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leiawritesstories · 8 months

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Stick Season (Part 2)

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Rowaelin Month, Day 7: Vacation/Outdoors

Word count: 2.6k

Warnings: bickering cousins, couple of swear words, one healthy serving of angst

Enjoy! (?)

@rowaelinscourt

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Present

The Whitethorn horde blew into Doranelle, Vermont, like a Category 4 blizzard, albeit a very welcome one. Rowan felt like he’d barely woken up and downed his first cup of coffee before there was a rigorous pounding on his front door and he looked out the kitchen window to find an entire caravan of silver vehicles filling his front yard as if it was a parking lot.

“We know you’re home, Ro-Ro!” Sellene yelled from the porch. “You can’t hide from Christmas forever, and besides, you invited us!”

“Calm down, LeLe,” Rowan drawled, opening the door to a flock of bright green eyes, blonde hair, and layers of winter clothing. “Nobody said you had to show up at eight in the bloody morning.”

“It’s ten-thirty,” she retorted.

“Same difference.” He easily lifted the two large suitcases she was rolling and headed for the guest rooms. “It’s too early.”

“You never were a morning person.” She flicked on the bedroom lights. “Just leave them by the window.”

He put the suitcases down and made a quick stop to pull on his jacket before heading out to the neatly parked rows of cars, where he found his closest (in age) cousin struggling to maneuver luggage out of his SUV. “The dealerships called, Enda. They’re out of silver paint.”

“What can I say?” Endymion Whitethorn shrugged, far too charming for his own good. “We’ve always liked our family colors.”

“Doesn’t mean we have to drive around in matching cars like some kind of hippie mission church,” Rowan deadpanned.

Enda snorted with laughter. “Gods, I’ve missed you.” He pulled Rowan into a brief, tight hug. “How are you? How’s the property? How’s…everything?”

“Property’s fine, I’m too damn tired for this chaos, and everything is fine.”

“I’m sure it is.” The dryness of Enda’s voice rivaled the Sahara Desert.

“Don’t get any romantic ideas,” Rowan warned, only half teasing. Last Christmas, he’d lost a bet to Enda, who’d then set him up on a spectacularly awful date with a shrewish woman named Remelle– “but you can call me Remy”–an event that soured his memory every time he recalled that evening.

“I would never,” Enda said, drawing out the never into a long, supposedly innocent singsong.

Rowan rolled his eyes. “And I’m the Queen of England.” He snickered at the outraged expression on his cousin’s face and picked up a duffle bag and a couple of crates full of brightly wrapped gifts. “Your car won’t unload itself, you know.”

“Remind me why I put up with this bullshit,” Enda grumbled.

Passing by just in time to hear the curse word, Sellene swatted Enda upside the head. “There are children present!”

“Oh please, your kids were swearing before they spoke full sentences.”

She huffed. “And it’s no wonder, considering that their uncles have such foul mouths.” Fondly, she rolled her eyes at Enda, who was still hopelessly attempting to maneuver one suitcase out from the bottom of the luggage piled in the trunk. “You’ll get unpacked a lot faster if you don’t try to play Suitcase Jenga. Here, let me.”

He grumbled something about her being interfering but stepped aside and let her expertly dismantle the pile of suitcases. “Thanks, Sel.”

“You’re welcome.” She blew him an air kiss. “How two men and a puppy manage to have more crap packed in their car than me and my whole family, I’ll never understand.”

“That’s because my husband and I care about looking our best, thank you very much.” Enda flipped his shoulder-length hair, picked up a few of his bags, and sauntered off towards the house.

“Would it be rude of me to say ‘yes, queen?’” Rowan murmured into Sellene’s ear.

She burst into shaking, wheezing laughter. “Oh gods,” she gasped. “I think I peed myself a little.” She smacked his shoulder, though between her winter gloves and his thick parka, it didn’t do much damage. “You’d better let that sense of humor loose at least a few times, Ro-Ro, or we’ll be forced to believe you aren’t actually human.”

“Piss off,” he grumbled, but he was laughing. “I’m glad you’re here, Sel.”

“I’m glad you let the horde of heathens come to your place again after what happened last year,” she quipped. “I thought for sure we’d be banished to Ellys’s place for Christmas vacation.”

“Ellys can barely host a birthday party, let alone multiple nights with the whole Whitethorn family. It’s better if everyone crashes here; there’s more space.”

“Plus we can always pitch tents in the yard.”

“This is true.” He winked. “I think we should make that the punishment for the loudest ones.”

“Deal.” Sellene bumped her gloved fist into his. “Fifty bucks says it’ll be Fenrys and whoever he brings home for the holidays.”

“Why do I let him come to my house?” Rowan sighed.

“Tradition,” both he and his cousin chorused.

Sellene snickered. “Alright, I’m going to go control my wild children.”

“Too late,” Rowan called. “They’ve already found the hot cocoa.”

“Thank you for visiting Orynth Shelves! Happy holidays!” Aelin waved cheerfully to the most recent customer, turned back to the mercifully empty desk, and exhaled a deep sigh of relief. The day had been absolutely insane, packed full of holiday shoppers ranging from sweet elderly ladies to rambunctious kids who tried to climb the bookshelves and tracked wet slush everywhere. She had just turned around to steal two minutes of peace and quiet when the bells on the front door jingled and she had to turn back around, paint her customer service smile on her face, and– “Sellene?”

“Aelin?” Sellene Whitethorn looked just as shocked as Aelin felt.

“In the flesh.” Aelin shrugged. “Here I am, back in my hometown. Crazy, right?”

“It’s…unexpected,” Sellene admitted. “But damn, it’s so good to see you again, Aelin.”

Aelin rounded the desk and accepted Sellene’s brief hug. “It’s great to see you too. Are you looking for something in particular, or just browsing?”

“Hmm, I think I’ll just browse.” Sellene grinned. “You never know what you’ll find during the holidays, right?”

“Right.” Aelin gestured towards the shelves. “Happy hunting! If you’re interested, though, there’s a special winter section in the feature corner, and I’ve stocked it with as many cute little holiday romances as I could find.” She wiggled her eyebrows.

“Say no more!” Sellene hurried off towards the seasonal display.

Aelin laughed to herself and returned to the desk. Even after a number of years, she still remembered how much Sellene Whitethorn adored holiday romances. It had been one of their shared interests when they’d first met–way back in high school–and she could recall the exact expression on Sellene’s face when she realized how many books (and book boyfriends) they had in common.

One Christmas, Sellene had even taken Rowan (her “hopelessly clueless cousin”) to the bookstore to buy Aelin’s present. With her guidance, Rowan had bought Aelin a complete set of her favorite small-town romance series and written sweet little messages in each book’s cover.

Aelin still had those books. They lived in an unlabeled tote in her spare room.

She shook away the ache of that memory, pushing it back into the deep recesses of her mind where it belonged, and grinned as Sellene walked up to the register with a small stack of books in her arms.

“I was expecting more than that,” she teased as she rang up the books.

Sellene laughed. “Well, I’m on a budget–”

“Bullshit, it’s Christmas.”

“Fair enough. I’m on a book-buying budget, and I can’t exactly gift these to anyone in my family.” With a suggestive smirk, she passed Aelin one of the books.

Screwing Mr. Scrooge, proclaimed the title.

Aelin snorted with laughter. “Yeah, maybe don’t make that someone’s present.”

“I’m only buying it because my husband and I–”

“And that’s where you can stop,” Aelin interrupted, pretending to gag and swatting Sellene playfully with the book. “My gods, Sellene!”

Sellene giggled. “Alright, I’ll spare you the details.” She winked as she took out her credit card and tapped it to the card reader. “You’re in publishing, right?”

“Yep.”

“Then you definitely know what happens when readers who have a significant other find a spicy scene they like.”

“Doesn’t mean I need to have firsthand knowledge,” Aelin teased. “There you go, Sellene. Enjoy the rest of your vacation!”

“Thanks!” Sellene zipped up her thick parka jacket. Almost at the front door, she paused and turned back to Aelin. “Hey, I had a thought.”

“Yeah?”

“Well, I don’t want you to be here alone, least of all during Christmas–”

“Oh, don’t worry about me.” Aelin waved off the protest. “I’m with Dad, and Aedion’s here too. I’m not going to be alone on Christmas.”

“Still, the invitation stands.” Sellene continued as if Aelin hadn’t spoken. “I want to invite you to come over to the Whitethorn place. We haven’t seen you in far too long, and the whole family is here, even the little ones. Plus, I’m sure Rowan wants to see you…”

She kept going, but Aelin no longer heard anything she was saying. The mere mention of the name Rowan had consumed her. Rowan wants to see you.

How could he?

Until the other week outside Staghorns, they hadn’t spoken in three years. How could he possibly want to see her?

She’d been the one to leave.

Three Years Ago

Aelin slowed down and turned onto the long, painstakingly cleared driveway of her family home and drove up the asphalt pathway until she reached the turnaround in front of the sprawling, elegant redbrick structure that was the Galathynius home. She parked, turned off the engine, and sat in the driver’s seat for a long, achingly silent moment.

Then she dried her tears, checked her reflection in the rearview mirror to make sure there was no evidence that she’d been sobbing for the last fifteen minutes, and exited her car.

With her suitcase behind her and her tote bag slung neatly over her shoulder, Aelin walked up the front steps and entered the two-story atrium of the house’s front hall. “Hello?” she called. Part of her hoped–desperately–that there would be nobody home.

But with a soft rustle of cashmere and a gentle tap-tap-tap of heeled pumps, Evalin Ashryver appeared at the top of the grand staircase. “Hello, darling.”

“Mother.” Aelin set her luggage aside and crossed the foyer, meeting her mother in the middle and accepting a perfunctory hug and air kiss.

“How was the drive?” Evalin inquired.

“Smooth,” Aelin replied. “The traffic disappeared after I left the city.”

“Funny how that happens.” Evalin pressed the buzzer on the wall, summoning the housekeeper that the family apparently still employed. “Clara, would you please take my daughter’s things to her room?” She dismissed the housekeeper and led Aelin towards the family living room.

Aelin bit her tongue to hold back all the things she wanted to spew. She’d been trying for years (without success) to convince her mother that there was no need to keep on a full-time housekeeper and butler. A cook she understood, and a groundskeeper, but Rhoe and Evalin were the only ones who lived in that huge house anymore. They didn’t need staff for everything they did.

“So pleased that you were able to come home this early,” Evalin said.

Aelin returned her attention to her mother. “Yes, I managed to take a more flexible holiday vacation.” Her lips quirked upwards. “I suppose the promotion helped.”

“The promotion?”

“Didn’t I tell you? I was promoted to editor in November.” Aelin couldn’t control the proud smile that curved across her face.

Evalin beamed. “I’ll never know why it took your firm so long to realize that you’re the most competent person there. Congratulations, darling.” She squeezed Aelin’s hand, her own hand cold. “An editor at only twenty-four. Next up, editor in chief, right?”

“Perhaps,” Aelin concurred. “But–”

“Rhoe, dear!” Evalin called, unaware that her daughter was speaking. “We have news!”

Rhoe strode into the living room with a broad, genuine smile on his face and pulled Aelin into a powerfully warm hug. “Welcome home, Fireheart.”

“Hi, Dad.” She grinned up at him. “I have news.”

“So your mother tells me.” He took a seat in one of the comfortable armchairs. “Well?”

“I’ve been promoted to editor as of last month.”

“Congratulations!” Rhoe got to his feet and wrapped his daughter in an embrace, then went over to the bar built into one side of the room and retrieved a small bottle of champagne and three flutes. “This calls for a toast!”

“Really, Rhoe,” Evalin tutted, frowning at her husband as he poured the champagne and handed out the glasses. “It’s barely even four o’clock.”

“It’s a perfectly reasonable occasion for a toast,” Rhoe returned. He pressed Aelin’s glass into her hand, giving her a look of reassurance. “To our Fireheart, the editor!”

Aelin grinned at her father, clinked her glass gently against his, and took a delicate sip of the expensive champagne; of course her parents would only stock the finest in their fridge. “Thanks, Dad.”

“Darling, haven’t we discussed how mature women ought to be past the point of referring to their parents in childish ways?” Evalin’s tone was cool, reproving.

The champagne curdled in Aelin’s stomach. Silently, she placed her glass down on the granite bartop. “I was unaware that there were politically correct terms for one’s own parents.” She kept her voice light, but her spine stiffened into steel, preparing for the inevitable onslaught of her mother’s disapproval.

“As an editor, surely you understand the value of adjusting language to fit the appropriate categorization and age range,” Evalin stated. “The same principle ought to apply to all areas of speech, darling. Furthermore, your father would never allow his employees to address him as ‘Rhoe,’ so why should his daughter address him that casually?”

“Perhaps for the fact that she is his daughter.” It was Rhoe who spoke, his words laced with the underlying note of command that marked him as the incredibly successful businessman he was. Subtly, he moved closer to Aelin, acting both as a shield between her and Evalin and as an extinguisher to the brewing flames of both women’s wrath.

Aelin exchanged a look of deepest gratitude with her father and turned to leave the room. Before she was out the door, though, she heard her mother whispering heatedly, tearing into Rhoe for the simple act of defending his only daughter.

“I will not have you come between my daughter and I when I am speaking!” Evalin hissed. “I am her mother, and you know full well that we hardly get the chance to see her. You cannot deprive me of the time I need to spend with her on the rare occasion that she’s home, you callous–”

Aelin wheeled around and stalked over to Evalin, fire blazing in the gold of her eyes. “If anyone is callous, Mom, it’s you.” Vehemence threw her words like spears. “Or were you conveniently going to forget that you interrupted my call with Rowan while I was driving because you needed to remind me that I’m a pathetic excuse of a daughter for wanting to see my boyfriend for two minutes before I come home?” Her breath was ragged. “Well, you’ll be delighted to know that I broke up with him.”

Evalin’s jaw went slack. “I–”

“You got your wish, Mother.” Aelin laughed, sardonically. “I’m home for dinnertime.”

Turning sharply on her heel, she stalked out of the room, leaving behind her shell-shocked father and her mother stunned silent for once as she processed the truth her daughter had just flung. She kept her composure all the way up to her bedroom, where she entered the room and locked the door behind herself.

Then Aelin Ashryver Galathynius, unflappable editor, crumpled to the floor and sobbed.

~~~

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