The Winter Market

My dad and mom adopted me when I was 10 and a couple of years after she passed, my dad remarried and moved us back to where he’d grown up. It was a small town behind country roads and farm fields with the outskirts being shrouded by trees everywhere you looked. Most of the houses were painted bright colours, many of the oldest houses decorated with vine-covered stones and moss dusted roofs. At 22, I bought my house as soon as it went onto the market, and spent almost a week painting it royal blue. It was just down the road from my dads’, but I fell in love with it.

On a chilly afternoon, I decided to walk over to their house and talk about the Winter Market, which was a market we ran from November until January. It involved local artists, creators, and especially farmers near or around the town.

This year, a new artist had wound up living at the house right next to mine, paying extra money for her booth though we charged her the early fee for that year - which was twenty dollars cheaper than average. The money we made was used to pay for the venue and necessities; the rest of the money was sent to a charity once the numbers were tallied. I hadn’t met her personally, but my parents seemed to like her quite a bit.

I stood at the faded crosswalk until the last beat-up truck had passed and walked straight, directly to my parents’ door, where I pressed the jammed doorbell as hard as possible. My dad opened the door, his newly painted hair jet black against his lavender-coloured house. His dogs, Henry and MiMi, were barking from somewhere down the hall. The house smelled of lemongrass and orange, reminding me of the many laughs and memories that were packed into that house.

“Hey Dad,” I said. “Daniel did pretty well with the hair.”

Daniel was my stepdad and the complete opposite of my own, who was a chef in the only other city remotely close to us. He transferred from the restaurant in our town after realizing he wanted to take on new challenges. Daniel, on the other hand, was an editor for a famous publishing company.

“Seeing as he used to be a hairdresser, I am quite pleased with the results,” he joked, shutting the door behind me while I slipped off my black boots.

Their dogs immediately came to greet me with barks of excitement. MiMi and Henry, both giant German Shephards, were the reasons why I carried a lint roller in my purse at all times, as they constantly jumped on my legs. They were followed by Maya, a Russian Blue, who nudged my leg. I picked her up while scratching under her chin as the dogs followed us avidly.

I walked to the living room, my dad disappearing behind me, and found Daniel sitting over the coffee table, a burger spilling its contents onto a plate while he watched a movie with anticipation. Most of the sunlight that skittered through the closed curtains warmed his dark skin and I saw how made sure not to stain his new dress shirt.

"Hey Daniel," I greeted, plopping on the loveseat behind him.

He smiled at me before quickly turning his gaze back to the TV. I watched the movie with him for a few minutes until my dad came into the living room and gestured for me to follow him. We walked down the creaky basement stairs, the slit in the wall holding small trinkets and a broom.

Their office was the first door on the right from the stairs. It shuttered on its hinges when my dad pushed it open welcoming a softly lit room with a colourful scent diffuser sitting on top of an oak wood desk. Family photos and degrees hung from the beige wall above it and a round table sat at the right of the room. Every surface was covered in neatly stacked papers, both from the Winter Market and from Daniel’s work. Even the dark vinyl floors held fallen sticky notes or crumpled papers.

“So...how many applications did we get this week?” I asked, curious with worry at the declining numbers.

The market was always busy when it opened but for the last two years, there had been fewer and fewer visitors. A lot of our popularity and products were being overcrowded by larger companies selling away cheap items. We didn’t want to raise the prices of stalls just yet, but Daniel had suggested raising even higher fees in December.

“Honestly,” my dad started, pulling off his black-framed glasses and rubbing his eyes, “we have half occupancy. I’m not sure many more will want to join by Christmas.”

My face dropped at his words, and I didn’t really know what to say for a while. “I’m sure that won’t be the case,” was all I could contribute, which was received by an unhopeful sigh.

I watched as the small sliver of hope in his eye popped through a couple seconds later, almost as if he remembered something.

“You know, our new vendor had some really great advertising ideas. Why don’t you head over and talk to her?”

“Who, Ivy? I wouldn’t want to bug her, she’s probably busy,” I replied anxiously. I didn’t care for my dads setting me up on dates - which is what they had been trying to do for the last month - but I had seen her outside a couple of times from my kitchen window. She was kinda cute. Okay, really cute.

She had ink blue hair and sleeves of tattoos, though I never looked at her longer than a split second to make any of them out. She seemed of average height and always wore some kind of construction boots. I’d been meaning to talk to her for a while but I didn’t know if she would like me or not so I just hadn’t said anything at all. I always thought it was better to have a quiet neighbour over an annoying one anyways. My dads were quite the opposite on that front since they made sure to be friends with all of their neighbours.

“On another occasion, I would definitely trap you into coming over for dinner with her, “ he teased, “but I am asking because of the market...this time.”

I looked into his eyes and saw his sadness, making any nerves I might have had immediately dissipate. My mom had always wanted to do something for her community and this was my dad’s way of keeping her memory alive. I couldn’t let him lose that.

My mom and dad were childhood friends, and they began dating in high school, getting married two years after graduating and starting their studies together, though at separate schools. My mom went for welding and my dad for culinary arts. Even if they hadn’t fallen in love, they were still best friends. And not only did he lose his love, but he also lost the person he told everything to.

He met Daniel as he was starting to get back on his feet and they were good together, being able to hold each other up even though they experienced the world differently. Daniel was the person who supported the idea for the Winter Market and I was right beside him. I would always miss my mom - nobody would ever replace her - but Daniel had loved us both every step of the way and this market had become important to all three of us.

“I'll head over there now,” I confirmed, putting a comforting hand on his shoulder before heading upstairs. He stayed in the office to go over bills and supplies which I knew would only trouble him further.

Daniel came to the door as I put my shoes on, wiping damp hands on a tea towel. He leaned against the mirrored coat closet behind him.

“You know, that market isn’t going anywhere, there’s too much love in it to budge,” my stepdad declared in hushed tones.

“I’m gonna go to talk with Ivy and hear her plans,” I explained, silently thankful for his enthusiasm. “I’ll get back to you and maybe we can surprise Dad?”

Daniel smiled keenly, swinging the cloth over his shoulder. “It’s supposed to snow tonight so no driving,” he chided, holding back Henry. I chuckled, remembering when I had just got my driver’s license and wound up in a ditch during the year’s first snowfall.

“Got it. Talk soon.”

Daniel had become quite serious these last couple of days upon seeing how stressed my dad was. I hated seeing them both so upset, but Daniel was nowhere near close to losing hope and I wasn’t about to do the same.

I strode up the hill and stopped in front of my neighbour's house, its newly finished red paint yelling against the old grey brick that took up half of the exterior. The windows were shut by thick curtains today so I worried I was about to intrude.

I walked up the short stone path to her door, passing the barren garden that had been newly landscaped. I rang the doorbell and stepped back, spending a few moments in silence before jumping out of my skin at a voice behind me.

“Can I help you?” a sing-songy voice asked. I turned around to find Ivy standing behind me, with innocent humour playing at her lips. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” she smiled.

“Oh, hey Ivy,” I sighed, laughing at my reaction as well. “Uh...sorry to bother you, but are you busy right now? I can come back later if you want-”

She shook her head in reply. “Nope, you actually caught me at a great time.”

“That’s good,” I cheered a little too enthusiastically, “my dad wanted me to come talk to you about your ideas for the market.”

The emerald-eyed woman nodded her head in understanding and gestured for me to follow her. “Nice to finally meet you, Dare. Come on in,” she invited, “do you prefer tea or coffee?”

I followed her inside and shrugged my shoulders. “Either’s fine,” I replied, slipping off my boots. It occurred to me she had gone outside in her socks and I became very curious if she didn’t actually mean to scare me.

She prepared two cups of green tea and we drank them as we talked about her ideas. Most of them were well thought out and amazing and we ended up talking for the rest of the day eventually snagging printer paper and pens so we could visualize ideas. By the time exhaustion had started setting in for both of us, Ivy threw out an interesting idea.

“What if I rented my house to tourists?” she thought out loud. When I looked at her with wide eyes, she continued, “I mean, my personal stuff isn’t here yet and it would be a great way to make some extra money for the venue right?”

“You can’t just give the money to us when you're renting out your own house,” I exclaimed, a look of disbelief and comedy seeping its way through my body.

“It’s not like I need the money,” she remarked. “The only thing I would need is a place to stay when people are over. Wouldn’t want to intrude on their travels, you know?”

The disbelief had completely set in but I was really curious to keep the idea developing. I wondered if there was some way we could tune Ivy’s idea a bit.

“I mean I have a guest room you could stay in,” I suggested and jotted it down when she smiled triumphantly. She had taken up laying on her loveseat while I sat at the bamboo coffee table writing ideas out.

Her house was three stories tall with 6 bedrooms including her own, and her kitchen and living room were open concept but still quite large, both welcoming the entryway. There were plenty of windows but she liked to keep her blinds shut for privacy. She had four bathrooms and a very lovely backyard with a fully decorated patio, so it was obvious people would be delighted to stay there. Her walls were decorated with canvas,’ beige wallpaper glued up behind everything.

We found that she would make enough money to pay for her bills and anything else she needed, with the extra money donated to the market. That was something I didn’t want to talk about as I felt that was far too much for no work on my end. Since we disagreed so expressively on that matter, we eventually tried to come to an agreement that would make both of us happy.

“I mean I could take you on a date with the extra money?” she suggested at one point when we both had gone silent with frustration. That made me blush and look away from her, but I was still uncomfortable about taking her money.

“That would be a lot of dates,” I whispered almost inaudibly while looking awkwardly around the room.

“It would be fun, no?”

I rolled my eyes at that with a laugh. “Do you know how expensive each date would have to be for that amount?”

Ivy simply smiled and shrugged casually, making me chuckle.

“Okay, what if you just buy a bunch of food from the stands?” I inquired.

“That’s a lot of food, isn’t it?”

“I know some families that would appreciate it,” I stated, looking at her to see what she was thinking.

“Okay,” she finally proclaimed. “So for the time of the Winter Market I put my house for rent and stay in your guest room, then we use the rent money as venue donations and for other communal donations?”

The plan sounded kind of brittle, with fine lines everywhere, but I knew Daniel would want to hear about it. I grabbed my phone from my back pocket and dialled his number before clicking on his contact photo. He picked up after the first ring, listening intently to our summarized plan. Ivy quickly invited him over so he could see what her house was like and he arrived within minutes.

Daniel looked over the house and inspected the rooms though he did seem a little confused about the wording of our plan. After a moment more of explanations, he understood our intentions and was fully on board, though he suggested that we promote her art in exchange for the donations. Thankfully, she reluctantly agreed to his terms once she looked over at me.

The next morning, we had already started moving Ivy’s clothing into my guest room with no help from my dads, who decided to bring over Henry and MiMi. Every five minutes, my new roommate would take a break to happily scratch their heads or throw around some toys. They were both German Shepherds so they were extremely excitable, which meant it was hard to get away from them, even harder to keep their curiosities away from Ivy’s things. We eventually gave up on shutting her door when we left since we just kept having to lure them out.

By the afternoon, I was helping Ivy dust and mop her house, with my dads bringing us snacks around 12. Finally, at 6:30, we finished cleaning and sank into her couch, her sighing with exhaustion and me stretching my stiff arms.

I looked over at her. Her overalls were covered in water splashes from filling the mop bucket and dumping it in her backyard every half hour. She’d thrown up her hair into a quick bun that barely contained her many baby hairs and began inspecting her chipped purple nail polish that tarnished as she cleaned.

“So,” I began, “about that date you mentioned.”

Her head shot up like an arrow, and her face was serious. “You actually wanna go out?”

I laughed slightly. “Yeah, kinda,” I assured her, though my nerves poked at me.

We hurriedly headed to my house to change, walking down afterwards to the only restaurant in the town. Monica’s was a normal-sized building, with a quiet ambience and the best chocolate cheesecake I had ever tried. We stayed there until closing, laughing at childhood stories and connecting, while picking up occasional conversations with our server whenever they came around.

My old babysitter, the restaurant’s head chef, came to greet me, quickly followed by the owner. They both decided to narrate my most embarrassing stories from high school to Ivy and reminded me why I never brought dates there.

Through the night, Ivy explained how she came from a well-off family and got tired of living off of her parents' money so she began selling her own art and creations, which ended up being an amazing decision for her. She knew how to create with almost all forms of art, but said her favourite forms were oil painting and carpentry. I told her I liked sketching, but I was much more interested in hearing about her than talking about myself. She never specified how much money she made but after getting into her third glass of wine, she hinted that she was a famous artist, though the public didn’t know her name.

We walked back to my house, arms linked, spending the next two weeks talking and getting to know each other while helping my dads finish the set up for the Winter Market. She designed a lot of the posters and signs for the market’s opening day while also working late to get out as many pieces as she could. She worked in her detached garage, which was perfect for her as she didn’t have a car. I also paid for a small booth where I laid out some of my sketches for fun, mostly influenced by Ivy supporting the drawings I’d shown her.

Finally, it was the Winter Market’s opening day and all of the vendors were setting up their stalls. The market was set up all around the barn my dads bought, on the outskirts of the town. It had been renovated just last month since they were worried the foundation was getting too weak to hold up everyone and everything for much longer, leaving new paint to splash the walls in vibrant colour while the lights brightened the dark lot. My dad also made sure to include an entire box of hand warmers for each stall outside and brought them coffee and hot chocolate whenever possible.

Ivy’s idea to bring people in by renting her house worked amazingly and every week we saw more and more new faces coming to the market, not just from her house but from word travelling of A Market in Nowhere. If I was being honest, I loved that Ivy had started advertising the market like that, and how she also included bits of the market’s history as well. She had made sure to underline how I’d described my mother, which brought me to tears when I read the poster she made.

The crowds grew relatively larger throughout the month, but it wasn’t until December that the market was packed and new stalls were being set up in quickly done-up tents or booths. Ivy and I spent almost every day together, hanging out, going on dates, or working at the market. But I found that my favourite times were when we painted or drew together, or dinners with her and my dads.

When Christmas came around, her flight home got cancelled so she spent that day with me and the small bundle of gifts we had bought for her. That night was also when we finally decided to be girlfriends, with us asking at the exact same time and failing miserably to hide either of our anxieties - or relief.

Three years later, on a snow-filled Christmas day, I woke up in my soft t-shirt and old shorts I wore as pyjamas before dragging myself downstairs. . I was exhausted from the flight back from Ivy’s parents’ so I barely had the motivation to wash my face. I was elated I did though.

I found Ivy and my dads waiting at the artificial Christmas tree by my staircase, and I hobbled down them. I studied my dad holding up his ancient camcorder while Ivy waited under the mistletoe at the foot of the staircase. She gave me a quick kiss before handing me a tiny wrapped box, which I curiously tore open. It was small, but it made me look up at her with tears in my eyes. The box itself was soft, but I knew a glittering and stunning gift waited inside of it.

After three years of the most loving and magical relationship I had ever known, Ivy proposed.

Of course I said yes.