I make it home at lunchtime after leaving my stuff in the coffee shop to buy a new charger from the tech store across the road and calling a cab, the driver shooting me a judgmental look when I gave him an address less than a mile away until he saw my bags. The house is cold and empty except for my parents' golden retriever, Cooper, who either remembers me from a year and a half ago or he doesn't care enough to bark. Probably the latter. He has never been a good guard dog, way too friendly to every stranger he meets.

"Hey, Coop." I scratch his big caramel-colored head once I've brought my stuff inside and dumped it in the hallway, because there's no way I'm dragging everything upstairs. I can't even drag myself upstairs.

It's enough that I make it to the sofa. I'm horizontal within a couple minutes of getting home, pulling a blanket over my cold, weary body, and closing my eyes. Cooper gets the memo that it's nap time. He leaps onto the sofa and lands on top of me, making himself comfortable in the space between my body and the back of the sofa. He's too big but that doesn't deter him. It does mean that I end up right on the edge, though.

I want to sleep. God, I need to sleep. I don't care that it's one in the afternoon. I don't care that it'll mess up my sleep schedule. I just need to close my eyes and lose consciousness to get rid of the ache behind my eyes and the overtired burning in my chest, to let sleep renew me. But when I close my eyes, I see Laurel. I see her this morning transposed over the last time I saw her, when I told her that I loved her and she stared straight ahead with a set jaw, her steely gaze fixed on a point beyond the steamed-up windshield. I told her I'd see her again and she told me I was destined to get out of our small town.

I really thought we could find each other again once I graduated. I truly thought that after a year away, we could pick things up where we left off, but Laurel knew better. She already knew. I asked her if she loved me. Horrible, I know, but I was desperate for her attention even as I left, and I can't forget what she said because her words sliced me open. Don't make me say it when you won't be around to hear me.

She never said the words. We were only together for ninety-three days, I didn't expect her to fall in love with me in that time. But I didn't expect that I would fall in love, and yet I did. I fell so hard it terrified me. I fell so fucking hard that once I left it was easier to stay away. Avoiding her became an act of self-preservation.

How am I supposed to sleep when she fills my thoughts, her face in profile in my mind's eye. That final glimpse of her when I got out of her car for the last time and buried my hands in my pockets as I walked away, when I looked over my shoulder at the back of her car and she was still there. Still staring straight ahead, away from me.

Cooper rests his warm muzzle on the side of my head. I feel his hot breath, hear his heavy sigh close to my ear.

"Mood," I say, reaching back to stroke his silky fur. We never had dogs growing up. It was only once I moved out, the last of the Abrahams to flee the nest, that Mom realized with no kids and with Dad working away half of the time, she could get pretty lonely. Enter Cooper, who has been a cuddly oaf since he was a puppy. I think Mom might actually prefer him to my brothers and me: Coop's always here, always wants her love and attention, wags his entire body every time she comes home.

After an hour of lying here trying to sleep, I have failed miserably, so I sit up and unplug my phone and I open WhatsApp, scrolling down until I find Liyo. We haven't spoken in a few months but that's how our friendship is: I met Liyo my first week of high school and we latched onto each other for four years. Now we're lucky if we see each other once a year, our texts sometimes months apart, but she's still my best friend. Whenever we meet up it's as though no time has passed at all. When I left for college, Liyo stayed here – she's never lived anywhere else, and now she has a house with the guy she's been dating for seven years now.

Hey, I text. Our last conversation was shortly after Holly and I split up, when I spilled my soul to Liyo and assured her I was okay, that I was thriving in Seattle. To cut a long story short, I'm back in Deer Pines for the foreseeable! We NEED a catch-up ASAP. (not today though, 17 hours on a train and I'm dead af) are you around any time this weekend?

Liyo works from home and almost always has her phone on her, and barely a couple of minutes pass before she replies.

Oh my god what? Why? I'm free all weekend, literally whenever suits - come over if you want or we can meet at Cowboy. I can't believe you're back omg I MISS YOU

I smile to myself. A catch-up with Liyo is exactly what I need. A few hours with her, the time to bare my soul to my best friend. She has been my rock for fifteen years and I've been hers; we bonded long before either of us realized we were queer, as though we subconsciously sought each other out. Liyo came out to me as bi when we were sixteen. I told her I'm a lesbian when I was in my final year of college, after everything with Laurel. Liyo has no idea about that part of my life, even though she was here that summer too.

At the time I was too wrapped up in Laurel to think of anyone else but now, with the gift of hindsight, I know I neglected Liyo that summer. She was excited to have me back from college for a few months and we did hang out, but nowhere near as much as we could or should have. I let a secret crush get in the way of our friendship.

Idk what time I'll wake up, I say. I might need to sleep for 24 hours straight but how about lunch at cowboy? 1pm?

Perf, Liyo says. Can't wait to see you, city bitch. It's been too long.

Four months since we spoke. Eight months since we met in Spokane, when she and her boyfriend, Cas, drove out for a few days in the city and I managed to find a return flight for under a hundred and fifty bucks. And now, for god knows how long, we're back in the same town. The relief of knowing that this time tomorrow I'll be with Liyo is enough for my mind to shut off: with the promise of a better tomorrow, and the weight of Cooper against me, I manage to sleep.

Until five thirty, when Mom gets home with a bang of the door and a clatter of keys and Cooper's giant feet impale my stomach when he leaps off the sofa to greet her. I'm clutching my waist in agony when she comes into the room and bends over sideways so we're at the same angle.

"Hello, my little intruder," she says with a smile, graying blonde hair falling in her face.

"I think your dog has caused internal bleeding," I say with a groan. "Do organs bruise like skin?"

"Blunt force trauma to the abdomen could bruise a kidney or rupture the spleen," Mom says. She has no medical background but she watches a lot of hospital dramas. "The vet wants Coop to lose a few pounds, too. He was over one hundred at his last check-up." She stands up straight and scratches Coop's head and says, "Are you damaging your sister, Coop? That's not very friendly, my beautiful boy."

Once the pain subsides – just a regular bruise, my organs will be fine – I stand up with some effort after my three hour nap and when Mom opens her arms, I melt into her hug. My mom gives the best hugs in the world. She's an inch taller than me and several sizes bigger and hugging her is like hugging a pillow, like being hugged by a warm dream. Soft and strong and comforting. To be hugged by Diana Abraham is to be reassured. I bury my face in her shoulder and breathe in the scent of home, of my childhood, Mom wearing the same perfume she's worn for so long that her skin carries the scent.

"Hi, honey," Mom says into my hair.

"Hi, Mom."

"I know this isn't how you wanted things to work out, but it is so good to see you, darling. I can't tell you how much I miss you." She puts her hands over my ears and kisses the top of my head. "I know how hard you fought to stay in Seattle."

"It wasn't meant to be," I say, and it kills me. I loved my life out west and with every blow this year has dealt me, I vowed to work harder, to do everything in my power to stay. But my everything wasn't enough. I scraped the barrel until I reached the bottom and saw the reality reflected up at me: it's time to go home.

"Life is a series of ups and downs. This is a down for you, I know, but it's an up for me. I thought once you left, you were gone for good." She wraps her arms around me again and sways. "How was your journey?"

"Catastrophically shit," I say. We go through to the kitchen and Mom turns on the coffee machine. I sit. She rubs my shoulders as she waits for our coffee to brew. It's pitch black outside, the scene inside the kitchen reflected in the window. A car goes past on the other side of the hedge that separates our back garden from a narrow lane, the headlights illuminating the snow that's falling thicker and faster now. It wasn't sticking when I walked from the station. It will be now.

"What happened, hon?" Mom pours two coffees. She takes two cartons out of the fridge. Regular milk for her, hazelnut creamer for me. It touches me that she's been to the store ahead of my arrival. No-one else drinks hazelnut creamer. I can tell by the click as she twists off the cap, breaking the seal.

I talk her through the shitshow that was my journey from Seattle, embellishing the loudness of the man's snoring – "it was literally like a jackhammer inside my brain" – and the drama of the fist fight – "I thought they were going to kill each other and I was going to end up in therapy to deal with the trauma of witnessing a murder."

When it comes to the sub-zero walk from the station to The Caffeinated Cowboy, I don't have to embellish. I really did feel like I'd torn my biceps from dragging my overpacked cases. I really did consider crawling into a hedge and waiting for someone to find me. I have always been an optimist, but I can feel all sense of hope leaking out of my body this year.

If I'm not careful, I'll end up like my brother. Not Theo – stable IT job in Missoula, married with a cute son – but Nathaniel, the eldest Abraham sibling. He lives in New York and works as a risk management analyst. Pessimism is laced into his bones.

"I'm so sorry, Annie," Mom says, a wrinkle between her eyebrows, her eyes wet. We have the same eyes, hers only slightly more gray than blue. "I should've gotten someone to meet you there, I just didn't think."

"I'm here now," I say with a tired smile. "The prodigal daughter has made it home."

"How're you feeling? You must be exhausted."

Her question prompts a yawn. "I had a nap, but yeah, I'm pretty beat. Looking forward to a shower and bed. Is it just us tonight?"

"Just you and me," she confirms. "Your dad's away for work until the tenth, and then he'll be here until the new year, and Nathan's coming over for a couple days either side of Christmas. I'm not sure about Theo's plans."

Christmas always used to mean the whole family getting together, up until a few years ago, when Theo got married and had a kid and Nathan moved all the way across the country. Dad's a petroleum engineer and spends a lot of time on the road, but he always fought for Christmas off to spend with us. He almost always won, until I made it to high school and he had colleagues with younger families, people more deserving of a break over the holiday season.

"Any big plans for our ten days of mother-daughter bonding time?" I ask as I sip my coffee, warming both hands around the snowman-shaped mug.

"Just to spend some time with my girl," Mom says. "We can get the house all Christmasified together."

Mom loves Christmas: the last week of November, she gets everything down from the loft and spends the first couple weeks of December turning the house into a winter wonderland. We don't do lights or decorations outside aside from the wreath on the door – our house is in the middle of nowhere a mile out of Deer Pines, after all, hardly anyone would see – but inside it's like Santa's grotto. Fake snow sprayed on the windows; ornaments hanging from ribbons tied around light fixtures and the original wooden beams.

Our house, a classic craftsman more than a hundred years old, is already a warm and cozy place with its old brick feature fireplace and hardwood floors and the cased openings connecting each room downstairs. It really lends itself to the Christmas spirit, when Mom weaves red and green tinsel through the banisters and spends half of her salary on candles from TJ Maxx that fill the house with the scent of cookies and cinnamon and cloves, cedarwood and pine and gingerbread. None of that is up yet. It's the first of the month today, twenty-four days until Christmas.

I haven't been a part of Mom's traditions in more than a decade, before high school started whupping my ass, but I love it. I love embracing the spirit. I love trawling Target for cute decorations and I love spending an hour sniffing every candle and I love hanging out with my mom. I love baking sugar cookies and gingerbread together; I love getting tipsy on brandy-spiked egg nog with her.

"I'd love to Christmasify the place with you," I say, finishing off my coffee. A bit of Christmas spirit is exactly what I need to rediscover my joy. I know it's in there. It's literally my middle name. 

*

do you like the christmas spirit? i love the whole season of christmas but i'm not that fussed about the actual day - i just love the music and the food and the festivities and the lights and the build-up!