Page 1 of Two Weeks in Tahoe

1

Layla

“You had a gingerbread cookie stuck in your hair!” my best friend, Daniela, says through her laughter. “And you didn’t even know it!”

She’s trying to lift me up by reminding me what a rough place I was in around this time last year. Oddly, her method is working, making me feel better about myself and the progress I’ve made.

I laugh along with her. “Well, you know what, if you hadn’t popped in on me unannounced, maybe I would have tidied up a little bit.”

“Probably not. I knew the state you were in. Why do you think I came by in the first place?” She looks serious for a moment, then continues with a smile. “If I hadn’t combed the giant mat out of that thick, long hair of yours and washed it for you, who knows how long it would’ve taken you to even find the cookie. Your usually shiny, straight black hair was…anything but that.”

I shrug. I can laugh about the story now, but she’s right. This time last year, I was drowning in tissues, leftover Halloween candy, and depression. I’ve come a long way. Back then, I was still overwhelmed with grief and sadness after my parents’ tragic accident a couple of months prior. They were the only family I had, and then they were gone. Taken from me too soon.

We loved the holidays—more specifically, we loved traveling during the holidays. Growing up, they were always whisking me off to exciting destinations. Our favorite was Lake Tahoe. We always tried to go at least once a year, sometimes more. And it’s always been only a three-hour drive away. Today I’m filling Daniela in on my plan for this year, one I booked this week on a whim.

I’m going back. After wallowing in my sadness and anger last Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Year’s—stuffing my face with countless treats and crying in front of the TV to endless holiday movies—I’ve decided that I can’t sit around this lonely apartment and do that to myself again. The holiday season is near, and as painful as it may be, I want to return to the place that’s been special to us for so many years. The place that holds so many magical, happy memories.

Since I recently quit my job, I’ve got plenty of time on my hands. Plus an inheritance to keep me afloat while I figure my life out.

“It’s going to be great,” I say, feeling optimistic.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to go with you?” she asks, uncertainty and a dash of pity in her voice as she stirs her tea. We’re having brunch at a little café. Halloween decorations are slowly being taken down, the leftovers mixed in with Thanksgiving and Christmas decorations.

“No. It’s okay. I’m excited to do this by myself. Plus, I appreciate it, but you have work and your own family stuff going on. I wouldn’t drag you away from that.”

“It’s just—I hate the idea of you spending Thanksgiving all by yourself.”

“I won’t be,” I smile reassuringly. I’ll be in a place that’s filled with a thousand happy memories. I don’t think I’ll feel alone at all. Not any more than usual, anyway.

I’ve gained a lot of independence this past year after climbing out of the dark pit I was in. I went to therapy, started going to the gym regularly, and learned to enjoy doing a lot of things on my own. I’ve started to feel optimistic about life again, looking forward with hope and excitement, rather than not looking forward at all.

Growing up as an only child, my parents were all I had. They were my rock. Both of them were also only children, so there were no aunts, uncles, or cousins. No big family gatherings to attend growing up. The occasional visit from a grandparent was the only taste of family I had.

I wasn’t completely codependent with my parents, though. As a young woman in my twenties, I had my own life. I had a job, my own apartment, and a mediocre boyfriend, but I still enjoyed calling them and making lunch dates or movie nights when I could. And, of course, we had our annual getaways. That is, until they were gone.

I was in a deep, dark place after the accident. I lost my job, ditched the boyfriend, and quite simply lost my way. Letting go of my ex, Brian, was the only silver lining. He wasn’t a bad person; he just wasn’t the guy for me. Even my mom had gently suggested that on more than one occasion. She was a firm believer in letting me find my own way though. Deep down I always knew she was right, but sometimes I can be stubborn. He checked all the boxes, after all. But something was missing, and I always knew it. It took a tragedy to make me finally face it.

Daniela, being the concerned best friend that she is, still looks unconvinced. But she knows I’ve made up my mind. I already booked a cabin for two weeks. Getting out of town to the mountains might be exactly what I need.

Two weeks in Tahoe. I can’t wait.

“It’s not like you to be so impulsive. You’re usually so…practical.”

I shrug. “Everyone needs a little impulsivity now and then. It’s good for the soul,” I tease, not fully believing my own words. “Plus, this might be my last chance to do something like this for a while, since I’m hoping to get that editing job at the newspaper.” It’ll be a much better fit than the job I left in human resources, which was not at all what I envisioned when I got my creative writing degree.

It probably doesn’t reflect well on me that I’ve now quit two jobs in the past year, but I’m trying to give myself some grace. It’s been a tough year, and I’m doing my best to figure out my path through it all.

As I finish up my coffee, Daniela looks at me with mischief dancing in her eyes.

“What?” I ask.

“I wonder what happened to your boy? Maybe this is the year you finally run into him again.”

I let out an awkward laugh, surprised that she remembers. It’s been almost ten years since that spring break when I met him. Then again, I still remember him vividly.

“I’m not going there to meet any guys,” I say firmly, trying not to crack a smile. “I’m doing this for me.”

“Right, right. I get it. I’m just saying, if you happen to somehow find him again, or if you meet some other sexy man, and you just happen to get snowed in together, and he just happens to slip into your bed, that wouldn’t be terrible.”

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