The Song Angel Road Sings

We drove up the snowy, winding road toward the cozy A-frame cabin.

That’s what Papa called it. A cozy cabin built with logs of oak in the shape of the first letter in the alphabet tucked deep in the woods, the white crescendo of winter enveloping it. A little place where Laura and I could withdraw from reality: my new job at the firm, Laura’s wedding, my hospital bill, Laura’s small business, Mama’s death.

Call me as soon as you get there and drive safely,

Laura and I accepted the offer. After all, Papa always had good intentions.

Papa loves you both.

I was nervous. It had been a while since Laura and I spent some time together, alone an entire weekend. But I was there, and somehow, it mattered so much. To Papa. To Laura.

During the drive, we exchanged a few frothy conversations, listened to an old playlist that crackled like fire, and let the blur of the road spill past the windshield until the GPS announced arrival.

“Just in time before it snows,” Laura mentioned.

Like in the photos, the cabin sat surrounded by cedar trees and wintergreens, breathing quietly as if afraid of disturbing the sleeping forest. Laura walked up to it, and the motion sensor lights on the porch flicked on. She looked back at me and smiled, duffel bag on her shoulders, unlocking the door with one hand and signaling me to follow her in with the other.

I took a minute to study the place, the road that led us here, all twisty and sleepy and sheepishly illuminated by a single lamppost fenced by the wintry forest. The moon flared over the dark sky, sharp and shiny like a piece of metal. The moon sparked over the dark sky, sharp and polished like a piece of metal. A green sign poising Angel Road stood right before the road turned away from the main road that guided us to the cabin.

The wooden floors creaked under my weight, and without expecting it, a strange feeling I couldn’t quite comprehend washed over me. The same feeling I’d get at mother’s house after being gone for so long, and suddenly everything’s there, welcoming me with a hug, the smell of rosemary and the faint glow of the candles and the fireplace like a heartbeat in the center of the house.

“Well, what do you think, Andrea? Not bad, eh?”

I couldn’t really see Laura’s face in the dark cabin, her bangs too long and her hair messy from the long trip, but she sounded happy. And that’s all I wanted, for her to be happy. A happy Laura wasn’t rare, though. It was easy to please her. Everything made her happy. The coming of a new season. Peaches from the farmer’s market. Reading through mother’s old texts. A romance book. Jogging early in the morning. Me, her little sister.

“Not at all. It’s a lovely little place,” I said, tossing my backpack on the sofa.

“And it’s all ours for the next two days.”

Laura turned on the lights. The kitchen stood right behind, blooming in all earthy colors and textures and weathered wood, and next to it was a little nook for eating and reading as there were two tall bookshelves with books and found objects and trinkets.

After unpacking, I made us instant ramen. I must have been deep in my thoughts because I realized I had not said a single word for the last hour.

“How’s Esteban doing? Is he just as nervous about the wedding?” We were on the sofa, our socked feet up on the ottoman.

“He’s good. We don’t talk much about the wedding, honestly. He says talking about is what makes him stressed out, so he’s been fine so far. We're done with the planning anyway.” She said, running her fingers through her hair. The way she stared into the distance was sad, wanting to say something but unable to, and it reminded me of Mama, her blue eyes telling me, before her lips did, how sorry she was that she was dying.

The happy Laura from before had suddenly faded.

“Are you– are you okay, Laura?”

“Me? Of course. If anything, I’m the one who should be asking that question. Are you okay? You’re the one who’s been all quiet. Even during the drive, I did all the talking.”

I didn’t answer. Instead, I said: “Doesn’t this cabin remind you of Mama’s house?” Rustic and weathered. Cozy and quiet and always smelling of lavender, rosemary, and sometimes salt water. The tea kettle hissing, the magnolia window films glowing at sunset, the static of her old radio playing songs from an era that was easier to breathe.

“You miss Mama,” Laura whispered. "How coincidental. I was just missing her too."

Neither of us said anything for a bit.

The wind howled outside, bringing in the cold.

Laura stood and went to the room. She came back with a small speaker box. A familiar song started playing, the melody slowly rising like ocean tides.

“Do you remember this song?”

“Mama’s favorite song. She and Papa danced to it at their wedding.” Tears blurred my vision.

“Oh, sweet Andrea. Come here,” Laura said, pulling me closer. “Come here, hold my hand, yeah? Don’t cry. You’re going to make me cry too.”

“I have to confess something,” I told her after the song ended, my head resting on her shoulder.

“Yeah? What is it?”

“I lied about passing my bar exam the first time.”

“Why didn’t you tell us? Andrea, why did you go through all that alone?”

My throat felt tight when I spoke. “I wanted Mama to be proud. I didn’t want to worry her more than she already was, her treatments were tough on her and– and I don’t know. Anyway, that’s not all,” I said. “After I got the results, I got depressed even more than I already was, and yeah," I paused for a deep breath. “Therapy helped.”

“Is that why it was almost impossible to get a hold of you for almost two weeks? It was during Mama’s last surgery, too.”

I nodded. Laura sighed and planted a kiss on my hair.

“I’ve felt guilty all this time. I was away for so long, and I feel like I wasn’t there for Mama enough during her treatments, always studying for exams and whatnot. My first priority should’ve been her, not me or–”

“No, Andrea,” Laura cut me off. “That’s not how it should’ve been. Mama wanted you to focus on school, remember? She wanted nothing more from you. Besides, she would always brag about you to all the nurses. ‘My sweet daughter is studying law at Harvard,’ she would say. And honestly, it made me a little jealous sometimes.”

“I spent three days at the hospital. After Mama’s funeral.”

“Why didn’t you tell us, Andrea? Papa and I could’ve helped, be there for you.”

“I didn’t want to cause more pain to you or Papa.”

“Andrea, we’re a family. You can’t keep these things to yourself. There are some things you can’t fight alone, like what Mama went through. We all tried to be there for her on our own terms. We all did what we could, and that’s all that matters. Mama left this world knowing she was loved by you, me, and Papa.”

Neither of us spoke after that. We wrapped ourselves in a fleece blanket and breathed deep, my chest expanding against Laura’s cheek, the burning logs in the fireplace crackling like an old song before my eyes. I almost thought Laura was asleep for a moment, but then she spoke.

“I was going to tell you something too. A confession, I think. Or something like that,” she began, her voice suddenly sounding like she was getting a cold. “I wasn’t honest with Mama and guess with you either. Before Esteban, I dated a girl. We dated for two years. Claire was her name.”

“You brought her over once for your birthday dinner,” I said, and nothing else. Nothing else because, to me, love is love.

She nodded. “I never told Mama that I like girls. I like both men and women. That breaks me. I will never know how she would’ve reacted if she knew.”

“Laura,” I whispered. “That night, after you two left the restaurant, Mama said something to us. That the way you two looked at each other was beautiful.”

“She what? She… really said that?”

There were tears in her eyes.

“She did.”

The bed we shared was warm, and the linen sheets were soft. Laura fell asleep, but I found it hard to do the same. I slipped out of bed and stood for a minute at its foot, buttoning up my coat and tightening my scarf. Laura mumbled something in her sleep and turned around. I threw another log into the fireplace, grabbed my AirPods, and went outside.

Everything was quiet and still. About two inches of snow had fallen. It glistened and sparkled as the moon glowed over it. I sat on the porch swing, blanket over my legs, and played Mama’s favorite song on a loop. I thought about Mama and Laura. I thought about how much I miss Mama and how I want to be there for Laura, about how I don’t want to keep secrets from each other anymore.

Mama’s favorite song says that we don’t need to linger in a moment for it to stay meaningful, but there can be so much beauty in short and fleeting moments. It says we can’t be afraid to live, love, or be ourselves.

I couldn’t help but think how true all of that is.

They say we tend to live in the moment, that the past is always gone, and that each day is a new opportunity to obtain the future we dream of. I thought about Mama always telling me to dream big, to not be afraid to live in the moment and appreciate the beauty of the present. But somehow, along the way, I had forgotten and buried all of her words somewhere where I couldn’t reach them anymore. That weekend though, those two days with Laura at the little A-frame cabin that reminded me of Mama’s house, I dug them out and wore them around my neck again like a warm scarf.

And it was then, the moon and the stars over me, that I also realized that I wasn’t alone. That I didn’t have to be alone. I had Laura, I had Papa, and Mama in my heart.

Laura and I spent the rest of weekend by the fire, watching our favorite childhood movies, talking, and playing with each other’s hair. We baked, and we cooked, and we drank tea and perhaps might have had too much wine at night. Most importantly, though, we promised to always be there for each other, to support each other, to love each other–

“I love you, I love you.”

“And I love you, Laura.”

–as sisters should.

Mama’s favorite song played and played until it became part of the cabin, rooted deep in the wood. The forest surrounding us seemed to love it, too, and it was beautiful to see the snow humming along, swirling and dancing.

“You know, I have decided I want to dance to this song at my wedding. With you. I want this to be our song, too.”

“With me? What about Esteban?”

“Nah, Esteban can suck it up.”

I snorted out a laugh. “You know I can’t dance to save my life. I have two left feet.”

“And I have two right ones.”

Laura made us s’mores and hot chocolate for breakfast the morning we had to drive back home. We sat out on the steps and laughed at how we needed to start eating healthier, digging our toes into the snow and the soil underneath, and letting the sunlight touch our skin. The sky was blue and bright, and the clouds were scattered– but mainly there. Just like us.

We were there, and it mattered so much.