And then she really saw beyond the windows. “Oh, wow.” There were no windows in back. She’d had no idea how much snow had fallen. Was still falling.
“Yeah. Oh wow. The clinic closed for bad weather, and then you went to the back and started working and didn’t think more about the weather, didn’t you?”
“I guess not.”
“And then you had your mother frantic, thinking you’d wrecked driving all the way into the city to that apartment.”
Thatapartment. He said it like she lived in a crack house or something. It was a nice place, and the complex had a really nice clubhouse, with a pool and a gym. “I’m sorry, Daddy.”
He put his arm around her shoulders. “I know, pix. But we gotta get moving now. The snow’s not letting up, and now they’re saying eighteen to twenty-four inches before it’s done.”
“Jeez!” She went to the front doors and peered out at the parking lot. The family Suburban was parked beside her Prius.
Her Prius was buried to the top of its wheel wells.
His reflection in the glass backlit by the security lights, her father came up behind her. He stood slightly to her left; he was deaf in his left ear and always maneuvered so his right was closest to the person he was with, or, in a group, the person talking. “You’re comin’ home with me. Mom wants everybody home this weekend.”
“I can’t, Daddy. I have to get back to Mr. D.” Mr. Darcy, her corgi, was waiting for her at her apartment.
“Your mom sent Duncan over to get him earlier. He’s at the house.”
“You guys have got to stop walking into my apartment whenever you like.” She’d given them a key for emergencies, but they considered every reason they came up with an emergency.
“If you’d gotten your messages, you could have been involved in the decision.”
Too frustrated to point out that not getting ahold of her was not carte blanche to swan through her front door uninvited, Kelsey sighed and let her head drop to the glass.
Her dad laughed and lightly rubbed her back. “You’re burdened with parents who care, pixie girl. You used to like it.”
“Yeah, well, I used like when you tied my shoes, too. People learn and grow, Daddy.”
He pulled her close and kissed her head. “Look. It’s snowpocalypse out there. We wait too much longer, and you and I are gonna spend the weekend right here. So get your things and let me take you home. Mom’s making a big dinner. She’s excited to get you all trapped with her for a couple days.”
By tomorrow afternoon, Mr. Darcy would be hiding under the TV room sofa, trying to get a break from Rowdy, her parents’ irrepressible young pit bull; Duncan and Dad would have had at least one big, shouty fight over something small and dumb; Hannah would have stomped to her room and wedged her chair under the door, and Mom would be crying because nobody wanted to build a snow family or play games or bake cookies—except for Kelsey, who would mainly want to do those things to make her mom feel better.
Hurrah.
“Okay, Daddy. Let me pack up.”
He kissed her head again. “That’s my good girl.”
~oOo~
Hannah slumped into the kitchen. “Mom says I have to help.”
Kelsey turned off the kitchen tap and looked around. She did not need her sister to ‘help’ filling the dishwasher. Hannah’s version of ‘help’ when there was no immediate parental oversight was to stand nearby with a towel in her hand and sigh a lot.
“Put the rest of the lasagna in a container for the fridge,” she said and turned the water back on.
Hannah sighed and slumped to the big drawer where their mom kept the food storage containers.
Despite the massive 4x4 Suburban, and despite being like four miles from the house, it had taken Kelsey and her dad nearly an hour to get home. And Kelsey had still been feeling frustrated and a little salty about being managed, as usual, by her parents.
However, the table had been set for five and the rich aromas of lasagna and fresh-baked bread mingled and wafted through the kitchen. Her mom had been chopping vegetables for salad. Rowdy and Mr. Darcy wrestled and played with Duncan in the living room, before a fire that crackled and roared, and the big two-story windows showed a wonderland straight out of Narnia on the other side of the glass. A big, real Christmas tree sparkled and glittered in front of those windows, and pine rope and twinkling lights festooned the mantel, the divider between the dining and living rooms, and the railings along the staircase.
She loved her apartment. She loved her independence and the little bit of freedom the ten miles between there and here had afforded her. But this was home. She had a good family. And she was glad to be here. The truth was, she’d have been lonely, cooped up in her apartment for a snowed-in weekend.
The novelty of the massive storm—it was pretty rare for Tulsa to get more than maybe four inches of snowfall in a single storm, and that only a couple, or maybe a few, times in a winter—seemed to have buoyed everyone’s mood despite the hassle of the weather. They’d had a lively, funny family conversation over dinner. Even doubly-grounded Hannah had found something to laugh about.