Garland Therapy

We drove up the snowy, winding road towards the cozy A-frame cabin. It looked exactly like the pictures: straight out of a Hallmark movie. The owner of the airbnb had shoveled the driveway so well that it might have been swept with a broom.

In the back seat, Hugo perked his ears up a bit. He looked like a cream colored German shepherd, but in truth he was a purebred mutt. His mother had been mostly husky, but certainly not pure blooded, and his father looked most like an Anatolian shepherd. Hugo had gotten his mother’s ears and his father’s coloring.

I finally came to a stop at the top of the long driveway and he looked at me expectantly, letting his eyes dart out the window every few seconds so that I could not misunderstand what he was asking. Is it time to get out now, mom? I see snow. Let’s go play in that snow. You can throw a snowball at me. Come on, mom.

I smirked and shut off the ignition. “Do you want to get out of the car?”

He wiggled his shoulders and glanced out the window expectantly. The boss had spoken, so I stepped out of the car to let him out to explore. He had been with me for over five years—since I was nineteen—and I knew by now what every single look meant. At first he only stood in the snow for a moment, tensing up as if the white stuff might not be real, but then his butt lowered to the ground and he took off in the most ridiculous play-run ever witnessed by mankind. It was the same run he did every time it snowed.

I took a moment to enjoy his energy before grabbing my luggage from the trunk. It took two trips to get it all inside, and Hugo did not stop running circles around the yard once during the entire process. I smiled to myself as I called him inside. This was a good idea.

I hadn’t told any of my family I was coming here. To them, a vacation alone with my dog would have sounded like a cry for help, especially considering recent events. They wouldn’t have understood. Or worse, they would have insisted on a family vacation instead.

Family vacations are fine and well, but everyone processes things differently and I have always processed best on my own. Besides, Thanksgiving had been hard enough. The interrogating questions, the passive aggressive half-accusations, and the pitying looks were enough to guarantee that my family would not get any of the details.

It’s pretty horrible to break up with a fella right before the holidays, my grandma had said. Go ahead and tell me what happened.

No. That’s my business.

My grandma had been surprised and annoyed, as she always was when anyone set boundaries with her. She’d argued and seemed to actually think that a family dinner was a good place to discuss personal matters such as breakups as recent as twenty-four hours past. I’d wrapped my arms around her, told her I loved her, and walked away to talk to some cousins instead. They all wanted to know, but they also had the sense not to ask in a room full of relatives. The ones with the most sense did not ask at all, but informed me that they were on my side and there for me if I needed to talk. I didn’t want to talk, not about that, but it was nice to hear nonetheless.

Did you not love him? Did you fall in love with someone else?

No, mom.

Was he mean to you? Did you find another fella while you were away for work?

I already told you, there is no one else, mom.

Well then what is it? Do you just want to be alone?

I had smiled then, a fake smile that she had seen a million times before, and walked outside in hopes that the cool air would dry the sweat that the stress and the heat of the kitchen had caused.

Maybe, I had wanted to say. I didn’t, of course, because that would only have stressed her out even more.

My mother had been crying over the breakup just as much as I had. From the way my family was reacting, anyone would have thought that it had been the end of a marriage of ten years instead of the conclusion of a relationship of three years. Still, I did the right thing. All of the negative feedback I had been getting made it hard to be sure, but it hadn’t been a spontaneous decision.

There had been no cheating and no abuse. Because of that my family could not comprehend why I would end things. They grew up in a world where husbands were a necessity, and the only grounds for a breakup were violence or infidelity. Besides, they had considered him family just as much as if he really were my husband.

He was family, as far as any of us were concerned. It seemed so unreal that I could just send a member of my family away, but I had done it. I had done it and I had cried, sobbing my eyes out on the couch until I could not stand the self-pity. I did the right thing, and what is right is not always what is easy.

Hugo came inside when he was done sniffing and running laps. The first thing he did was jump on the couch, landing lightly on the patchwork quilts that covered the cushions. He had become very interested in some smell or another that was embedded in the pillows. Whatever it was, it was too faint for my nose to pick up on. All I could smell was snow and old wood smoke. A stone fireplace sat where a TV would in most living rooms, ready with a couple of logs in the grate. It was a real fireplace, not one of those electric ones that came on with a button. It looked ready for Santa to come down the chimney, except there were no stockings and no tree.

The rest of the living room was just as rustic and cozy as the fireplace. A cedar coffee table that looked like it might be hand-crafted matched the cedar walls. Only the wall where the fireplace stood was mismatched; it was crafted of stones, which were all various sizes and shapes. A cedar mantlepiece ran along the entire wall above the fireplace, bringing the whole room together despite the mismatched armchairs that stood on either side of the couch.

The rest of the cabin was just as clean. The kitchen was nice, with beautiful granite countertops and appliances that looked relatively new. The bedrooms had comfortable beds and walk-in closets, and the bathroom was bigger than I’d expected. Still, the other rooms lacked the grandeur of the living room. There was just something about a fireplace on a snowy night that always made me feel like a character in a romance novel. Being alone in a cabin with my dog did not change that.

I put away the groceries I had bought at the only store in town and then spent a good amount of time getting a fire started in the grate. My dad had always made it look so much easier when I was growing up. Still, years of camping paid off in the end and I got a nice fire going. I might still burn everything I try to cook on an open flame, but dammit I can at least get it going if I have a decent lighter. Not for the first time, I wondered how in the hell people did this with only flint and steel.

I had booked the cabin for the weekend, planning on hiking a bit in the snow with Hugo. It was getting too close to dark for hiking, so I sat down in front of the hearth and wondered how I was going to spend the rest of my night. It was still early, not even four o’clock. Still, it was getting dark at around five now, and by the time I got my insulated hiking gear out and all situated the sun would be setting.

Hugo was lounging on the couch like he owned the place, and his tail thumped on the cushion when I looked at him. “Hugo! What do we want to do tonight?”

There was a TV in the bedroom, but it would have ruined the rustic vibes in the living room to put a piece of technology in plain sight. Besides, I didn’t come here to watch Christmas movies alone.

What did I come for?

I wasn’t one hundred percent sure of that. All I had been sure of when I booked the cabin was that I could not be sitting in my house on this particular weekend, December 6th, the day that we had always celebrated our anniversary by decorating for Christmas and making cookies. I had considered staying home and decorating with Hugo, but something about the notion made my stomach clench. Instead, I found myself booking a cabin two hundred miles north of my home.

Hugo was still staring at me, so I nodded. “You’re right. We should still have cookies.”

By ‘we’ I meant I should still have cookies. All of my favorite cookies were heavy in chocolate and definitely not fit for dog consumption. I had brought most of the ingredients I needed from home, picking up the things I hadn’t brought from the store on the way to the cabin. Chocolate sugar cookies were made to be eaten in rustic cabins in the woods, especially in front of a fireplace.

I played my favorite Christmas music from a small, portable speaker I always brought with me on any trips, and somehow the kitchen in that little cabin didn’t feel as empty as my house did these days. It was easier to sing along, easier to dance with Hugo. It took three times as long to find a mixing bowl in the unfamiliar cabinets, but the whole process was more of an adventure like that. I cut the cookies into little gingerbread men and snowmen, even though they weren't gingerbread cookies at all. They tasted better for it, just the way they always tasted since our first anniversary when I tried the recipe for the first time.

I didn’t really feel like sitting in front of the fireplace just then, so I explored instead. There wasn’t much left to explore, really, but I put my cookies on a plate and carried them with me while I poked around anyway. I walked out on the balcony, feeling just as impressed as when I first saw the living room. The cabin was only one story, but it had been built on a hill and the backyard sloped sharply downwards so that the balcony overlooked the entire surrounding forest. Snow-topped pines stretched out for miles. A roof protected the outdoor furniture from snow and sitting down revealed that it was as comfortable as it looked. It was too cold to stay out for long, but I spotted an outdoor plug in as I made my way back inside. I was glad I’d thought to bring my electric blanket.

Inside, there were a few doors I hadn’t opened. They all turned out to be closets, and most of them turned out to be empty. One was not empty.

It was the coat closet next to the front door. It was large enough that the boxes did not obstruct the way to hang things up. Hanging from one of the boxes was a bright pink piece of paper with bold print addressing the houseguest. It is addressed to me, I realized. I’m the houseguest.

Dear Houseguest,

To make your stay more festive, we have provided Christmas decorations so that you may decorate to your heart’s desire. Have fun, and we look forward to seeing how you choose to decorate.

One of the bigger boxes was labeled with a clear picture of a Christmas tree. It was a nice tree, one of the ones with the frosted tips. The box boasted that it was pre lit with white lights. I ran a hand over the picture and thought of my own house, completely bare of its usual holiday decorations. The idea of decorating it alone was too heavy to consider. Somehow, though, the thought of decorating this cabin didn’t seem so grim. I took a bite of the chocolate snowman’s hat and looked at Hugo. “What do you think? Should we put up a tree?”

Hugo wagged his tail, and I took that as a yes. Together, we drug out every single box in the closet so we could see what we were working with. There were ornaments and lights. There was a cute little cookie jar shaped like stacked Christmas presents. There were stuffed Santa Clauses and reindeer, which I carefully put out of reach from Hugo. He was a good boy and never destroyed anything that wasn’t his, but over the years he had been given so many stuffed animals that he considered them the same as dog toys.

Another box held fuzzy stockings and a wooden plaque with the names of all of Santa's reindeer. There were Santa Claus figurines and white candlesticks with foliage-lined candlestick holders. There were several wreaths and so many lengths of pine needle garland that it seemed impossible to use it all.

Hugo was sniffing the decorations, his tail swaying back and forth every time he caught a new scent. He seemed to sincerely approve of all the garland.

I nodded at his excitement. “This stuff is way better than what we have at home. You ready to decorate?”

I watched as Hugo shifted his feet, doing his little dance that clearly said, Yes mom. I’m glad you asked. I am, in fact, ready to decorate.

I got a cup of my favorite eggnog before I got started. It was Evan Williams original southern eggnog, and it had the perfect cream to liquor ratio. I poured it over ice, which was often frowned upon by my peers, but I considered it the only way to drink eggnog.

We started with the tree, piecing it together next to the window so the lights would shine through to the driveway. The owners of the cabin had good taste. All of the ornaments were red and white, and none were small. The striped globes were bigger than my fist, as were the sleigh figurines that I placed on the front of the tree. The reindeer cutouts were my favorite, and I hung them up in abundance.

When it was all done, I turned the living room light off before plugging in the tree. I sipped my eggnog and observed the ornaments shining in the dark. The lights on the tree lit them from the back, and firelight flickered over them from the front. The result made me feel almost giddy, although that could have been the eggnog. Christmas lights always had that effect on me, except for lately. Lately I had been convinced that to enjoy them I needed to find someone who would enjoy them with me, someone who would take just as much pleasure in these things as I did.

He helped me decorate because I wanted him to, but Christmas lights were always just something to get out of the way so we could cuddle on the couch and watch The Grinch. It was the same with all of the things we did together. He did them to try to make me happy, but his heart was never in it. The simple truth was that we had nothing in common, and when it came to having fun, he would rather be with his friends than me. The thought no longer saddened me. Now it was just a fact to look back on. Now it was just one of the reasons I had for reassuring myself that I did the right thing.

I turned the lights back on and set to work putting up the other decorations. My Christmas music was playing on full blast and Hugo padded two steps behind me everywhere I went. The fuzzy feeling I got from the Christmas lights had not gone away, and I knew that I was wrong in thinking I needed someone to enjoy them with me. These Christmas lights were for me.

I got the mantle set up with lots of garland and figurines and candles. I was in the middle of stringing more garland over the couch and around the windows when my stomach rumbled. “What do you think, Hugo? Should we take a break for dinner?”

His ears pricked up when he heard the D word. I smiled and set down the garland I’d been holding. In the fridge was everything I would need to make a steak and baked potato dinner. In the kitchen doorway, I looked back at all the decorations I still had to put up and smiled. It was even more fun with just Hugo and myself, and I was glad I still had more to do.

I did the right thing. Just because two people get along well doesn’t mean they’re meant to be together. I did the right thing. Tomorrow is December 6th, and I will spend the entire day hiking and warming up between hikes on that marvelous balcony, wrapped up in my electric blanket with a cup of coffee and a book. Hugo and I are enough.