#14. Barbecue
916 Words
When Betty got home, she dropped her bag by the door and kicked off her boots, the warmth of the cabin wrapping around her like a familiar hug. She barely had time to shrug out of her coat before her phone was already pressed to her ear.
She fed every single detail to Veronica, who reacted exactly the way Betty expected, loud, dramatic, and breathless.
“My goodness, really, Betty?” Veronica practically screamed through the phone.
“Yes, really,” Betty sighed, lowering herself onto the couch. She leaned back, staring at the wooden ceiling beams as if they might offer answers.
“Awww. Maybe you two might be destined together,” Veronica said, her voice softening with excitement.
“Oh, Vero, stop saying rubbish,” Betty replied, though a small smile tugged at her lips.
“I’m not saying rubbish, Betty. Just because you’re pregnant doesn’t mean you won’t find someone to love you and accept you,” Veronica insisted.
“Vero, be for real. Who would accept a pregnant lady? Ugh, you’re so delusional,” Betty muttered, lifting her mug and sipping her hot tea.
“I know, Betty, but things happen. Life has a funny way of surprising people. Anyways, I hope it happens the way I thought,” Veronica said hopefully.
Betty chuckled, shaking her head. “You and your imagination.”
They talked a little longer, drifting into lighter gossip and half hearted jokes, until Betty glanced at the clock on the wall.
“I should go check on Grandpa,” she said. “I’ll call you later.”
“Alright. Take care of yourself, okay?” Veronica replied.
“I will.”
Betty ended the call and sat there for a moment, the quiet settling in. She wrapped both hands around her mug, letting the warmth seep into her fingers, before pushing herself up and heading outside.
The cold air hit her immediately, crisp and sharp. Snow crunched beneath her boots as she walked toward her grandfather’s cabin, a short distance from the main house. She knocked lightly, then pushed the door open.
“Grandpa?” she called.
The cabin was empty.
She frowned slightly, stepping inside and looking around. Everything was neat, just the way he always kept it. His jacket wasn’t on the hook, and his boots were gone.
“Strange,” she murmured.
As she turned to leave, she nearly bumped into Michael.
“Oh—sorry,” he said quickly, steadying himself. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”
“It’s okay,” Betty replied. “Is my grandpa around?”
Michael hesitated for a second. “He didn’t tell you?”
Her brows pulled together. “Tell me what?”
“He won’t be back for about a week. Had to head out of town for something important.”
A small wave of disappointment washed over her. “A week? He didn’t even mention it.”
Michael smiled apologetically. “Yeah, he left early this morning.”
Betty nodded, forcing a small smile. “Alright. Thanks for telling me.”
As she turned to walk away, Michael cleared his throat. “Uh, I was about to make some barbecue in the backyard. Thought maybe you’d like to join? No pressure.”
She paused, then looked back at him. The idea of sitting alone suddenly didn’t appeal to her.
“Sure,” she said. “That would be nice.”
Michael’s face brightened. “Great.”
They moved to the backyard, where a small grill was already set up. The snow fell slowly, softly, like it had all the time in the world. Betty sat on a wooden chair, pulling her coat tighter around herself, her coffee mug cradled in her hands.
Michael tended to the grill, humming quietly. “So,” he said after a while, “what do you think of the town so far?”
“It’s… peaceful,” Betty replied. “Different from what I’m used to.”
He chuckled. “Yeah, that’s one word for it. People here like their routines. Kids gather sometimes in the evenings, especially around winter, just to listen to stories. Old tales, silly ones, scary ones. Keeps them busy.”
“That sounds nice,” Betty said softly.
Michael nodded. “We also have some… interesting beliefs around here.”
She smiled faintly. “Like what?”
“Well,” he lowered his voice slightly, as if sharing a secret, “some folks swear we’ve got real big elves living in the woods.”
Betty laughed. “Elves?”
“Yep. Big ones too, not the tiny kind. I don’t know how true it is, but people believe it,” he said with a grin.
“And you?” she asked.
“I just mind my business,” he shrugged. “Oh, and there’s this old man who’s been dressing like Santa for as long as anyone can remember. Red suit, white beard, the whole thing.”
“Every year?” Betty asked.
“Every year,” Michael confirmed. “Hopefully he lives long. Town wouldn’t feel the same without him.”
Betty smiled, watching the snowflakes drift down, feeling oddly calm.
Footsteps sounded from behind them, followed by laughter. Michael looked up and waved.
“Looks like the guys are here,” he said.
A few men walked into the yard, stomping snow off their boots. One of them stepped forward and smiled at Betty.
“Hey,” he said. “I’m Jacob.”
- Writer
