This is my entry for the
Winter Holidays Story Contest 2023
. If you enjoy this, please remember to vote. Likes, comments, and feedback are always appreciated, especially since I'm still figuring all of this out. Enjoy!
"Shannon? Shannon? No, Shannon, it's going to be fine, okay?" Brittany said, running a hand through her tousled brown hair. Speaking into the rental's Bluetooth speakers, she tried to talk her assistant off the ledge back at the home office.
"Okay, but, Brittany, Michaelson said--"
Brittany laughed. Not a sharp, caustic laugh, but an empathetic one. Barely into her freshman year of college, Shannon already had the worry lines of someone twice her age.
"Do you know what else Michaelson says?" Brittany asked.
Hesitance from Shannon. "What?"
"A lot. Michaelson says a lot. But he won't do anything. Especially not at Christmastime. It will be fine."
"It doesn't sound fine," Shannon said.
"Of course it doesn't. He doesn't want it to. That's how he gets what he wants all the time," Brittany said. She flicked on the left blinker and prepared to turn into the driveway. "Hey, I'm pulling up to my brother's house. I'll be in touch. Merry Christmas, Shannon."
With that, Brittany ended the call and sighed. Every day, with the fires to be put out and the feelings to assuage.
Nonstop drama is the price of living in the big city, girl
, she told herself. Even her freckles were tired.
Gravel crunched under the wheels of the rented Yukon XL as she maneuvered up the long road. Just ahead, the quaint little cedar-sided farmhouse, with its black metal roofing and wraparound porch, came into view. From inside, the merry twinkling of Christmas lights sparkled against the windows.
Brittany had told her assistant it was her brother's house, but in truth, she still thought of it as
their
house. Technically also hers, inherited after their parents died, her brother Mark was the one who'd never left town. She had implored him to just sell the damn thing, but he refused.
Pulling to a stop in the empty driveway, Brittany turned off the ignition and took a deep breath. She could do this. She could do this.
As the years went on, she visited less and less, spoke to Mark less and less. But now, at 29 years of age, 30 was on the horizon. Still single and with no prospects, a small yearning, one that she pushed away and denied, ached for familial connection. Whether it was loneliness or her ticking biological clock, she didn't know.
But Mark seemed genuinely excited when she had called and asked about visiting for Christmas. Her loveable, goofball little brother, like her, single, no prospects.
They made quite the pair.
But while the city slicker sister had adapted to the big wide world and focused on eating right, exercise, and fashion, her farmboy brother had slipped into a more rural lifestyle. Loose hygiene, looser overalls, and a poor diet reaped a doughy exterior.
Grabbing her suitcase from the oversized SUV, Brittany walked up to the farmhouse, her hot breath misting in the cold winter air with every step. Reaching the wraparound porch, she remembered years of sunrises, sunsets, and stargazing.
During her last visit several years ago, it had needed some repairs, new boards, and paint. But now to her surprise, as she clopped up the steps, it looked brand new. Smooth and sturdy, she admired what she presumed was her brother's handiwork. He'd always been great at that, whereas she had broken so many tools over the years, her dad had lovingly asked her to leave it to him and Mark.
She knocked on the big farmhouse door, recently stained, and the frosted glass shone in the early afternoon sun. Thankfully, her sunglasses kept the worst of it at bay.
Silence.
Not even the sound of footsteps inside.
Brittany knocked again, harder this time.
More silence.
Oh, for God's sake,
she thought.
She tried the handle and the door opened right up. With a slight irritation, Brittany rubbed at her eyebrow. "Mark?" she called out.
Stepping inside, she removed her sunglasses and looked around, her brown eyes adjusting to the light. The house was... clean. Immaculate.
What the hell? Did he get a housekeeper?
Pine filled her senses with Christmas nostalgia. Decorations and garland scattered the walls and available surfaces. Lights sprayed reds, greens, blues, yellows, and purples across the open space, despite the daylight streaming in.
"Mark!" she shouted, this time not bothering to hide the irritation in her voice. "You better not be sleeping or in the shower!"
But as soon as she said it, she knew it wasn't true. The house felt empty.
Her steps echoed on the hardwood flooring as she rolled her bag forward to the kitchen table. On it was a handwritten note from her brother; she'd recognize his chicken scratch penmanship anywhere.
Brit, sorry I couldn't be here to greet you. Work came up and I have to take care of it. Pizza's in the fridge. You know where the shower is. -Mark
Annoyed, she slapped the paper back down on the table. "Well, shit, bro. You could've texted me, at least—
oh wait, you don't even have a cell phone.
"
But goddamn if pizza and a shower didn't sound like heaven after her flight and drive. "Fine, Mark, I'll give you this one," she said through gritted teeth. "No, don't worry, I'll show myself to my room."
Suitcase in tow, Brittany traipsed through the old house. Up the creaky stairs, through the hallway, last door on the right. Impossible to miss, really, with the hundred or so stickers she'd applied to it as a kid. Amidst the remaining stickers and black, sticky residue of stickers long passed, another handwritten note from her brother.
Welcome Home!
"Uh-huh," she muttered. Her door always stuck, and with an extra push, she got it open with the familiar scrape of door against door frame.
Unchanged by time, Brittany was instantly transported years back in time. Mauve walls were covered by posters of NSYNC, The OC, and Sailor Moon. Postcards of beaches, mountains, and Washington, D.C. were travel keepsakes, while the multitude of photos with friends were proof of even more adventures.
Perfectly made, her bed was covered in Spongebob sheets, blankets, and pillowcases.
Her wooden desk still had an old CRT TV/VHS combo she'd gotten for her tenth birthday.
All at once, the stresses and drama from work halfway across the country melted away.
She was home.
Now it was food time.
Per Mark's note, she grabbed and reheated some pizza from the fridge, scarfing it down.
Hunger abated, it was time to wash away gross airport germs she'd surely spent the day bathing in.
Grabbing towels from the hallway linen closet, Brittany made her way to the bathroom a couple doors down from her room. Shockingly, waiting for her on the counter already were towels, washcloths, a loofah, shampoo, conditioner, and several other essentials.
That clinched it. Her brother had definitely gotten a housekeeper. And from the looks of it, one who was worth every penny.
She turned on the shower and disrobed while the water warmed. First off was the tan overlay and white shirt. Then, reaching back, Brittany unclasped her beige 32D bra. Pulling it away from her, the girls bounced free with instant relief. "Oh, thank God," she said. "Stupid bra."
Gently rubbing her underboob, she massaged away the evils of underwire. Moving up, she kneaded at herself, eventually honing in on her nipples. Pressing between finger and thumb, Brittany lightly pinched herself, then tugged.
A lightning bolt of pleasure shot through her, resting in her nethers. Might as well take care of
