s … strangely calm.
Is that because everyone has canceled and the inn is empty? I swallow hard.
I’m about to step all the way inside when I hear Thierry’s voice.
“Chérie,” he’s saying to Mom, “do you ever let yourself think about what it would be like if we didn’t have the inn to worry about? We could travel, take Mia to all the places we used to talk about going to. We’ve never even taken her to Haiti, to see where I grew up. We’re always tied to the inn.”
Mom leans her head down on Thierry’s shoulder, both of their backs to me.
I step all the way into the kitchen now. It might be warm in here, but I feel like I have ice running through my veins.
“No,” I say before I have a chance to think about my words.
Mom and Thierry shift on their stools, turning to face me.
“Mia,” Mom says. “I didn’t hear you come in.”
I search both their faces for a sign of what’s going on, but I can’t tell anything. They both look tired, but … that’s it. Thierry’s large hand is covering Mom’s, and it’s only when I get closer that I see what’s spread out on the counter.
Flyers printed with the words FOR SALE and lots of photographs. I look closer. They’re real estate listings for properties in the Northeast. Six different places for sale.
Six places for sale not here in Flurry.
Which means we are selling this inn and moving?
“No,” I repeat.
Mom frowns and glances over at Thierry, who also seems puzzled. It’s hard to tell, though, because I can’t see that well through the tears in my eyes.
Not after everything. Not after I did everything I could to save the festival.
“Honey—” Mom starts, but I back away.
“I can’t. No. I just …” And this time I run through the kitchen and the front of the inn, past Alice at the desk, and then across the garden to our cottage.
I just can’t anymore.
* * *
Unlike Lark, Mom does follow me. I barely have enough time to fling myself on my bed before she’s rapping on my door.
She doesn’t wait for me to answer. She comes in and sits beside me.
“Mia, we need to talk,” she says as her fingers rake gently through my hair.
I curl my body forward, wishing she’d just leave me alone. Isn’t there a guest who needs to be checked in? Or a crisis that needs dealing with? Or did she already sell the inn, so there’s nothing to worry about?
I know realistically that isn’t possible, but I can’t stop the sobs. I can’t deal with everything falling apart like this.
“You saw the real estate listings?” Mom asks after a few minutes.
I push my head farther into my pillow. We can’t sell the inn and move. We can’t.
“You know they’re just for research, right?”
I lift my head and turn my face toward her.
“Research?” I echo.
Mom nods. “I asked our real estate agent to send me some listings for comparable inns in the region, so that if we need to take out a second mortgage, we can use those comps to help us set a value for the inn.”
My heart drops again.
“So, we are selling the inn?” I whisper.
“We’re not,” Mom says.
I hate the fact that she’s lying to me, that she’s treating me like I’m a baby. I grip the duvet tighter. “I heard you and Thierry just now, talking about how nice it would be if you didn’t need to worry about the inn.”
“Oh, honey.” Mom takes my hand in her two cool ones. “Sometimes grown-ups daydream about what it would be like not to have responsibilities, what it would be like if we were free to go where we please, sit on beaches or travel through Europe. But we aren’t thinking about giving up the inn in order to do that.”
“But last week,” I argue, “I heard you telling Thierry that you’d looked into selling the inn.” My voice is a near whisper, like saying the words too loudly will make them real.
Mom smiles and shakes her head. “You should stop eavesdropping, hon, and just ask more questions. I’ll always be honest with you.” She pauses and adds, “Yes, for a moment there, I had considered the possibility of selling the inn. Money has been a little tight this year, and you know me, I always like to plan ahead. That’s why I talked to our real estate agent. But it’s not something Thierry and I need to do. Or want to do.”
I nod, taking in her words. I believe her now. She wasn’t lying to me before. I exhale a breath, and Mom continues.
“Thierry and I love this inn, and as hard as it is to run it sometimes, we enjoy it so much. We’re able to work together, side by side. But more importantly, this is our home. Yours and mine and Thierry’s.”
I curl up until my head rests on Mom’s shoulder. Her arms wrap around me, and I let out the tears that have been accumulating all this time.
“So, you aren’t selling the inn?” I ask, just to triple-confirm. “Is it because the festival is back on?”
“No, we’re not going to sell the inn,” Mom says. “Is that why you’ve been so anxious about the festival, because you thought we’d lose the inn if the festival didn’t happen?”
I nod into her shoulder. “I was scared that we’d have to move somewhere and I’d be far away from Dad and Shannon and the littles. I wouldn’t be able to travel back and forth as easily, and I wouldn’t feel at home in either place …” I feel the tears threatening to return. As though she can tell, Mom rubs my back like she used to when I was little.
“And I wanted the festival to happen so I could go on the sleigh ride,” I admit.
Mom laughs a full-out belly laugh. “Oh, honey. Listen, if we were seriously thinking about moving, you better believe we’d talk to you about it. More importantly, though, living close to your dad is a priority. He’s no longer my husband, but our lives will always be connected through you. And I’m not going to do anything to put a strain on you like that. Not if I can help it. And your dad and Shannon feel the same way. As does Thierry.”
The relief I feel is all-consuming, even though we’re not out of the woods by any sense. “Did you hear it might snow for the festival after all?”
Mom sighs. “I did. Living in Vermont is always a weather adventure. Do you remember that Grandma used to always say that if you don’t like the weather, wait five minutes, and it will change?”
I smile. “No.”
“It’ll be okay,” Mom says. “We’ll make it work. And about that sleigh ride?” She pats my hand. “You’re still the junior coordinator of the festival, no matter what. And hey, we can stage our own sleigh ride and our own photo another time
this winter. You do deserve to have your picture down there in the living room.”
I laugh, feeling sheepish but also much, much better. “Thanks, Mom.”
She stands up, dusting invisible pieces of lint from her pants. “I should head downstairs. Oh. And I almost forgot. Lark called earlier and said she was going to stop by. She should be here any minute.”
“Wait.” I sit up. “Lark said she was coming over?”
“Your best friend, Lark?” Mom says with a frown. “The one you spend all your time with? Yes, she said she was heading over.”
“When did she call?” It was probably earlier in the day, before we had our fight.
“Maybe ten minutes before you got home? She said she tried your cell phone, but nobody answered, but she was just going to wait for her dad to pick her up at school and then she’d come over. I might have mentioned that Thierry was making chili.”
“But—”
Mom’s phone beeps with a text and she glances at the screen. “Ah, Thierry says Lark’s here. Do you want her to come to the house, or do you want to meet her in the inn?”
“Ummm …” I can’t figure out which will be best. I guess Lark wouldn’t be coming over if she hated me and didn’t want to talk to me ever again. But maybe it would be better if we were near Mom and Thierry because then she wouldn’t get mad at me in front of them …
Mom’s phone beeps with another text. “No worries. She’s coming here.”
I’ve never been so nervous to see my best friend before.
* * *
Thankfully, I have just enough time to wash my face so I look a little less like I’ve been crying. I meet Lark downstairs in our tiny sitting room. While Lark can get up and down the stairs, she doesn’t love doing it. Especially not when she’s been on her feet all day.
“Hey,” she says when I get downstairs.
“Hey.” I take a seat on the opposite end of the couch from her.
I cannot imagine my life without Lark as my best friend. I feel like I’d be losing a part of myself.
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