Progress Makes Imperfect

Version One: Ahead of Her Time

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Snow was an extraordinarily ordinary thing, yet Alana could not fathom how, each year, hordes of children endlessly yelped in delight, swords of ice disguised as glimmering crystals landing on their tomato-red noses with astounding gentleness. She could not understand the excitement, the exhilaration of something that would inevitably arrive every year, without fail. 

Or perhaps she chose not to. 

Either way, Alana hustled through the hubbub of the crowd gathered at the edge of the vast square, alternating between gasping and hollering at a festive performance that Alana found rather… Spine-chilling.

Bundled up in layers of bristling sweaters and oversized jackets, she waltzed a precarious dance with discreet frozen puddles and rebellious icicles that did not seem to want to fit in where they assumedly belonged. She cast a wary glance at the passersby, who paid her no mind, and continued despite the horrid gusts of sheer cold and the beckoning twinkling lights of the nearby coffee shops. A caramel drizzle wafted onto the breeze, encompassing Alana in its tender, silky hands, whispering the radiant memories of the winters past.

A blazing hearth with vibrant oranges and leaping yellows.

A ricochet of laughter and giggles from someone she knew deep within her but couldn't quite place.

A gleam of mischief in painstakingly emerald eyes.

An embrace filled to the brim with love and compassion. An embrace that hadn't been received in quite some time.

Alana shook free of the warmth, clenching her jaw. Something seen can be erased. Something felt can't.

She entered a café and sat inside, both hands braced on the table in front of her. She risked a glimpse, seeing that flecks of white littered her eyelashes, the bottom of her eyes, her cheeks.

And they stung.

***

To be blatantly honest, Avery was skeptical. She wasn't sure her daughter would be coming to visit, much less partake in the rare holiday dinner she had suddenly planned. It didn't stop the rays of hope from emerging within her, though, no matter how bleak or dim.

Nervous laughter and an awkward silence ensued, the echoes reaching the doorway where Avery relentlessly paced. Alana would end the banter and leap into conversation. She would be the life of the party, she would be—

"Mom?" a voice called, weary and despondent, yet somehow maintaining a façade of energy. Adrian. Her beautiful son, her beacon of light in the darkness. The second beat of her heart, after Alana.

"Yes, darling? Is anything wrong?" Avery asked, her distracted demeanor seeping into her tone.

"Mom, she isn't coming," Adrian said from behind her, softly but not timidly. A person who accepted the truth for what it was. Nothing more, nothing less. A person who wouldn't shield the truth, not even from his mother. Because that's who I raised them to be.

"Don't be foolish, Adrian. Of course she's coming. She has no reason not to," Avery snapped, unwilling to be distraught, unwilling to give up. "And besides, Alana loves the snow. A few inches is far from enough to make a dent in her armor."

"It isn't about the weather, Mom. Maybe you should ask her where the dent in her armor is really from." And with that, Adrian left his mother to welcome the silence rather than her daughter.

Silverware clanked, chairs scraped on wood, dishes were washed, and lights flickered out, a bit reluctant. Still Alana did not miraculously appear in the doorway, her gold-flecked brown eyes spewing with amusement.

But why did she turn out differently?

***

Avery passed away due to a stroke two months later, and it was then that Alana did not hesitate to tell her mother that she now perceived why children screamed unabashedly during the first snow of every year.

It was because they knew there was a chance it would not appear the next time.

And she didn't.

Version Two: Sheepishness

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Alexandria loved her mother more than words could describe, each joyous moment a canvas bathed in incandescent gold, each awful one merely a wisp on the sea of the forgotten. Wrinkles lined the surface of her once-pristine skin, but the mischief that radiated from each look, each movement could never possibly be subdued. 

Or perhaps she only saw what she wished to see. 

Alexandria could not, by luck or misfortune, see the distant look that overtook her mother's face during this time of year, the heaviness in her bony shoulders, drooping and sagging. She could not see anything out-of-sorts, other than what she assumed was a rather intense snow, more chaotic and furious than any snowstorm she had ever seen.

But, what Alexandria could feel, unfiltered and raging deep inside, was the fact that she did not wish to attend the family dinner her mother had planned.

She locked the door to her apartment (slammed, actually) and descended the many stairs anyway.

***

Alana busied herself with the decorations, holly and tinsel truly bedecking the winding halls and uproarious hearth. The dinner table was set, silverware cozying up to one another and exquisite plates bragging of their eloquence. Candles were alight with their beautiful madness, the flames dancing in an all-too-familiar manner. Their buoyancy was enough to uplift her, enough to caress her regret and remorse and unspoken, bottled-up emotions and say, it is going to be okay.

***

"So, Alex," her Uncle Adrian called over the seemingly endless feast. "How is the new job treating you?"

Alexandria tensed up, the lump in her throat rapidly forming. She had to answer, but she just didn't want to. She was so, so tired. So, so—

"Alex," her mother said, imperceptible hints of admonishment and warning laced in her tone.

Alex cleared her throat and said jaggedly, "Yes. It's going well, thanks for asking."

It was Adrian's turn to clear his throat, and his eyes went straight to the dinner plate lined with an assortment of delectable, mouth-watering food. Alana's eyes found Alexandria's, each one staring into their reflection.

What is going on with you? Alana.

Nothing. Nothing at all. Alexandria.

Out with it. Alana.

What is your problem, Mom? Alexandria.

You have the nerve to ask me what "my" problem is? Though the quotations were invisible, Alexandria could undoubtedly envision them. A childish pout ensued, and Alexandria was suddenly transported back to her early-teenage self, bickering and heated arguments abundant.

I don't know, okay. I don't like these dinners for some reason, and I'm just cranky.

That is not a good answer, and you know it.

What am I supposed to say?

Alana was rescued by a pointed cough to her right, and the mother-daughter duo looked up from their silent tirade to see each person at the table gawking at them with considerable confusion.

"If you'll excuse us, Alex and I have something to discuss," Alana said, her unwavering gaze on her daughter. "Do continue, please," she added hastily.

And that was that.

Alana and Alexandria found a small, private alcove, and both sank into the plush sofas without hesitating. They sat brooding for quite some time before Alexandria, newly enlightened by her time in the silence, said, "I'm sorry, Mom. I don't have a reason for whatever is happening. It's irrational, I know."

"It isn't, you know. You're my daughter, after all," Alana responded, weariness finally stretching and squeezing itself in. Alexandria arched a questioning brow, and Alana sighed.

"Your grandmother passed away around this time of year, and I can't help but think every year that it was my fault. I did not go to that dinner she planned despite her motherly longing, despite her defiance against everyone, including Adrian, who said I was not coming. They were right, and she was wrong, and since she likes to believe she is never wrong—quite childish if you ask me—it was quite a jolt."

"Well, now I know where the steadfastness comes from," Alex whispered, laying her warm hands atop her mother's cold ones.

"And you know why I didn't go?" Alana chuckled, though it was far from merry. "It was because I was so estranged from my family and tangled up with life—my job, my very first heartbreak, my relationships—that I never realized my family was a reprieve from all of that. And looking back, I see how small and petty all of those things were."

"Something seen can be erased, Mom. Something felt can't. Although it seems small now, it was immense then." Alana gave a wistful, knowing smile at that, and leaned her head on her beautiful daughter's shoulder.

"Don't break, Mom. Don't break, because I need you."

Her mother laughed softly, "I rather like teenage Alexandria, though I couldn't say the same back then."

"Hmm, maybe it is the darkness that lets the light shine."

Version Three: Late Bloomers

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Avery could hardly contain her excitement for the dinner party, squealing with inimitable glee. She floundered from room to room, ensuring each and every centerpiece was centered, each decoration was no less than impeccable, and each dish was as mouth-watering, if not more, as it looked. She would be hosting the annual dinner this year, allowing her mother to rest, and she didn't know why, but she innately wished to make it unique. Different.

The doorbell rang, the sound resonating through Avery's core. She closed her eyes, a smile gracing her lips. And then she sprinted to the door, skidding across the floor with her infamous socks.

***

Alana and Alexandria were beaming with pride, not because the ice had finally melted, but because the puddle formed by that ice reflected generations of thawing. As Avery chittered and chattered and burst out giggling with astonishing ability from time to time, the mother-daughter pair finally, finally felt at peace. As Avery spilled over her drink with an unsuspecting flick of her wrist, and then looked down, guilt settling over her features, it was then that Alana and Alexandria erupted, bodies convulsing with the suppressed laughter of decades.

Avery wasn't sure why her grandmother and mother were practically doubling over, but she joined them nonetheless. She was the branches to her grandmother's roots and her mother's trunk, and she hoped with that childlike fervor and naïveté there would someday be resplendent leaves and flowers.

But for now, Alana, Alexandria, and Avery felt that the snow, the unflinching, understanding, enigmatic snow, would be quite alright.