Page 13 of No Time for Traditions

“We were going to tell you.”

Brittany pulled her hand out from under Sarah’s and folded her arms. She didn’t want pity. What she wanted was respect. She wasn’t a little girl anymore. They didn’t have to hold back information to spare her feelings.

“When?” Brittany felt her eyes flinch. And by Sarah’s expression, she’d received the message.

“Don’t make this harder than it is on your dad and uncles. They grew up there, and it’s on their land.”

“Then why should they sell it?”

“Because, sweetie, they’d rather see someone enjoy it than have it rot away just to keep it in the family.” Sarah inched a little closer, causing Brittany to tense.

Brittany swung her legs and hopped off the table. She didn’t want her mom to pet her like some sick puppy. “Why now? Why over the holidays? What’s the big rush?”

“There aren’t a lot of buyers looking in Hillside. The Realtor suggested listing at the new year to get ahead of homes that plan to list in the spring when the market picks up.”

Brittany breathed in and out, trying to keep her composure. She tried to concentrate on the positive in an effort to not personally sabotage her holiday. “At least we’ll have one last Christmas there.”

Sarah pursed her lips and looked down. Brittany knew right away that meant they wouldn’t have Christmas there.

After an awkward silence, Sarah looked up and spoke. “Your aunts and I decided we’d take turns hosting Christmas at our houses. And . . .” Sarah sighed before she continued. “Since we plan to list the house so soon, I offered to start the new tradition by having Christmas here.”

Brittany wanted to say something, but her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. She managed to open her mouth, but nothing came out. Instead, she nodded and walked past her mom.

“Brittany?” Sarah called from behind her as she made her way under the kitchen entrance.

“I’ll be fine. I just need some time alone.” Brittany didn’t turn around. She didn’t want to discuss the farmhouse right now. Nobody could see its history and sentimental value but her.

Brittany walked out of the kitchen, through the living room, and upstairs to her old bedroom without anyone coming after her. She was glad. She needed time away from the situation to be okay with it. She needed a distraction.

She needed to write.

It didn’t take much urging for Brittany to pull out the notes she’d made on the plane. She kicked off her boots and spread the notes beside her laptop. Sad, mad, or disappointed, writing always calmed her. It was better than sweet tea, cornbread, and Pilates all rolled up into one miracle pill. And she’d gone far too long without any creative medication.

Brittany took time to turn all of her notes into an actual outline, which came easier than she’d anticipated. She had no trouble helping other authors work on their outlines, but planning out her own stories was a struggle. Not this time, however. This story flowed out of her.

An hour later, she’d developed a full outline. Another hour after that, and she’d made up her main characters. Brittany read back through the male character, noting that she’d given him brown hair and eyes like Greg. She grunted in disgust and changed his appearance to blond hair and green eyes.

Brittany typed as fast as her hands could, frustrated that they couldn’t keep up with her mind. Words flooded her brain as she constructed a story about a woman in line to inherit the family Christmas tree farm. Only she discovered her dad decided it might be best to sell it to a land company and let her have the money as her inheritance. The buyer—a green-eyed, blond, not-Greg character—would meet his match when the daughter rose against him to stop the sale.

At last, her fingers cramped and her stomach rumbled from not having eaten since six that morning. She wiggled her tired hands and looked at her phone. Already two p.m. She hadn’t written this long in one sitting since graduate school. And it felt amazing.

She went to the window and scanned the side yard. No sign of Greg or any of his equipment. Not that she cared.

Brittany rolled up her sleeves. Sitting in one spot and typing like a mad woman had made her hot. She shut down her laptop and made her way downstairs. Sarah sat on the couch browsing through a cookbook, and Scotty was on the floor watching a movie about Rudolph. One of those Claymation holiday specials that was old even when Brittany was a kid. Brittany circled around the couch and sat on the end opposite of Sarah.

Sarah peered over her reading glasses. “Hey, sweetie. Feeling better?”

“Yes.” Brittany relaxed into the couch. Writing about someone else’s problems (even a fictional someone) had helped keep her mind off of Grandpa Barnes’s house.

She watched Scotty lying on his elbows and belly, smiling at the TV. Like him, she’d loved going to her grandparents’ house, especially during the holidays. Scotty’s smile embodied that childhood innocence she wished she still possessed. Free from the realities of loss and moving on from traditions she’d never thought could fade until today.

Chapter 6

Greg woke up groggy again. He’d spent the last two days thinking about Brittany. Or more like worrying about Brittany. And that was weird. Greg never worried about anything.

The way she’d run in the house on the verge of tears had messed with his weekend. Had he said something wrong to set her off? Because he was dang sure good at that.

Greg thought about calling Marty’s house and asking to speak with her, but she might not agree to talk to him. He decided the best way to put his mind at ease would be to go by and check on her in person.

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