One Morning in Grafton

Thirty inches fell overnight and blanketed nearly everything in a foamy sea of white. From her bedroom window, Lily could still spy the water tower next to City Hall, a proud beacon amid the blurred structures that comprised the center of her sleepy town.
         “Sweetie, breakfast,” bellowed her mother from the kitchen, and Lily reluctantly emerged from beneath three layers of comforters. She loved snow, but not the cold. The cold air made her legs hurt more than usual. She found her braces by the nightstand, and effortlessly used them to stand up.
         “Comin’,” she yelled, as she ambled to her closet from which she retrieved a pair of jeans and a knit sweater. She quickly dressed and headed to her bureau and regarded herself while brushing her curly, auburn locks. When she considered herself presentable, she exited her bedroom and into the corridor.
         She passed by the room next to hers, which was unsurprisingly silent. Troy would’ve been at the rink by four-thirty—too early for Lily to be awake for no reason—and would return home in time for a shower and a quick bite before heading to school. Troy would have practice again before supper. He played right wing for the high school team, and was very good. “Good enough for the majors,” his coach would often tell their father. Between school and hockey, Troy was incredibly busy, but he didn’t complain. Hockey was life; he would do anything to play.
         Lily found her mother at the sink, humming, washing the skillet she had just used to prepare their morning meal. Pancakes, scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast were displayed casually on the kitchen table.
         “Good mornin’,” Lily said as she sat on her chair, the one she’d used since she was two. Each member of the family had his or her unofficially assigned seat at the table. She never questioned how or when the designations took place. It seemed to have simply happened organically. Even her older brother, Brandon-- who left home for Minnesota State University three years ago-- still retained his seat assignment.
         “Good mornin’, sweetie,” her mother cooed without facing her. She turned off the tap after placing the last utensil on the drying rack. “Dad should be here shortly.”
         Theresa plopped a pancake onto her plate. “How long is he stayin’?”
         “Who knows?”
         Lily understood her mother’s full meaning. Her father was a long-distance truck driver, and they never knew whether he was swinging by for a couple of days or just a few hours. She slathered butter on the pancake and reached for the Aunt Jemima. She shuddered at the thought of any of her friends finding out her family didn’t use proper maple syrup considering their proximity to Canada.
         They heard the front doors swing open and Troy made his presence known via the cacophony that emanated from the mudroom. He staggered into the kitchen and plopped down onto his chair. “Hey, ugly,” he said to his younger sister.
         “Hey, ugly,” Lily replied in kind.
         “Wash your hands!” Catherine Miller warned her son, who had defied generally acceptable hygiene practices to select a strip of bacon using a bare hand.
         “They’re clean,” he claimed, but stood anyway to wash his hands at the kitchen sink.
         “Thank you, honey,” Catherine said as she finally made her way to the table. She slid into her own seat on the short end closest to the stove, directly across from where her husband customarily sat. “Your father will be here soon.”
         “He better be,” Troy said as he sat back down. “Another six or so inches on the way.” He grabbed a pancake, folded it like a taco shell, and scooped a ladleful of scrambled eggs into it before biting with gusto.
         “I heard it would be at least another foot,” Lily offered.
         “Your dad could drive through eight feet of snow, you know,” Catherine said.
         “He’s a rock star,” said Troy before taking another bite of his makeshift breakfast taco. “Oh, yeah. Brandon texted me last night. He said he’ll be home for Christmas.”
         “Is he bringin’… him?” Catherine asked. Lily noted a tiny twitch on her mother’s lips.
         “Didn’t say,” Troy said.
         “It’d be nice to finally meet Carlos,” Lily said, and quickly side-eyed her mother, who gave no visual reaction.
         During his senior year in high school, Brandon informed his family that he was gay. Lily and Troy both had their suspicions of their older brother’s homosexuality, and were, therefore, unfazed by the news. But, the revelation was particularly tough for their parents. Not only did their conservative Christian upbringing make accepting their gay son hard to do, they also had to contend with inquisitive, judgmental townsfolk as word of Brandon’s revelation spread like wildfire, one of the pitfalls of living in a small town. When Brandon dropped yet another bomb last year about being in a relationship with a fellow student and that they were in love, Lily knew it was yet another hill for her parents to crest. To her prideful father, especially, it would be a lengthy upward climb.
         A loud rumbling came from outside and the family recognized the unmistakable sign of the head of the household’s arrival. After a few minutes, Vic Miller plowed through the front doors, his duffle bag falling onto the floor with a thud. “I have donuts!”
         “Bring ‘em here, pops!” yelled Troy, and his seemingly insatiable appetite.
         Vic entered the kitchen, and headed straight to his wife to plant her a wet one. He gave Lily a kiss on her forehead-- a gesture he’d done since she was old enough to remember-- and greeted Troy with a friendly punch on the shoulder. “The NHL call yet?”
         “Not yet,” answered Troy, who bit into a frosted cruller.
         “The CHL?”
         “Nope.”
         “Soon, probably.”
         “Yup.”
         Thus went that morning for the Millers in their modest home on the eastern end of Grafton, North Dakota. From the darkened skies above, another fourteen inches of snow were about to descend.


Written for the 2017-12-03 prompt of "The Writer's Cramp"   by Sophurky
Prompt: Write a poem or story about SNOW
Word Count: 1000