Soaring Embers

My father, sister, and I rest beside the crackling fire and gaze at soaring embers. The flames dance. I sip my hot chocolate, grasping it in my hands, hopeful for my shivers to disappear. The marshmallows twirl around one another. 

Glancing outside, the winter has taken back it’s reigns as it does every year. Snow piles up two feet against the house and I watch snowflakes skate around the trees.  

We sit on a worn, ripped green sofa with a beige stain, which we dragged by the fireplace to stay warm. We don’t have heating.  

The kitchen is behind us. Apple pie and cinnamon cloud the room, reminding me of my mother. She left my father a few months ago. The three of us don’t talk about it much. We hope one day she’ll come back.