The UnLucky Shared Burdens
862 Words
The lounge of the B&B was dim and warmed by a single radiator that wheezed as though it were doing its best but failing. Elara sank into a worn armchair. Her fingers were still cold despite the quilt she had draped around her shoulders. A small table in front of her held a chipped teacup and saucer with steam rising in thin, curling lines.
She lifted the cup and immediately felt a twinge of frustration. One of her nails had caught on the rim and snapped cleanly. She looked at her hand, aghast, and pressed the jagged edge against her other fingers. It was a tiny, almost laughable disaster, but it summed up her December perfectly.
She set the cup down with a soft clink and tried not to dwell on it. Her stomach still grumbled from her meager breakfast. The thought of venturing outside into the snow seemed impossible. At least here she was out of the wind and safe from slipping on icy sidewalks.
A shuffle of movement drew her eyes. Across the lounge sat a woman who looked about her age, curled into a chair with a thick scarf wrapped around her neck. She was reading a book, but she looked up when she noticed Elara’s scowl and the broken nail.
“Rough day?” the woman asked. Her voice was soft but curious.
Elara hesitated. She had grown used to keeping to herself and pretending that her bad luck was nothing anyone else needed to hear about. But something in the woman’s calm gaze made her nod.
“Flight canceled,” she admitted. Her voice was low. “Stranded for two days, at least. Bad luck seems to follow me.”
The woman smiled faintly and tucked her book into her lap. “I know the feeling. I ended up here because my car got stuck in a snowdrift. I’ve been fighting the weather for hours.”
Elara let a small laugh escape. It was brittle and humorless. “So it’s not just me, then. That’s comforting in a sad sort of way.”
The woman tilted her head with a look that was both empathetic and amused. “Bad December?”
Elara nodded again and gripped her teacup as though it might steady her nerves. “Every year. Something always goes wrong. Flights, finances, small disasters piling up until I wonder why I even bother hoping.”
The woman’s eyes softened. “Sounds like you need tea and conversation, then. That’s what I do when life’s being relentless.”
Elara smiled for the first time in days. She held the cup more carefully this time. The tea was hot and almost soothing. For a moment, the cold and snow outside faded into the background.
They talked quietly and swapped stories of misfortune. Elara learned the woman’s name was Miriam. She had a way of making mundane problems seem like something shared rather than endured alone. It was a strange relief to speak with someone who didn’t minimize her complaints or tell her that everything happened for a reason.
But of course, December had other plans. As she shifted in her chair to reach for the sugar, her broken nail snagged again. It tore painfully. She hissed softly and gripped her hand, feeling the familiar surge of irritation mixed with helplessness.
Miriam glanced over with her eyebrows raised. “That bad, huh?”
Elara gave a short, humorless laugh. “It’s a small thing. But it’s December, so it counts.”
They returned to their conversation and Elara let herself be distracted. She described some of her travel mishaps but left out the worst details about her lost luggage and missed connections. Miriam nodded knowingly and offered small comments in all the right places.
Outside, the snow continued to pile up against the windows. It was thick and stubborn. Elara pressed her hand to the glass and thought of the cottage and the cedar smoke waiting for her just out of reach. Two more days until she could even think of making the journey. Two more days in which every small disaster could strike.
The lounge felt like a small sanctuary, though. Even with December pressing down on her, she allowed herself to sit a little straighter. The connection with another human was a balm she hadn't expected to find in this drafty B&B.
Her gaze drifted back to her hand. The broken nail was a dull reminder of her luck. She didn’t cry or get angry. She just sighed and pressed the tip gently against her other fingers. Surviving small disasters was her specialty.
The wind rattled the windows, but inside the lounge, Elara felt something she hadn’t in a while. It was the quiet strength that comes from making it through even when the world seems determined to unravel you.
She wasn’t home yet. She wasn’t in the cottage. But for the first time that day, she felt like she could wait it out. And maybe the next disaster wouldn’t feel quite so unbearable.
- Writer
